The Griffin’s Heart

 

 

By Ron Schwartz

Morley, Michigan

 

Copyright © 2003 Ron Schwartz
All rights reserved.

 

For my late father, Melvin B. Schwartz

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Morning Sun

 

I've searched near and far; I've followed a star

En route to the Morning Sun.

And you, too, my friend, had searched for an end;

Our journeys had just begun.

 

I searched the sky high; I yelled and I cried.

I looked for a heart of gold.

But you had the song I’d looked for so long:

A ransom of treasures untold.

 

Of fire and light, a dream in the night,

A search for a love that is true.

An angel, a sign, a very fine wine;

I thanked God the day I met you.

 

With dreams made of gold and stories untold,

With speed and with sail unfurled.

A river so strong, a midnight song;

I pulled from the sea my pearl.

 

We laughed, we cried, we reached for the sky;

I built a world with my friend

Of castles and dreams, of romantic things,

And of heroes who win in the end.

 

My love is a rose, just like the poem goes,

And I’m but the water, you see.

I must be consumed for the blossom to bloom;

So part of its beauty I’ll be.

 

Prologue

U.S. Persian Gulf Carrier Battle Group

One hundred sixty-seven miles off the Iraqi coast

 

      Moving silently through the cool night mist, the aircraft carrier USS Roosevelt made its way across the Persian Gulf.  Frothy waves beat against its torpedo-proof hull.  The city of steel was the flagship of the Battle Group, surrounded by an armada of supporting ships including a half-dozen frigates and destroyers.

      With the build-up of Iraqi armor near the American forces in Kuwait and Saudi Arabia the United States chose to brandish its sword by reinforcing the fleet.  The battle group inched its way closer to Iraqi shores than any other American ships had ventured since Desert Storm, steaming quietly forward under a blanket of complete darkness.

      Captain Neil Rainey stood on the bridge of the lead ship, Brittany Bay.  This was his first command, but he felt right at home.  Everything about it seemed to resemble him.  Like his ship, he had a short compact frame.  Even his light gray eyes seemed to match the color.  He caressed the smooth surface of the metallic console, feeling the familiar vibrations of the huge gas turbine engines that propelled his ship.  He knew every jostle and creak that emanated from its steel frame.

      “Come on, girl,” he whispered.  “Tell me what we’re after.”

      “Con?  This is sonar!  I’ve got contact bearing three ten degrees at twenty thousand yards.”

      That’s what he’d been waiting to hear.  Rainey wheeled about to face his first officer, Dana Pitney. “You’ve got the bridge!”

      It took only a moment for him to cover the few yards separating the bridge from Ops and approach the sonar operator’s station.  “Let’s have it, Mr. Macmillan.  “What are we seeing out there?”

      Macmillan didn’t acknowledge the captain when he arrived.  He sat motionless with one hand over the right ear of his head set.  Though silent, his intensity spoke volumes.  The sounds he listened to were echoing from miles away under water, sounds that only the most sophisticated microphones ever developed by humanity could hear.

      Finally, Macmillan shook his head.  “Sir, I’ve checked this signal three times, and I still don’t know what’s wrong!”

      “What do you mean?  Let’s have it!”

      Macmillan held his earpiece again as if hearing something new, and then turned to the printer just as it began to print.   After reading it, he turned back to the captain.  “It’s confirmed, sir.   The sub is a 1950’s vintage North Korean fast-attack submarine... diesel-powered!  It’s submerged and making for Iraq under full power.”

      “Are you certain?”

      “That’s affirmative, sir.  Its signature has been on record for over twenty years.”

      “What’s an antique Korean submarine doing here, twelve thousand miles from home?”

      “I couldn’t begin to guess, sir.”

      The captain turned away and looked toward a large map of the region on a sheet of plexi-glass.   Almost twenty miles ahead of them was an outdated submarine half the world away from home.  What interest could North Korea possibly have in the waters of the Persian Gulf?  This development was certainly too significant to be ignored.

      “I don’t know what’s going on here, and I don’t like it.  All the same, let’s make the Roosevelt aware of this.”

 

The Ministry of Foreign Intelligence

London, Great Britain

 

     As Jonathan Logan sat with the British and American agents in a windowless building at the center of London, he could not help being surprised at how the atmosphere of the meeting did not reflect the imminent danger the Iraqi buildup presented.  The room they sat in was cramped, too small for the large round table they sat around.  Moreover, the room’s ventilation was completely inadequate.

      Smoke poured from the four British agents, filling the room.  Disgustedly fanning the acrid smoke, the three agents from the American delegation seemed more interested in arguing over whether to allow smoking during the meeting than in discussing the statistical information that Logan had to show them.

       After four long hours, Logan closed his folder.  “We must conclude that an Iraqi aggression against Saudi Arabia and Kuwait is imminent.  The United States and its allies should reinforce their divisions above their current level of readiness.”

      The head American agent didn’t even seem to be aware of the fact that the presentation had ended.  He was busily locked in a staredown with an overweight British agent who was puffing on an equally oversized cigar.

      Logan glanced around the room and cleared his throat.

      “Yes, yes.”  The American agent rolled his eyes.  “We’ve seen most of this information already, and our analysts have reviewed the data.  You haven’t told us much that we don’t already know.”

      Logan studied this balding man in his early forties.  He had come to trust his intuition about people, and this man displayed the same overconfidence he had become used to seeing in the American military.  The kind that makes a military overestimate its forces.

      The American agent looked at Logan as if he were a math teacher trying to explain a simple problem to a dense student.  “Look, over the past year, the United States has reinforced its presence by placing leading elements of the First and Second Armor Divisions in Saudi Arabia and a Marine Expeditionary Force in Kuwait.  Saddam doesn’t have the guts to go head to head with us again.  In addition, as to your intelligence information that Iraq is again producing SCUD missiles in northern Iraq...  Well, I just don’t feel this information is conclusive.”

      Then the overweight British agent leaned forward.  “Your information concerning Iraqi acquisition of military equipment is undoubtedly quite accurate, but I agree with my American colleague.  I should think the Iraqi military does not have the resolve to go against us again.  But just to show our determination,  we have positioned a British Expeditionary Force in Saudi Arabia to reinforce the U.S. Armor Divisions.”

      Logan looked down at his cold cup of coffee.  Just like everything and everybody else in this building, he thought to himself. Inadequate.  “Let me say this, then.  We, the nation of Israel, will not allow the balance of power to fall into the hands of a madman.”

      “Now don’t start those threats again!  Israel will take no, let me repeat, no aggressive action outside of its own borders!”  The American agent slammed his fist onto the table.

       “The United States has only oil to be concerned about.  Israel, on the other hand, is faced with its very survival.  You can start making demands on us when the United States is in the same shoes we’re in.”

      “That’s a very old threat, and it’s not going to cut it with us.  Now we’re telling you not to worry.  We’ve got it covered, okay?”  The American agent paused, then cocked his head and smiled.  “If you had your way, what would you suggest we do?”

      Logan looked around the table.  Everyone was watching him closely.  “The current UN resolution would allow for the United States to move its military up into Iraqi territory for security reasons.”

      Audible groans and head shaking appeared almost simultaneously around the table.

      “Why do you insist on making a mountain out of a molehill?  Our joint chiefs are convinced that nothing more is necessary.”

      Logan remained silent.  They just didn’t get it.

      “Look, we don’t feel that any more action on our part is warranted at the present time.  Now, is there anything else, or can we conclude this meeting?”

      Logan looked down at his briefcase and hesitated for a moment.  Then he reached down into it and pulled out a piece of paper covered with rows of numbers.  “Our agents lifted this from an Iraqi courier.”

      “What is it?”

      “It appears to be a code key.”

      The British agent grabbed the paper, studied it briefly, and then waved it in the air.  “Just where did your agents come across this?”

      Since Israeli covert operations were forbidden by the British government from taking place inside their borders, Logan had to lie.  “In Damascus.”

      “So it is a copy of the original?”

      Logan lied again.  “Yes.”

      Actually, the courier had died in a rather questionable traffic accident with another undercover Israeli agent that very morning.  The car in which the courier died exploded into flames, destroying everything but a briefcase.  The contents of briefcase had been given to Logan to return to Israel with him the next day.

      “Have you tested it yet to see if it’s a fake?”

      “No, but...”

      The Brit slammed the paper down onto the table.  “Then all you actually have is a sheet of numbers which, in fact, could be the answer sheet for a student’s math homework.”

      “No, I can assure...”

      "What do you propose to do with it?"

      "We believe...” Logan paused to observe the faces in the room.  He had their attention.  Now he had to try to get a buy-in to his plan.  “I believe that the U.S. and Britain have operatives in Iraq.”

      “For the sake of argument, let’s say you’re right.  Then what?”

      “Your people could use these keys to check Iraqi military status and plans.”

      The British agent tapped his fingers on the table.  “It’s a damn silly thing to do...  If we had operatives in the Iraqi military, do you expect us to expose them on your whim?”

      The American agent was no longer friendly either.  “You want our countries to tie up our computer resources for weeks trying to verify your key?  For all we know, the Iraqis have been feeding you false information through that key.  Maybe that’s how you came up with such a completely different strategic picture.”

      Logan groaned inwardly and tossed the paper back into his briefcase.  This was a mistake, he told himself.  And a waste of time.  His arguments were falling on deaf ears.  He’d been foolish to believe they would listen to anything contradictive to their own intelligence assessments.

      Before he had a chance to say anything more, the American and British agents were leaving the room.  The meeting was over, and once again the cold hand of bureaucracy had triumphed.  He packed away his files and prepared to leave.  His one consoling thought was that tomorrow he would be on his way home aboard the Concorde.

 

 

Day One

Lecture: “Gray Matter”

Oxford University, Great Britain

 

      Rob Anderson looked over the skeptical crowd sitting in front of him.  The gathering of European professors at Oxford University had been anything but cordial.  Rob was a brilliant technologist whose theories about the solving complex problems had shaken the accepted concepts of higher learning and the teachings of current scholars.  His theories had caused an unending debate among scholars because their understanding of problem solving was threatened with obsolescence.  He was not surprised that he was met with suspicion.  He had faced similar groups before who sought not to understand his theories but to disprove them.

      A handsome man in his mid-thirties, he was not used to speaking before crowds.  He grew up on a small country farm in southern Michigan and became a building contractor like his father.  Nevertheless, in the changing course of his life, he decided to educate himself by getting a college degree. By the time he was thirty, he was programming computers.  However, his construction background left him in excellent physical shape as well.

      His creative nature, along with a passion for problem solving, led him to his remarkable theory.  He was in constant demand to explain the concepts.  Even so, he couldn’t help but feel inferior to the men gathered in this room.  He was more than a little intimidated.  He had not had the luxury of attending the most prestigious schools or the finest universities.  He was the son of a humble carpenter and, like his father, had worked hard to provide for his family.

      He looked at the clock on the wall.  He had been there for three hours, and because of the constant barrage of questions, he had still not finished his presentation.

      “It’s getting late, gentlemen, so, to conclude, I’m going to sum up what I’ve already covered.  The treatise I presented to Stanford University is called Gray Matter.  I call it that because the set of theories put forth in that paper provides the principles that may someday help computers to simulate the reasoning capabilities of the human mind.  The theories present ideas about how the human mind solves complex problems.”

      He turned to the chalkboard and started writing.  “Here is a list of my theories.”

      Natural Progression

      Abstract Logic

      Insequential Evaluation

      Defractional Logic

      Principle Randomization

      Differential Paradigming

      Uniform Integrity

      Subtle Recursion

      Iterative Development

      Transposition of Type

      Evaluated Linear Simplification

      He turned back to the group.  “My purpose is to provide a comprehensive understanding of the brain’s logical and intuitive nature.  In essence, the human brain has the ability to solve problems that seem unsolvable by intuition.  What do I mean when I say ‘unsolvable complex problems’?  I’m describing a problem that is in its simplest form, one that can’t be broken down into smaller parts. I’m describing a problem that is so complex that it cannot be solved by conventional means.  I’m describing a problem comparable to a complex number in math: a number that cannot be plotted precisely as a dot on a number line.  It can only be observed as an equation.  My ideas describe how to breakdown these problems into many -- and frankly, quite possibly a substantial number of -- unrelated solutions.

      So, of what benefit is all this?  I’ll try to explain this in layman’s terms.  Take, for example, a virus like AIDS.  The AIDS DNA is incredibly complex, but if we had computers that understood how humans go about solving the dilemma of attacking this virus we could find a cure for it in minutes instead of decades!  On the other hand, projects like developing sophisticated space travel could be accomplished in days.  The list of practical applications goes on and on.”

      One of the younger men in the crowd stood.  “How do you see your Gray Matter model fitting into the world of processors we use today?”

      “It doesn’t.  Current processors function sequentially.  Data enters at this point and exit at this point.”  He motioned with his hands from top to bottom.  “Now, imagine a processor that makes use of my theories.  Imagine an object with thousands of sides.  Information can be absorbed from many different sides, and each side examines it differently.  Imagine an operating system that is nothing more than a virus which completely consumes all resources.  Information isn’t just processed, it’s consumed.”

      “Have you worked out any of the details for the system you are describing?”

      “I’m currently working with several companies to take advantage of my theories.”

      He was about to continue when an old professor, who had until then remained silent, stood to his feet. Something about this man’s demeanor demanded his attention.  He yielded the floor to the man.

      “I’ve studied your treatise carefully, and I must say that it is outstanding.  Your arguments are insightful, and your position very well taken.  There seems to be, however,...  There is something missing. I have worked through your math carefully and find it difficult to believe that you could have arrived at your conclusions without...  without some sort of key.  Something that knits these fundamental concepts into a unified body.  Something similar to a decryption algorithm.”

      The room fell deafeningly quiet.  Apparently, this man demanded considerable respect among his peers.  Rob knew that he was close to the truth.

      “Have you studied the work of Sy VanCopeland?”

      Rob swallowed hard.  “Well, yes.  He’s a rather brilliant mathematician.  I believe his works are well-known and respected by everyone.” 

      “Yes, yes.  Rather brilliant, I must agree, but his work is not all that unrelated to your own.  In fact...”  The old man shook his index finger in the air as he scanned the crowd.  “In fact, it complements your treatise quiet nicely.”

      Rob shifted uneasily.  “Well, I guess I never thought about it.  I guess in some respects it could have some significance, but...”

      “Come, come now, dear boy.  You must admit that his theory of Infinite Reductions would answer the questions surrounding your treatise as to how the transposition into simplified parts could be modeled.  You must see the significance of that?”

      “I’m sorry to end this lecture before we have dealt with all the fundamentals, but...”

      “Pity.  I came a long way to find the answers to these questions.  It seems that the mention of Sy VanCopeland always produces fear, and I can understand why you may want to disassociate yourself from his work.  Why, his theory may someday negate all encryption algorithms.  But can’t we at least explore the matter a little further?”

      Rob shook his head as he picked up his notebook.  “I’m sorry.  This is really off the subject, and any similarities are purely coincidental.  Now, if you don’t mind, I really must go.”

      “Are you leaving or running away?”

      Rob looked again at the perceptive old man and put down his notebook.  “A long time ago, I read a story.  There was a very gifted scientist who had invented the ultimate weapon, a weapon that could destroy the world.  A weapon that could destroy all of mankind.  Well, it just so happened that this scientist had a son who was severely retarded.

      “One day, a journalist came to visit the scientist and tried to reason with him all afternoon to convince him not to give this weapon to the world.  The world wasn’t ready for a weapon of such magnitude.  The scientist justified himself by saying that it wasn’t his responsibility to decide if he should or shouldn’t give this weapon to mankind.  Mankind was responsible for its own actions. 

      “The journalist finally gave up and decided to leave, but first he asked the scientist if he could see his son.  The journalist went in and visited the boy for a few minutes before leaving.  A short time later, the scientist began to wonder why he wanted to see his son.  So he went into the room where his son was playing.  He gasped when he saw that the boy was playing with a loaded gun.  The scientist grabbed the weapon away, thinking, ‘What idiot would place a loaded weapon into the hands of an imbecile?’”

      Rob picked up his notebook again, preparing to leave.

      Nevertheless, the old man wasn’t about to let him off so easily.  “So either you view society as imbecilic or VanCopeland as an idiot...  Perhaps both?”

      Rob walked toward the side of the stage and heard the old man say as he stepped behind the curtains.  “Truth, my dear fellow, always lends itself to exposure.  Do not try to hide the obvious.”

      He stood backstage and leaned against the wall, shaking.  The old man had guessed what he had so carefully tried to conceal.  The world wasn’t ready, and he did not intend to put a loaded gun into the hands of fools.

      He left the Great Hall through the rear exit being careful not to run into the men he had lectured.  Being in such a prestigious place as Oxford was more than just a little intimidating.  Back home at McDonald’s, on his own turf, he could take on any of them!  But here, he was just a little fish in a big pond.

      Rob found his wife, Marie, and their three children waiting for him in the garden at Oxford’s center square.  Even now, after ten wonderful years of marriage, looking at her still took his breath away and made him wonder how he could possibly deserve so many blessings.

      His wife was a former beauty queen, but there was more to her than met the eye.  Exceptionally intelligent, she possessed a much-coveted photographic memory.  She, like Rob, was a computer programmer, though she had eventually settled quite comfortably into her long-desired present role as mother and homemaker.

      Their oldest child, six-year-old David, was chasing his four-year-old brother, Michael, around and througr the thick rows of bushes surrounding the garden.  Not far behind them, ponytail flopping, bounced the petite form of two-year-old Rebekah, Daddy’s little girl.  His heart melted at the very thought of her.  No other children could have been more dear to him.

      If the truth ever came out, would he be able to protect them?

      Marie sauntered flirtatiously toward her husband, interrupting his reverie. “Tell me, honey, just how did your lecture go?  Jolly well?”

      “Oh, shush!” Rob scoffed, trying to give his most perturbed look, but the brilliant smile on her face forced a much resisted smile to pass over his.  She leaned over and kissed him.

      Rob glanced furtively about the garden, preoccupied.  “They’re going to figure it out, you know.”  He turned to Marie, an urgent look on his face.  “Sy.  Sy VanCopeland!  One of the men there asked me about him.”

      The stillness of the garden was interrupted by his daughter’s piercing shriek as she came running toward them followed by her older brothers.  “Michael pull hair!”

      “Michael,” Marie scolded, “did you pull her hair?”

      “No, I pulled a snake!”

      “Not snake,”  Rebekah corrected him sternly.  “My hair!”

      “All right, you guys.”  Rob interceded, winking at Marie.  “See that bush?  I want to know how many leaves are on it.  Can any of you count them?”

      “I can,” David volunteered.

      “Me, too,”  Michael clapped his hands excitedly, and the three of them rushed off to count leaves under their parents’ watchful eyes.

      Rob took Marie’s hand and wondered at its softness.  “You were about to say?”

      “No one can prove anything.  Don’t worry about it.  There are lots of theories out there, and all of them are in some way or another based on someone else’s work.  Even Einstein’s work was based on work other men had done.”

      “I know.  You’re right, of course, but what if someone puts the two together?  What if they find the links?”

      “They won’t!  We’ve gone to great lengths to make sure that will never happen.  Now stop fretting.  Let’s go and enjoy the trip.”

      Having left their home in Dallas the week before, they were now on the final leg of their vacation journey to Israel.  For many years, Marie had been longing to visit the Holy Land.  This trip was going to be perfect.  They were going in style -- nothing but the best: first class on the best flights, the best hotels, no expense spared.  They had even been lucky enough to book seats aboard a chartered Concorde.

      They were celebrating Rob’s computer innovation.  His patent royalties had made comfortable living possible, and, for the first time in their lives, they actually had the means to take a real vacation and enjoy themselves.

      Sensitive to her husband’s concern, Marie embraced him and captured his attention with her eyes.  “Hey, look at me, not the garden!”

      He closed his eyes and smiled.  He knew she was right.  When he opened them again, he was staring directly into her smile. 

      “I know Sy.  And let me tell you, his theory isn’t his best part!”

      Rob’s smile turned to laughter, and he gave her a tight appreciative squeeze.  “Oh, yeah?  Are you sure?”

      “I wouldn’t have all these children if I weren’t!”

      Rob’s attention turned as he watched their children coming back to tug on his slacks.  “We got up to a hundred, but there are just too many leaves to count, Daddy.”  David said seriously.  Such a little man.  “Can we go eat now?”

      “We want hamburgers!”  Michael piped in.

      “Hangleburs!” Rebekah squeaked with glee.

      “We’re tired of Yoo-peen food,” David added.

      Rob picked Michael up.  “I guess it’s no more Yoo-peen food for us, then!  Let’s see if we can find a McDonald’s around here.”

      They left the garden to find a cab to the airport.  The Concorde would be leaving in just a few hours.

      The cab driver proved to be less than friendly as he grudgingly took the “Yanks” through a McDonald’s on the way to the airport.  Rob wasn’t sure if the driver’s rudeness was a result of true abrasiveness or his own imagination.  What he knew for certain was that he was more than happy to step into the airport terminal.

      As they approached their assigned gate, Marie touched his elbow.  “I’m taking the children to the restroom before we board, okay?”

      He looked down at Michael holding his pants.  If they were at their country home in Dallas, he probably would have found a tree already.  “Go ahead.  I’ll be here.”

      As she walked off with the children in tow, he sat down by two businessmen pouring over their laptops.  He didn’t want to be intrusive, but he couldn’t control his curiosity.  He cleared his throat.

      The man closest to him looked up, distracted.

      “Pentium?”

      “Nothing less.”

      Rob smiled.  Finally, someone with whom he could communicate.  He held out his hand.  “Rob Anderson from Dallas.”

      “Really?  I’m Sonny Grant, and this is my partner, Jason Katz.  We’re from Chicago... North Chicago.”

      “Traveling on business?”

      “Got that right!  We’ve a small communications business and we’re looking to set up a branch in Israel.  How ‘bout yourself?  You a techy?”

      Rob smiled as he thought about the work he recently published.  “Well, let’s just say that when I get cut, I bleed silicone.”

      Both Grant and Katz laughed.  Grant cast an inquisitive eye over his new friend.  “I’m an electrical engineer, and my partner is a communications specialist.  How ‘bout yourself?”

      “Me?  Oh, I just listen to her.”  He tilted his head toward Marie as she approached with the children.

      Katz nudged Grant.  “I’d listen to her, too!”

      Rob pretended not to notice the comment as Marie stopped in front of him.  “Hold your daughter while I take the boys to get something to drink.”

      “Aye, Captain.”  He mock saluted her in mock pirate fashion, dissolving the children into giggles.  Then he set his daughter on his lap before turning to the men again.  “Katz.  That’s Jewish, isn’t it?”

      Katz closed his laptop and leaned forward.  “Yeah, but believe it or not, this is the first time I’ve ever been to Israel.”

      “Oh, I can believe that.”

      Just then, a group of young men sat down in the seats across from him.  They were carrying two large cameras and talking loudly.

      Rob waved them down.  “Hey, I didn’t know they were making a movie on this flight.”

      The man across from him gave him a quick glance.  “Travel in the Fast Lane.”

      Rob cocked his head, brows furrowed. “Pardon?”

      “Travel in the Fast Lane.  That’s the name of the film.  It’s just an advertisement flick the airline’s paying for.  Who knows, maybe someday you’ll see yourself in a commercial.”

      “You sound American.”

      “I am.  Philip Rogers.”  He shook Rob’s hand.  “This is Lonnie Douglas, my head cameraman.”

      Lonnie smiled at the little girl on Rob’s lap and waved.  She buried her head in Rob’s chest, then looked back out of the corner of her eye. 

      “You do many of these?”

      “Actually, this is my first flick since I got out of college.  So you’ll understand what I mean when I say it has to be perfect.”

      Rob knew only too well how hard it is to get started. “I’ve been down that road, too.”

      He cuddled his daughter.  He was looking forward to spending some hard-earned quality time with his family.  This trip was going to be perfect.

 

London International Airport

London, Great Britain

 

      Kalven threw the bag over the airport fence at the remote east side before punching in as usual for his baggage handler job.  Once inside, he made his way to the east fence to collect his bag, then returned to work.  Since the flight was not scheduled to leave until mid-morning, he had several hours to work and think about what he was doing.  He agonized.  He was about to lose everything he loved.  It took all his effort to fight off the powerful urge to call his wife and spill his heart.  She deserved to know.  But he couldn’t risk it.

      Fifteen minutes before the flight was scheduled to leave, he changed clothes and entered the Concorde’s jetwalk.  At the end of the tunnel, an emergency exit spiraled to the ground.  Through that exit, he entered the airplane.

      It’s too easy, he thought, as the flight attendant greeted him with a friendly smile.  “Thank you, sir.  Enjoy your flight.”

      He walked into the cabin, noting that it was mostly filled.  He recognized the large Arab who sat near the back, but neither acknowledged the other.  He put his bag into the overhead cabinet directly above the Arab’s seat and said nothing.

      Kalven had grown up hating Israel.  Like most Palestinians, he believed that the land of Israel belonged to his people, not the Jews.  Because his father had been an important businessman, he had lived and been educated in Great Britain.  He vowed as a teenager that someday he would do his part to help his people, so he joined the PLO when he was seventeen years old. 

      Because of his education and ability to speak fluent English, he had been selected by the PLO for a special operation in which people prepositioned in countries around the world could be called upon if needed.  He was able to blend into the British society without notice.  Giving him an identity was no problem since he already had British citizenship.  Giving him a job background so he could work at an airport proved to be the only challenge.

      As the years passed, he married and had children.  He lived in a lovely house in the suburbs and had developed a circle of close friends.  His old life as a PLO member was just a distant memory, a part of his past about which not even his wife was aware.  He had hoped it would remain that way.  But that hope was short-lived.

      An unexpected visitor made it clear to him that he was still expected to finish what he had started.  There would be no turning back now.

 

Gate 23, London International Airport

London, Great Britain

 

      Logan set his overnight bag down beside the telephone as he stood in the terminal beside the gate. He looked very much the part of a tourist: blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a casual shirt all helped him play the part of an average person waiting for his flight.  He looked more European than Israeli,  making him the perfect candidate for an envoy, a job that he was coming to loathe.  His slender medium build and obvious lack of exercise helped him blend into the crowd.

      He glanced around as he pulled his wallet from his pocket.  Still nobody following him.  He grimaced as he realized his tendency to live his life in a state of semi-paranoia.  This would be the last time he’d check his messages before he was home in Israel.

      As he pulled the calling card from his wallet and dialed the number, he half-noticed a small group of Arabs boarding his flight, but since this was a flight to Israel, that was neither suspicious nor unusual.  The tall one did seem familiar, he thought, but his attention quickly turned as his secretary answered the phone.

      “Mr. Logan?”  It was the voice of his secretary, Amanda.

      “It’s me!  The sky is blue over London,” he said.  His statement would not have sounded the least bit unusual to anyone near, but to Amanda, it was her signal that it was really him.

      “I’m very pleased to hear that, and I’m very glad you called.  We have reason to believe that Cheetah is on your flight.”

      Logan felt his strength leave him momentarily, and he had a sudden urge to sit down.  Cheetah was the code name given to the unknown terrorist believed to be responsible for over a dozen bombings and at least a dozen murders of top-ranking Israeli government and military leaders.  In each of the bombings and murders, the only clue left at the site were the initials CTA, usually written in the blood of one of the victims.  Both American and Israeli computers had pounded away unsuccessfully at different possibilities.  So finally they had given the initials a code name: CheeTAh.  If the Cheetah was near, so was the target.

      “Mr. Logan?  Are you still there?”

      “Yes, I’m sorry, Amanda.  You just took me by surprise.”

      “We’d like you to take a different flight, just in case.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous! If Cheetah’s on this flight, then I have a chance to discover him.  I just saw some familiar Arabs get on.  Do you know which of our officials are also flying?”

      “Just you.”

      Logan felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.  He had not even considered the possibility that he might be the target.  He never viewed himself as being important enough for the likes of the Cheetah!  Should he change his flight?  Though his training had covered some field procedures, he certainly did not possess the training that would be required to go up against a man of this caliber.

      “No, I think I’ll stay on the flight.”

      “We can’t get agents there in time to join you for the flight, but we will have them on the ground waiting for you when you arrive.”

      Logan hung up the phone and glanced toward the gate.  He thought he caught a glimpse of a swarthy, middle-eastern man enter through the jetwalk’s emergency exit.  Sweat broke out across his forehead and palms.  He might have just imagined it, but regardless, he was going to have to get ahold of himself.  Maybe he should reconsider his decision to take this flight.

      He picked up his overnight bag and proceeded down the jetwalk to the airplane.  Once inside, he moved slowly down the aisle, searching the eyes of the different passengers.  Everyone seemed to be staring at him, and the cabin seemed unusually quiet.  Toward the back, the group of Arabs he’d noticed earlier were sitting partially spread out.  The tall one was familiar.  Maybe he was the Cheetah.

      As Logan placed his bag in the overhead compartment, he recognized the man sitting across from him as being the one he thought he saw enter through the emergency exit.  “I believe you have my seat.”

      The man pulled out his ticket and showed him the seat assignment.  It all looked in order.

      Logan pulled out his ticket to look at it again.  “Oh, my mistake.”  He smiled and sat down.

      His name was Kalven, and he tried to burn that name and face into his mind.  He tried not to look that way again.  Where had he seen that tall Arab in the back before?

 

Concorde Flight 1430

London, Great Britain to Tel Aviv, Israel

 

      Having left London, the Concorde quickly climbed to sixty thousand feet.  It was hard to imagine just how fast a thousand miles per hour is.  You could cross a quarter of a mile in under a second!

      Rob sat next to Marie holding Rebekah, who had been sleeping since they left the ground an hour ago.  David sat by the window so he could see out, while Michael, seated between his brother and mother, was asleep also.

      Rob smiled at Marie and lifted his diet soda into the air.  She smiled back and lifted her juice up to toast with him.  “So tell me, just what are we toasting?”

      “The theory, of course.”

      “Oh, yes, the little theory.”

      “The little theory?  I’ll have you know that my little theory is what made all this possible.”

      “Yes, yes, honey.  I was just teasing.  I didn’t know I was going to hit a tender spot with you.  You must be feeling better about things, then.”

      “Well, like you said, there’s no point in worrying.  I want us to enjoy this vacation.”

      “Good.  That’s what I wanted to hear.”  She leaned over and kissed him.

      He smiled again.  “Now where is my little diskette?”

      Marie patted her purse.  “Right here by my heart.  Don’t worry, love.  Your secrets are safe with me.”

      The flight attendants had finished serving lunch and were now gathered into a front cabin where those passengers closest could hear them giggling about something.  Rob looked around at the rest of the passengers: some businessmen with their laptops, a couple of rabbis, a television news crew, a group of young girls, several American and British couples, a few Israeli army officers, and many other Jewish and Arab passengers.  Just the standard crowd, he concluded as he got up to go to the restroom.

      As he stood, he handed Rebekah to his wife, hoping that she wouldn’t awaken.  It was going to be interesting to see how their children would hold up on this trip.

      “We are now passing over the Mediterranean,” the captain’s voice boomed over the intercom.  “We are on schedule and should be landing in one hour.”

      Rob made his way to a small compartment in the front of the plane through which the restroom was located.  Inside the compartment were two flight attendants busily talking about the dates they had been on the night before.  He crossed the cabin, being careful to not interrupt their conversation, and placed his hand on the latch to the bathroom.

      Suddenly, a loud, thickly-accented voice roared from the passenger cabin.  “Everyone sit down!  We are seizing this airplane!”

      Rob glanced around quickly to find someplace to hide.  The flight attendant’s head turned toward the door, displaying both fear and surprise.  The restroom, he realized, would be the first place they would come to look, but opposite him in the corner was a door.  A closet, perhaps?  He rushed past the flight attendants and jerked the door open.  It was full of blankets and pillows, so he forced himself in, closing the door behind him.

      As the door closed, he noticed one of the flight attendants watching him as she hurried toward the passenger cabin.  He closed the door, being careful not to latch it, and squeezed under the fabric.  He didn’t know what he hoped he could accomplish by hiding, but he knew he had more of a chance to do something if the need arose than the others would.

 

      Nancy Moore fit easily into her stereotypical role as lead flight attendant.  Her sinewy African-American body and long legs turned many heads when she walked by.  Recently divorced following twelve years of marriage, she found herself thinking of her six-year-old son.  He had been living with his father since her flight schedule took her away from home for days at a time.

      She had loved only one man, and she married him -- her high school sweetheart.  He chose to pursue a career in law while she became a flight attendant.  Over the years, they grew more distant and apart.  Her husband had made a life of his own that left no room for her.

      Having had had hijack training, she knew that the best thing to do in a situation like this is to cooperate.  For now, she knew she needed to keep the other flight attendants calm.  It would not be too difficult to feel protective toward them.  Despite how hard she tried to fit in on the same level with the younger single attendants, she always felt fake.  She would laugh and listen to them talk about their dates, even make up dates of her own, but it always seemed so hollow.  She needed her husband and child back to feel whole again.  But since this would never happen, she had to find her motherly fulfillment and sense of necessity from her work, from this flight, and from these people.

      She hesitated for just a moment when she saw a man enter the linen closet, but for some reason, she decided to let him go.

 

      Out in the small compartment, Rob heard the door of the restroom open.  “Where did he go?”

      “Check over there.  Kern, you and Opar go and secure the flight crew.”

      So there must be at least four of them, Rob thought.  He heard the door of his closet open, and someone pushed on the covers.  Then the door slammed.  A pillow or blanket must have caught in the door because the door did not latch.  It swung back open about an inch and a half.  By moving just slightly to his right, he could see into the small cabin through a crack between the pillows.

      A large muscular Arab was giving direction.  “Get the bombs out and set them for forty-five minutes.  I want them to detonate directly over Tel Aviv.  We will be in Allah’s arms tonight.  You’ll see your family soon.”  He walked back into the passenger cabin.  “No one will be hurt as long as you cooperate.  Euraphas, bring the Israeli officers to me in here.”

      Now, Rob thought, that makes at least five.  He heard someone being pushed, a thud and moan.  He could see through the cracked door the two Israeli Army officers being pushed into the small cabin and lined up against the wall opposite the closet where he hid.  The officers seemed to know that they were about to die, but they showed no fear.

      A terrorist with what looked like an Uzi sub machine gun stood in front of them.  He grabbed the tie of the senior officer and muttered something.   The officer pushed the terrorist away and spit in his face.  With that, the machine gun erupted in two short bursts, and both officers fell to the floor.      Rob gasped and closed his eyes, trying not to breathe.  He was afraid that his gasp had been heard.

      “These men were criminals!  You see this is no game to us!   We will kill you, all of you, if necessary.  Remain seated and silent, and no harm will come to you.”

 

      Logan finally recognized the leader of these terrorists and hoped that he would not be recognized himself.   Though he was an officer in the Israeli military, he had very little experience in actual combat.  He often traveled in suit and tie or casual clothes, and, because of the nature of the information he was privy to, he often went under an assumed name.  This was one situation where that practice could possibly save his life.

      His small stature was not intimidating.  He could only hope to be mistaken for American.  But what was the name of this large terrorist?  Servon.  Yes, that was it, Servon.

      Servon was tall, nearly seven feet, and massive in size, an intimidating presence.  Across his left cheek, he had an unmistakable shrapnel scar.  His heartless raids against Israeli civilians were legendary, and Israel had posted a fifty thousand dollar bounty on his capture or death.

       Logan reflected on the meeting with American and British officials he had just left.  The arrogant officials refused to accept the obvious.  If their intelligence had not found the information, then it didn’t exist!  His documents proved that Iraq’s new military buildup was more than just an exercise: they had invasion plans.  This time, Iraq was going to avoid the American presence in Kuwait and invade Saudi Arabia, surrounding and cutting off American forces.  Could this be prelude to the new war? he wondered.

 

      Over the next half hour, Rob stood in the closet trying not to move.  He could see only the dead officers.  How were his wife and children doing?  It was so quiet in the passenger cabin.   What would they do to him if they found him?  Should he give himself up?

      The terrorists seemed preoccupied arguing amongst themselves.  Two of them did not seem to know that their leader intended to murder everyone on board, including himself.  Maybe that could help us eventually, thought Rob.  Maybe that’s why they never checked the passenger manifest to make sure all the passengers were accounted for.  Then again, he thought sarcastically, perhaps this is just their first suicide/murder mission.

      If bombs really were set, then Rob knew he had to do something.  No one else knew about the bombs, and the only soldiers on the flight were dead.  The other passengers were probably too frightened to think and were just hoping that everything would be okay.  Then he noticed an argument in the little cabin just a few feet away from his door.

      “I told you.  No!”  It was the voice of the leader.  “We need them to fly the plane.  They must die with the rest of us.”

      “But they know something is wrong.  They refuse to fly over Tel Aviv.  They say they avoid population centers when we get to the mainland.”

      “Okay, then. We’re over water now, so we are still on course.  Tell them to put the airplane on autopilot because I want to talk with them both.  When they do that, kill them.”

 

      God, no! Rob thought.  But what could he do?  They wanted to kill the flight crew to burn their bridges and make sure there is no way out.  He pushed the door open a little and looked into the cabin.  It was empty.  Then he heard the repetition of automatic gunfire.  As he stepped into the small cabin he could feel his legs shaking.  Fear had taken his strength.  What do you think you’re going to do? Rob asked himself.

      Suddenly, on the other side of the cabin, a door opened.  A short, hairy terrorist with blood splattered over his face and body stepped into the small cabin.  He didn’t seem to notice Rob at first, so Rob jumped at him, taking him by surprise.  He didn’t react fast enough as Rob pulled the weapon from his hands and fell back onto the floor.  The terrorist caught himself from falling and started to regain his balance.  Rob wrapped his finger around the trigger and pointed the gun at the terrorist.  For an instant, he wondered if the gun was empty.  As the terrorist leaped toward him, he closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger so tightly he thought he would break the gun.  It jumped in his hand.

      When he opened his eyes again, the terrorist was on the floor next to him.  Shredded blood-stained cloth lay upon his chest.  I had no choice, he thought.  If these men were willing to commit suicide, surrender would be out of the question.  He realized as he looked at the slumped body that this was the one who wanted to go to Allah to be with his family.  Well, looks like he got his wish a little earlier than planned, he thought as he turned toward the passenger cabin.

      The gun he was holding was empty now, and the others would be coming for sure.  He pushed himself to his feet just as the big, muscular terrorist leader stepped into the door.

      The terrorist’s eyes fell on his comrade’s body.  He just stood in the door and slowly turned his face until he was looking squarely at his comrade’s killer.

      Move! Rob screamed at himself and threw the empty machine gun at Servon’s face.  As the terrorist raised his hand to deflect the gun, Rob lunged at him and swung his fist as hard as he could into the only soft spot he could think of... the neck.  Rob could feel the Adam’s apple smash under his knuckles and saw him grab for his throat in pain.  Servon remained on his feet, allowing Rob to notice the semi-automatic pistol sticking out of his opponent’s pants.  Was it a six, nine, or fifteen shot gun, or was it empty? he wondered.  It’s incredible some of the things that pass through your mind during emergencies, Rob thought.

      Rob grabbed the gun and stepped back to fire two shots into the man’s chest, throwing him backward into another armed terrorist.  The gun must have been high caliber because it hurt his wrist when it fired.  The other terrorist quickly regained his balance and pushed away the body of his fallen friend.  But before he could raise his gun again, Rob had his gun ready.  The terrorist was looking directly into Rob’s eyes as Rob pulled the trigger.  The man’s head exploded, throwing blood and bones all over Rob and the passengers nearest him.  Rob’s stomach wretched.  He had just killed a woman.

      By this time, passengers were screaming.  To his left, a film crew holding cameras and lights were filming the entire episode.  Some passengers were on their feet while others were trying to crawl under their seats.  His distraction ended as the crack of several shots swished past his head and thudded behind him.  At the opposite end of the passenger cabin, two more terrorists stood.  One was trying to aim his pistol at Rob, while the other was coming out of a rear cabin.

      Rob dropped and crouched, pointing his gun in the direction of the terrorist, but his eye stopped to focus on one of the passengers in front of him.  Just six inches from the line of fire and midway back through the cabin sat his wife.  Six inches to her right and thirty feet behind her was the terrorist, aiming his gun back at Rob.  Then Rob saw a puff of smoke, and the arms of the terrorist raised as a bullet was fired and thudded behind him.  The screams and shouts from the passengers around him prevented him from hearing the shot.

      He should have taken time to aim, Rob thought.  I will.  “Please don’t move, Marie,” Rob whispered as he pulled the trigger.  A patch of red erupted outward from the terrorist’s chest as the bullet impacted and forced him against the wall.

      Rob pointed the gun in the direction of the other terrorist as he laid on the aisle floor.  Quickly, he looked back and forth, but the terrorist was gone.  He fought hard the urge to look around at all the people, the shouting, the screaming.  He wanted desperately to yell at them to shut up, but he couldn’t afford to lose his focus.  He slowly stood to his feet with the gun outstretched, moving slowly from side to side.

      “Please, please,” an old rabbi said to the other passengers. “We must be quiet.  Everyone must please sit down and be quiet.”  Somehow, his words seemed to affect the other passengers.

      How long has it been? Rob wondered.  Is our time about up?  Should I go after the last terrorist or go for the bombs?  But was that indeed the last terrorist?  He burst into sweat at the thought that there could be one behind him in the restroom.  Or perhaps in the flight cabin.

      He turned quickly and swung the gun toward the flight cabin, but there was no one there.  “Blast,” he said out loud and swung back around.  But there he stood, in the rear of the passenger cabin aiming his gun directly at Rob.  He jumped to his right just as Kalven fired and squeezed the trigger of his gun.  Kalven’s bullet swished past him, but his hit Kalven in the side.

      Kalven dropped to his knees and held his side as Rob fell onto the two businessmen.  They eagerly pushed Rob off and away from them as he pointed his gun again at the last terrorist.  Kalven already had his gun pointing at Rob but was not firing.  Rob quickly pulled the trigger.  Nothing happened.  Again he fired.  Click.  Click.

      His gun was empty!

      Rob stood there for a moment frozen trying to think of where the terrorist behind had dropped his gun.  He realized there was no place to go, so he dropped his pistol and waited for the shot.  The shot never came.

      Kalven knelt, bleeding badly but still pointing his gun at Rob. “You must pull the blue wires from the cap.”

      Rob was stunned.  Not only was this terrorist trying to save them, but he was speaking perfect English.

      “You must pull the blue wire from the cap!”

      “The bombs?”

      “Yes, yes, of course the bombs!  Pull the blue wires from the igniters.  And do not think of being a hero or... or... I will shoot her.”  He pointed his gun at one of the young girls.

      “I don’t know where the bombs are.”

      “They are up there under the sink.” Kalven waved his gun toward the small cabin.  “Go! Go now! You must be quick about it, there are less than five minutes left.”

      Never mind why this terrorist had an apparent change of heart.  Rob raced into the small cabin and opened the door under the sink.  Just as he was told, there were two bombs.  Each consisted of an eight-stick bundle of dynamite with a blasting cap in the center that was attached to a timer and two batteries.  He was right, there were less than two minutes left, so he had to be quick.

      “Great.”  There was a red, a blue, and a green wire.  “I sure hope he isn’t color blind.”

      Two quick pulls, and both blue wires were removed from the blasting caps.  “Should I remove the batteries, too?”

      “No, a small battery will detonate the device if you attempt to remove power or take it apart.”

      We’ll know shortly if he’s telling the truth, Rob thought.  There was now less than a minute left on the timer.

      Nancy was still standing.  “Please, please. We must be quiet and settle down.  Things are...  are difficult, I realize that.  But we all need to do the only thing that we can all do that will help: stay calm and quiet.  Everything will be okay.  It will be. I promise you.”

      Her words took effect almost miraculously.  It immediately became silent as everyone looked at her.

      There was absolute quiet as Rob waited.  Click, click.  The timers expired, but there were no explosions.  Then came a deep sigh as he got to his feet slowly, but what now would this terrorist want?  Why did he want to stop the bombs from going off?  Also, if the timers went off, then the flight must now be over Tel Aviv!  But how are we going to land, and how long can we stay in the air without pilots?

      He looked around the small cabin for a weapon.  Nothing.  Well, he told himself, I could try beating him to death with a pillow.  There was no place to go but back out, and nothing to do but to take whatever the terrorist had in mind.

      He stepped out into the passenger cabin.  The terrorist was still kneeling, holding his side with one hand and the gun with the other.  A pool of blood was growing beneath him.  He would not last much longer.

      “What do you want?”

      He didn’t move.

      “What do you...”

      “I heard you the first time.  You don’t have to repeat yourself, you know.  You may have killed me, but I’m not deaf.  You have killed me.  You can see I am dying.”  Kalven was looking directly at Rob.  “You are good. You are very good, you know.  At killing, I mean.  You’ve done a very good job of it.  You killed us all, and for that, I can only thank you.”

      There was a short pause as he stared at Rob, apparently sizing him up and trying to decide what to do.

      “Let’s get it over with.”

      “Over?  Oh, no... no, no, no.  It is not over, and it will not be over until I am home, on my soil, in my country, and there... there I will die, and then it will be over!  Not before.”

      “Well that’s not likely to happen now, is it?  You killed the only people on this flight who could have landed this plane.”  There were gasps as Rob realized that the other passengers were unaware that the flight crew was dead.

      “Nooo...  That is not true, you... Yes, you can land this plane.”

      “You’re crazy!”  Rob knew the insanity of his remark almost before he uttered it.  Of course he was crazy!  He was going to blow himself up over Israel!  “I can’t fly, much less land, a plane!”

       “Nooo...” Kalven waved his gun at Rob. “Nooo... That is not true.  You are obviously Special Forces.  You can do things like this!”

       “No!!!  I’m not Special Forces or anything!  I’m a programmer!  A computer programmer!  Do you understand?”

      “No!  You can and will fly this airplane to my home in Baghdad and land there.  You will do this or...”  He pointed the gun around the cabin. “Or I will start shooting people.  Go now.  Go now and take me home.  It makes no difference to me.  I can shoot you or I can shoot the others, and we can all die.  It makes no difference to me.” 

      Rob looked around the cabin.  He was right. It really didn’t make any difference.  What’s the worst that could happen?  We all die?  No matter how he looked at it, the results were the same.  Even if the terrorist did not want it, someone had to at least try to fly the airplane.  “Does anyone here have flying experience?”

      “Is the flight crew really dead?” one of the businessmen asked.

      “I’m afraid so.”

      “We’re all going to die, then.  Aren’t we.”

      “Look, I’m not your captain.  I’m just a passenger like you.”

      Everyone began to talk.  Some were crying.

      “Look!  We can all sit here and complain, or we can at least try something.  I don’t know what, but something anyhow.”

      There was a long pause as Rob looked at each blank face.

      “I flew in Korea,” the rabbi said.

      “Do you think you can fly this thing?”

      “Look closely at me.”

      Rob scanned the rabbi and shrugged.

      The rabbi shook his head.  “No.  Look at these.”  He lifted up his arms.  They were only stumps.  “Korea.  That is where I lost them.”

      “Can you help me do it, then?”

      “I don’t know.  It has been so long, and so many things have changed.”

      “Would you at least try?  If we can’t figure out how to land this thing, we’ll all die.”

      “Would that be so bad?”

      “Maybe not for you, but what of them?” Rob pointed at his children sitting directly across from the rabbi.

      The old man stared at the children for a long while, then he stood and looked at Rob.  “For them.  Yes.”

      The old rabbi followed Rob to the flight cabin where a grim sight met them.  The flight crew lay on the floor just outside the flight cabin, their eyes and mouths still open.  Rob turned into the small cabin and threw up into the sink. 

      “You’ve never seen the face of death before.”

      “I can’t do this.”

      “You can’t?  Or you won’t?  I’ve seen these faces many times.  Never does one get used to the sight.”

      “How is it that a Jewish rabbi fought in Korea, anyway?”

      “Just because I’m Jewish doesn’t mean I can’t be American.”  He smiled.  “Yes, I fought in the Philippines with MacArthur.  I’m very old, you see.  I fought in Israel’s War of Independence, too.  Now, you be strong.  These people need a strong leader, and so does your family.”

      There is something very strange about this rabbi, thought Rob.  He seems able to look right through me.

 

      Nancy slowly walked toward the terrorist.  He was breathing heavy, too weak to hold his gun in an upright position, but he did notice her approaching.  Why he chose not to respond made no difference to her, for he was an injured and dying man who needed aid.

      “You’re bleeding very badly.” Nancy knelt near him.  But the terrorist seemed in a different world.

      “You see those children there?”

      “Yes.”

      “I have children the same age.  I... I will never see them again.”  His body shook.  “I want you to know that I am not a terrorist.  I am not a murderer.  Not anymore.”

      “Then why are you involved with these people?”

      “If I didn’t cooperate, my family would be killed.  I didn’t want to do this, I had to.  Please, will you get a message to my family?”

      “I don’t know where to look for...”

      “No, not in Baghdad.  My family lives in London.  My wife and children are British.  My name is Kalven.  Tell my wife that I tried to stop them from blowing up the plane.  Tell her I am not PLO.  Tell her that I am sorry about what I’ve had to do.  And tell her that I’m sorry I could not tell her the truth.  Please tell her I killed no one and that I tried to help.  Please!”

      “Why Baghdad?  Why not land in Israel where we’re scheduled to land?”

      Kalven wheezed, struggling with each breath.  “I will die a free man.   In Baghdad... I will be a hero.”

      She reached out to catch him as he fell forward onto the floor.  His body went limp.  Perhaps now he has found peace, she thought.

 

      Rob moved the bodies away from the entrance of the flight cabin, and it began to dawn on him what he had done.  Try as he may, he couldn’t get the looks on the faces of the people he had killed today out of his mind.  It was like a movie constantly replaying in his mind.  He winced at the memory of each facial expression of agony as they died.  He closed his eyes, trying to block the memory.

      The rabbi was watching him.  “Those faces.  You’ll see them the rest of your life.”

      Rob stopped and put down the body of the last of the flight crew in the small cabin.  “How did you know what I was thinking?”

       “Oh, we rabbis have our sources.”  He glanced upward.  “We have our ways.”

      Rob and the rabbi sat down in the pilot seats and strapped the seatbelts.  “Uh-oh.”

      “Yes?”

      “How long do you think it has been since I disarmed the bombs?”

      “Maybe forty or forty-five minutes.”

      “We’ve probably not only overflown Israel but Jordan, too.”

      “Then that would make us over Iraq?”

      “That’s right.”

      “Then that explains who that is.”

      Rob looked at the rabbi and followed his gaze.  “Why am I not surprised?”

      Two Russian-made MIG fighters with Iraqi markings were pulling up alongside them.

      “They’ve probably been trying to call us.  How do you turn on the radio?”

      The rabbi nodded toward the headsets.  “You probably have to wear those.”

      “Of course!  They could have been yelling through the speakers, and I never would have heard it.”

      Just then, a flight attendant burst in.  “Did you see those fighters out there?”

      “Yes.  How are the passengers holding up?  Hello, this is Flight... uh... What’s our flight number?”

      “1430, and they’re doing fine.”

      “This is Flight 1430, and this is a mayday.  Repeat, this is a mayday, over.  How do you turn this on?”  Rob flipped a switch.

       “...or we will shoot you down.   I repeat, American or British flight, lower your landing gear. Slow to three five zero knots and turn left at heading zero-eight-seven degrees, or we will shoot you down.  Over.” 

      Rob pressed another button, causing the speakers to cut out.  Sure hope this is transmit, he thought.

       “Does anybody read me, over.” Rob spoke into the microphone while putting the headset on.

      “American or British flight, I do read you.  Will you yield to my instructions?”

      “Yes, of course we will.  We have a problem.  Terrorists have killed our flight crew and forced us into your airspace.”

      “Let me talk to one of these terrorists.”

      Rob looked at the flight attendant. “Can you get...”

      “He’s dead.”

      “The terrorists are dead,” Rob said into the microphone and grimaced.

      “How did they die?”

      Rob held his breath and looked first at the rabbi, then at the flight attendant.  They both were looking just as blank as he felt.

      “They were shot by... They were shot... by... some Israeli officers who were on this flight.  And the officers were also killed.”

      The rabbi nodded approvingly.

      Again a long moment of silence passed.  Rob and the rabbi kept busy trying to understand what all the equipment was for.  They figured out how to drop and lock the landing gear, correct the air speed, and alter their course.   The airplane was remarkably easy to fly.

      “Consider something.  We currently have no pilot.”

      “Yeah...”

      “There is no one for the Iraqis to answer to for us.   Or to represent us to them.  In a situation like this, they have no reason not to split us up and dispose of us as they will.  Do you understand what I am trying not to say?”

      “I... think... so...  Are you saying that if there were a pilot, the Iraqis would tend to hold him responsible?  That he would take the brunt of their anger?”

      “You are very perceptive.”

      Rob turned to the flight attendant.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know your name.”

      “Nancy.”

      “Would you get me the jacket, hat, and tie from the captain?  Oh, also ask my wife to come up here.”

      After a long period of silence from the Iraqi fighters, the radio finally sounded.  “Flight 1430, you must drop to ten thousand feet, correct course for zero three seven degrees, and await further instructions.”

      “Roger that.  Where are we being taken?”

      “Which of your flight crew remains?”

      “Just me.  I’m the pilot.  Where are we being taken?”

      “Flight 1430, you have violated Iraqi airspace and are being escorted to an airfield where your aircraft will be searched to determine if your mission over our airspace was of an intelligence nature.  You will be detained there while your civilian authorities are contacted and arrangements can be made for your release into their custody.”

 

      Since the radio was piped over the intercom, Logan knew what all this meant for him.  All his intelligence reports and any other documentation that might give away his identity had to be destroyed.  But he had the list of code keys that was invaluable to the future de-encrypting of Iraqi codes.  This paper had to be memorized before it was destroyed, and it was impossible for him to do it alone.

      He looked around.  He had to find someone likely to help him, yet most unlikely to be suspected of espionage.  Again he noticed the American woman sitting with her three children.  Perfect, he thought, but will she help?  He picked up his briefcase and sat down beside her.  “Do you mind if I sit here for a minute?”

      “Only if you plan to help me with the children.”

      “I just wanted to tell you that you’ve done a remarkable job with your children through all of this.  I think it’s a shame that Americans must suffer because of this stupid war between the Jews and the Arabs.”

      “I’m afraid I don’t share your frustration.”

      “No?”

      “No.  You see, my husband is part Jewish.  That makes my children Jewish, and I’m an adopted Jew.”

      “Then, would it be safe to assume that you are sympathetic to Israel?”

      “It would indeed.”

      Logan was ecstatic.  He looked up and muttered a prayer in Hebrew.  “Ma’am, I’m sorry I can’t spend a lot of time answering all the questions you will soon be asking me because I have something of the utmost importance to ask of you.  My name is Jonathan Logan, and I am an intelligence officer in the Israeli army.  I have important papers that must be given to the Israeli, American, or British authorities.  These papers represent the security of our nations.  It is obvious that we will be searched by the Iraqis when we land, so I must destroy this documentation.  I need help in memorizing the information before we land.  Would you please consider helping me?  The nation of Israel would be in your debt.”

      “What is it?  It kind of looks like code.”

      “Can you memorize it?”

      “Yes, of course. I have an excellent memory.”

      “Ma’am, I...”

      “My name is Marie.  Marie Anderson.”

      “Oh, yes.  Marie, I can’t stress to you just how important it is that you do not forget any of it!   I was to have given this information to your authorities yesterday, but for some reason, it was not accepted very well.”

      “Knowing something of ‘my’ authorities, I’m not much surprised.  But I assure you, I have a photographic memory.  I haven’t really exercised it much since college, but this looks simple enough.”

      Simple?  This looks simple to her?  Logan stared at Marie for a moment.  She must really be something if she thinks it looks simple.  Could he trust her?  He was putting a great deal of confidence into what she was telling him.  What if she couldn’t do it?  The documents would still have to be destroyed.

      “Very well.”  He went back to his own seat, leaving the document with her.  The flight attendant came over and led Marie to the front.

      He looked around at the dead Arabs.  One of them had to be the CheeTAh, and this flight must have been the target.  Now no one would know for sure just who he was.  Maybe this whole group is CTA, he thought.  One thing bothered him, though: if this was the CheeTAh’s work, he would have known it to be his last mission.  Why would the CheeTAh, with all his success, have planned on a suicide mission?  Something didn’t add up.

 

      By the time Marie made it into the cabin, Rob was wearing the captain’s uniform.  It almost fit, too.  Aside from the blood stains on the coat, he looked very much the part.

      “Marie, this is very important.  I’m sorry that I don’t have time to explain all the reasons for what I’m about to ask of you, but I need you to take a giant leap of faith.  It’s absolutely imperative that you just trust me and do what I ask you to do.”

      Marie nodded, uncertain.

      “You and the children must not let on that you know me.  For your own safety and that of the children, you must keep quiet.”

      “What?”

      The flight attendant switched Rob’s ID with that of the dead captain.

      “Listen, Marie.  Your husband was killed.  He’s lying in the small cabin out there.”

      “I don’t know.  I don’t know if I...?  How can I keep the children from...?  Why are you doing this?  Why is everyone expecting me to trust and no one’s telling me what’s going on?  Why do I have to be kept in the dark about everything?”

      “Please!  Just listen, Marie.  I’m sorry, but we don’t have much time.  As long as we have a pilot, there is a chance that they’ll let us refuel and leave.  Otherwise, they’ll keep us wherever they’re taking us, and the longer we’re there, the harder it will be for us to leave.  There’s so much I’ve got to learn about in a very short time.  Remember, my name is...” Rob glanced at his name tag. “Captain Glen Thomas.  You and Nancy must go and explain to the other passengers what we’re going to do.  We’ll need all of them to cooperate.”

      As she turned to leave, the rabbi caught her arm.  “It will be okay.  There is a special purpose for you and your husband.  Your husband, he is like Moses, and you must trust him.  He is here to lead you all into freedom.”

      Rob caught her eye, he made a motion indicating that the old man was crazy.  But she wasn’t so sure.

      The old man turned his head in time to see what Rob was doing.  “You disagree?”

      Rob smiled.  “Absolutely!  I lucked out in killing those terrorists, so don’t make me into a Moses.”

      The rabbi stared at him for a long moment.  Then he turned back to Marie to continue softly, “...and just like Moses, a reluctant leader.”

      Marie had to smile.  That was Rob, all right.

 

Concorde Flight 1430

Fifteen miles north of Al-Fallujah Air Force Base

Al-Fallujah, Iraq

 

      The Iraqi fighter led the Concorde to a military facility just north of Baghdad.  With the rabbi’s help, Rob had come to understand the controls.  “Okay, the gear is down and set.”

      “Yes, now slow down and feel how the airplane settles back like a graceful bird.”

      Rob gently reduced the throttle and adjusted the flaps.

      “Flying is like music.”  The rabbi waved his right stump back and forth to the beat of an imaginary song.  “Do you feel it?”

      “No.”

      “Yes, that’s it.  It’s like a dance.  There’s rhythm and grace to it.  Feel how the airplane sets back as it slows down.  Do you feel it yet?”

      Suddenly, Rob’s face lit up. “Yes!  I think I do!  I need to continue slowing...  No, that’s too much.”

      “What you just felt was a stall.  The airplane was slowing too much.”

      “I see what you mean about feeling it, though.  I can do this.  This airplane stalls out at under a hundred seventy-five miles an hour.”

      The runway was slowly rising to meet them.

      “Now just before the airplane touches, pull it up slightly to avoid an impact.”

      Rob pulled back the steering control slightly, and the Concorde responded.

      “Let it settle to a rest.”

      A loud screech and a subtle jar rocked the airplane as the rear wheels met the pavement.  Then, slowly, the front wheel came down to rest also.  It was almost professional.  As the Concorde taxied to the end of the runway, it was met by about a dozen armored vehicles and some emergency equipment.

      Rob jumped up to leave the flight cabin, then looked back.  The old rabbi was still sitting.  “Come with me.”

      But the old man just waved his hand and began to sing some hymn in Hebrew while staring out the window.

      Rob stepped back to the rabbi’s side.  “Do you need help?”

      The rabbi stopped singing, looked up, and touched Rob’s chest.  “You have great strength of heart.  You have the courage of King David.”

      “What are you saying now?  I’m not their leader, and I’m not asking to be their leader.”

      The old rabbi’s smile never wavered.  “Neither did Moses ask. It just happened.  Go now and leave me.”

      Rob looked irritated.  “Look, I can appreciate your culture and history, but what’s happening now is not a fairytale, and I’m no knight in shining armor.  I’m a computer programmer, and that’s all.”

      “Tell me, have you ever heard of our King David?”

      “Yes, he lived thousands of years ago.”

      “That is correct.  Did you know he is the greatest warrior my people have ever known?”

      “No, I wasn’t aware of that.”

      “Do you know what he did before he became that warrior?”

      “He was a shepherd, right?”

      “That is correct.  You see, he, too, was an unlikely hero, just as you are.  He was a shepherd, and you are a computer programmer.  You see, it’s not always skill that makes a winner.  Sometimes it just takes heart.  If a lowly shepherd boy could become our greatest king, then what chance does a computer programmer have?”

      The old rabbi gazed piercingly deep into Rob’s eyes.  “You are right to worry about me.  If I come with you, I will only be killed.  Jewish rabbis are not looked upon with favor here.  So go now, you have a long journey awaiting you, and my destiny is here.  Go!  Leave me!”

      Rob left the flight cabin and entered the passenger cabin.  The door was open, and soldiers were boarding.  All the passengers disembarked and grouped together in front of the airplane.  He looked around.  Where’s the old rabbi?  He went to the nearest guard.  “Why wasn’t the old rabbi allowed to leave the airplane?”

      “What is this?  Old rabbi, you say?”

      “The old rabbi in there.  There is an old rabbi still inside the airplane, and I insist that he come with us.”

      “You speak of an old rabbi.  There is none.  No one inside.  Concorde is empty!  Checked side in out, I see no one there!”

      “Let me go look for myself.”

      “You stay.  She can go see.”  The guard pointed his gun at Nancy.

      When Nancy finally emerged, she was alone.

      “Where is he?” Rob asked.

      She looked visibly troubled.  “I don’t know.”

      He studied her face.  Was she hiding something?  Was she only pretending not to know where he was?  For the sake of the old man, he dropped the subject.

 

       Logan knew this place well: his daily intelligence reports almost always referenced this airbase.  It is a highly secure and heavily defended base.  He no longer carried his briefcase, and since he had no other way of destroying his documents permanently, he had eaten them.

 

Day Two

Third Company

Code Name: Times Square

Saudi Arabia/Kuwait border

 

      Patrolling the desert along the Iraqi-Saudi Arabia border, Third Company was part of the American ground force from the First Armor Division.  Attached to them was a Mechanized Company with fourteen Bradley fighting vehicles to add to their own fourteen Abrams tanks.

      The tanks were outfitted with the new one hundred twenty millimeter cannon with thermal sights for night and combat fighting, fully stabilized for fighting on the run.  They had their greatest advantage against the Iraqi tanks when doing battle at night.  The Iraqis found this out the hard way during Desert Storm.  The Abrams tank could see, identify, target, and destroy the Russian-made Iraqi tanks before they even knew the Abrams was there.  For this reason, the Iraqis prepared for a daylight assault centered at the position Third Company now patrolled.

      A Desert Storm veteran, Captain Travis Taylor was the company commander.  He was part of the Armor Division that swept around Kuwait and surrounded the Iraqi army.  He now was standing atop his tank peering through some oversized binoculars at the movement before him.  His tanks were all concealed behind sand dunes.

      “It looks like twenty... maybe twenty-five,” he said into his radio.

      The division commander was located approximately thirty miles behind Taylor’s position in Saudi Arabia.  “We have confirmation that an air attack has just occurred inside Kuwaiti airspace.  This may be the start of an all out offensive.”

      “What are my orders?”

      “You have permission to defend yourselves if attacked.  Under no circumstances are you to initiate an attack.   Keep me posted: I want to know every detail, Captain.”

      Taylor was the son of a Nebraska farmer, and his family had lived there for three generations.  Being too short and skinny when he was in school, he had never taken part in the sports all good Nebraskans should: football and wrestling.  All he was known for was auburn hair and freckles, neither of which was helpful in the environment in which he now found himself.

      He was not considered an exceptional leader.  His last evaluation report stated: “he is meticulous and stays calm in a crisis.”  Translated, it meant he tended to do things by the book and lacked imagination.  That may be true, he thought to himself, but the only way to stall a force as significant as this is by the book.  It would take exact timing and careful execution, something of which he was very capable.

      He had counted more than twenty tanks a little over two miles away with an infantry attachment behind them.  If this was the beginning of an assault, then this would just be the spearhead.  The main force would be a mile or two behind them.  He decided to keep his forces hidden for now and monitor the approaching armor column.  It was his responsibility to stall the invaders until the rest of the division mobilized and reinforced him.  He knew only too well that this would mean bleeding his precious tanks and armored vehicles in order to buy time.

      “Lieutenant, inform the captain of the Mechanized Company that he is to have his Bradleys make their way down to the other side of this formation carefully so they don’t reveal themselves.”  He pointed to an area about five hundred yards west of their present position.  “Over there where that opening is.  When the Iraqis are in range, they are to fire their TOW missiles and take out the lead tanks.  Then scatter and fire at will on any open target.”

      The young lieutenant left to relay the instructions.

      Taylor hoped to surprise the attacking force with the TOW anti-tank missiles.  Then, as the enemy turned their attention on the scattering Bradleys, the Abrams would attack from the other side.  With any luck, the enemy will mistake his company for a much larger force and retreat, buying  the division time to mobilize.

      A typical textbook maneuver, he told himself.

      “General, the advancing columns are two hundred meters from the Saudi border.  Do I have permission to engage?”

      “When the first tank rolls onto the first inch of Saudi territory, you are authorized to engage.  We have just received confirmation that Iraqi aircraft are striking targets in both Kuwait and Saudi Arabia.   You are to assume that this is not a maneuver but an all out attack.  That means you and your company are sitting right in the middle of Times Square.  It’s going to get real hot there, and you can expect attacks from the air shortly.”

      Taylor knew that the infantry from the Mechanized Company had already dispersed anti-aircraft crews and set up their stinger missile launchers.  They were ready.

      When the lead tanks were at seventeen hundred meters and just crossing the Saudi border, Taylor saw the TOW missiles streak away.  Twelve TOW missiles launched from the Bradleys, and within seconds, they exploded on the lead tanks.  Then Taylor’s Abrams moved up the side of the dune and began to fire.  The lead elements of the Armor column was completely destroyed within seconds.  The Iraqi armor had been caught out in the open, and the result was disastrous for them.

      Now, as Third Company repositioned itself to fire again, and the Iraqis attempted regroup for a counter-offensive, one thing was clear: the lines had been drawn.  The war had begun.

 

Al-Fullajuh Air Force Base

Near Al-Fullajuh, Iraq

 

      As the passengers were boarding a bus, Logan couldn’t help but notice the activity at the airbase.  It must have started then, he thought as he made his way onto the bus.  We’re going to be here for a very long time.  He walked down the aisle and sat beside Rob.  Marie was sitting behind Rob with the children.

      “It’s a beautiful day today.”

      Rob gave him a sideways glance.

      “There’s a lot of air traffic going on.”

      “Well, they did just intercept a foreign aircraft invading the airspace.”

      “True.”

 

      Marie overheard the conversation and remembered the page that she had memorized.  She leaned back and stared at the ceiling.  If the page he gave her was even half as important as he suggested, then she must not forget anything.  Not a thing!  She concentrated hard.  She could see the page.  She could see the codes.  There were forty-three lines on the page, each line having twenty-two sets of characters separated by a space.  Line by line, she reviewed the document, studying it until she felt comfortable that each line was etched into her memory.

 

      The bus was accompanied in front and behind by a land rover full of military guards.  The drive took almost two hours, headed in a southeastern direction.  Eventually they arrived at their destination.  From the outside, they could see a tall cement wall surrounding a complex, very stark and abandoned.  In each of the four corners was a raised platform with a machine gun crew and spotlight.  In the center was one large building with steel doors and bars on all the windows surrounded by several smaller units.

      As the passengers were unloaded one at a time and their passports and ID’s checked and recorded, Rob had time to sit and study the complex.  The Iraqis seemed to have no intention of releasing them.  They’d been moved so far out into the desert.  Were they deliberately concealing their location?   Was the prison environment meant to keep them in or rescuers out?  Whatever the case, the Iraqis were certainly expecting a rescue attempt.  At the prospect, he felt both nervous and better at the same time.

      Everyone was allowed to bring with them only the luggage that they had brought on board the flight.   The businessmen had their laptops, the camera crew had its cameras, and the young girls had their makeup.  Then they were escorted to a large room on the second floor of the center building, which looked like it may have been a dormitory at one time.  It had two large, square cement pillars evenly spaced through the center of the room.  There were three large windows laced with thick steel bars imbedded in the cement.  The only way in and out was through two huge doors that hinged opposite each other.  In one corner, a small video camera was mounted on the wall, pointed toward the center of the room. In another, there was a neatly stacked pile of folded blankets and pillows.  At the back corner was another opening where there was a small bathroom lacking a door.

      At this point, the guards began to search them.  Fortunately, these guards were untrained and seemed more concerned with robbing them than they were with security.  They wanted jewelry and money, competing with each other as to who could search the most passengers and collect the most money in the least amount of time.

      Rob watched as one guard listened to the camera crew’s arguments for why they should be able to keep their equipment.  The guard, half listening, seemed more concerned with how many passengers the other guards were going through.  In the end, he allowed the camera crew to keep their equipment and rushed off to search other passengers before the others could get any further.

      Turning around, Rob noticed a curious guard holding a floppy diskette in one hand and Marie’s purse in the other.  He didn’t seem to know what he was holding.  She was fumbling for words.

      Rob had to think fast.  “You have a coaster, Mrs. Anderson?”

      “A what?”

      “What a pretty coaster you have!”  He couldn’t believe he hadn’t come up with something better than that.

      “Yes. Yes!  I always bring a coaster with me so I don’t damage furniture with my drinks.”

      The guard turned it over and cocked his head.  “Drinks?”

      Marie flashed him her most charming, flirtatious smile.  “No, silly.  A coaster!”  She daintily plucked the diskette from his hand and laid it on the table beside her.  Then she took the guard’s drink and set it on top of it.

      “There.  You see? Isn’t that better?”

      “It is worth nothing.”  With that, he hurried off to the next passenger.

      Marie quickly wiped it off and returned it to her purse.

      Rob drew closer, keeping an eye on the guards.  “How is it?”

      “A coaster?  Couldn’t you come up with anything better than that?  I felt like an idiot!”

      Rob smiled mischievously, mocking her performance, “You see?  Isn’t that better?”  He laughed as she scowled at him, trying her best not to smile, but she never could resist his charm.  Huffily, she grabbed the children and joined the others.

      A short time later, four large guards walked in and demanded that the captain accompany them.  Well, Rob thought, it’s finally begun.  Now maybe we’ll get some answers.  They seemed to walk forever -- perhaps to the other side of the compound? -- to a small room with only a chair and a single light hanging from the ceiling.

      “Sit here.”

      “I’m fine right here.”

      The guard caught him in the stomach with the butt of his rifle, sending him to the floor.  An officer walked into the room from behind and stood over him.  His uniform was different from the other military men he had seen so far.  The guard pulled Rob to his feet and forcefully set him into the chair, cuffing his hands behind him.

      “What do you want?”  A fist caught him on his left cheek, sending him and his chair to the floor.  He almost blacked out but managed to stay conscious.

      The officer towered over him.  His English was almost perfect.  “I ask the questions here, understood?”

      Rob nodded as the guards returned him to an upright position.  He was beginning to put the pieces together.  This officer was not like the others.  The enormous chip on his shoulder.  The different uniform.  The perfect English he spoke.  The short wiry frame.  It was all adding up: this man wasn’t Iraqi!  He must be somehow rejected in his own country and is now making everyone he meets pay for his misfortune.

      The officer postured haughtily before him.  He couldn’t have weighed much over a hundred twenty pounds, yet he carried himself as if he weighed two hundred.

      Great, Rob thought.  He’s some kind of sadistic sociopath.

      “I want to know about the intelligence mission you were on.  What countries are involved?  Who do you report to?”

      “We are a civilian fli...”  Another blow, to his left cheek this time, sent him over the other direction.  This time he did lose consciousness and awoke to find himself still lying on the floor.

Wasit Prison Facility

Wasit Territory, East Central Iraq

Prisoner Barracks

 

      Logan sat down by Marie.  “Don’t worry.  We don’t know what they’re up to here, but if they were going to kill us, they would not furnish us with quarters, a bathroom, and pillows and blankets for the night.  I think they’re planning to hold us here for a while, perhaps for some sort of ransom.”

      “Why did they take Rob?”

      “They want some answers, and Rob is the pilot.  At least, that’s what they think.  They’ll probably start by being very tough and accusing him of espionage.  My guess is that they know we were hijacked, and they just want to get the details.”

      “Will they let us go when Rob explains to them what happened?”

      “Don’t count on it.  Tensions are very high between the West and Iraq politically.  Our hijacking took place at probably the worst possible time.  Most people are not aware that it is very possible another war could break out at any moment.”

      “If that happens, what will it mean for us?”

      “Well...  it won’t be good, of course.  It’s hard to say, but I wouldn’t count on being released any time soon.  Rob will be okay.  They will probably beat him but only to hurt him.  Their blows will be measured.  They will attempt to find a weakness of his and exploit it.  If beatings don’t work, they will try something else.  It is absolutely imperative that, when they bring him back, you do not display marital affection, or the next thing they will use is you and your children against him.”

      Marie stared at him, horrified.  “What should I do?”

      “They will be bringing him back soon.  They have no intention of holding him this initial time for very long.  Take the children to a corner and do not allow them to see your husband when they bring him back.  We will care for him for you.  Don’t worry.  He is not alone, and neither are you.”

      He stood up, smiling an indulgent smile at her before he turned to focus his attention on his next task.  Grant was working on his laptop computer when he sat down next to him.  “Nice-looking computer,” he said, examining it closely.

      “Thanks,” Grant replied curtly.

      “Four eighty-six or Pentium?”

      “Pentium one twenty.”  

      “Wow!  Lots of horsepower there.  What do you use it for?  Word processing?”

      Grant stopped working.  “Well, yes.  But I have diagnostic tools on here, too.”

      “Diagnostics!  What are you?  A hacker?”

      Grant closed the laptop.  “No, electrical engineer.  My partner, Jason Katz, and I have a communications company.  We design communications components.”

      “Radio or TV?”

      “Not that kind of communication.  Network communications.”

      “I see.  Could you work with TV if you had to?”

      “Oh, I suppose.  There’s not that much difference in signal.   Why?  You got somethin’ in mind?”

      “Oh, no.”  Logan shook his head.  “You see those cameras the film crew uses?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Could you work on them?  I mean, could you, if necessary, hook something up to them?  Fix them?  Do work on them, like hooking something up to them?”

      “Maybe.  I don’t know.  It depends on what it is and what equipment I had to work with.  What d’ya have in mind?”

      “Nothing!  Nothing at all.”  Logan smiled and rose to leave.  He had all the pieces.  Now if he could just get Rob to put it all together.

Wasit Prison Facility

Wasit Territory, East Central Iraq

Interrogation Room

 

      As Rob regained consciousness, the guards again set his chair upright.  He winced and tried to protect his tender ribs.  His face was barely recognizable.  He wiped the hot sticky blood from his nose and mouth.

      His captor sauntered toward him.  “Before this is over, I will have all the answers that I require, do you understand?”

      Rob looked up into the cold, hard face.  No matter what he said, he was going to be beaten anyway.  The questions he was asked were designed to produce a beating.  If he were a spy or a civilian pilot, he would not be able to give any information, but the officer did get what he wanted from this initial meeting: he set the rules!  Rob put his head down again. “Yes, I understand.”

Wasit Prison Facility

Wasit Territory, East Central Iraq

Prisoner Barracks

 

      Logan stared out the window.  As best he could tell, they were about fifty miles southeast of Baghdad.  Israeli Intelligence knew about this installation.  It was originally built and manned by the French Foreign Legion and later turned into a prison because of its remote location.  Until now, no one in the Israeli intelligence community knew that this installation had been reactivated.

      He watched the sky with all the jet fighters and bombers coming and going overhead from the direction of the airbases around Baghdad.  He needed to remember every detail he’d seen since his arrival.  One never knew just what small detail might become of utmost importance.

 

      Nancy, however, was only concerned with the passengers.  She felt responsible for whatever would happened to them and wished she could do more.  She stood by the doors and paced nervously.  She kept looking over at Marie, thinking she should have demanded to go as well.  Nancy made her way over to Marie and sat down.  “I want you to know that I think you are an incredibly strong woman.  You’ve done what most women would not: you gave up your husband for us.  I don’t know if I could have done that.”

      Marie’s eyes teared but she held herself together.

      “I would love to give you a hug, but I don’t want them to start putting two and two together.  I promise you this: I will do all that I can to help him as if I were you.  Is that okay with you?”

      Before Marie could answer, the doors opened, and Rob’s unconscious body was shoved into the room.  Nancy caught Marie’s eyes, pleading silently for her to go and help him.

      Grant and Katz helped him over to one of the center pillars.  “Can we get these handcuffs off?”  But the guards walked out and closed the door.

 

      Rob actually looked worse then he felt.  He scooted sideways until he made sure that Marie was out of the line of sight with the closed circuit camera, then winked.  He knew that the officer he had just met would be watching him very closely.  All the passengers had gathered around as if expecting him to tell them how it went, but, given his present condition, they were not quite sure they wanted to know.

      He tried to make light of the situation.  “I had a real good talk with their authorities.  You’ll be happy to know that they agreed to all of our demands.”

      Laughter broke out as the tension level dropped significantly.

      Suddenly, his face was covered with bright camera lights.  Rogers and Douglas started barraging him with questions about what had happened to him.  He just shook his head and closed his eyes.

Wasit Prison Facility

Wasit Territory, East Central Iraq

Prison Commander’s Office

 

      “Turn it off!”  Colonel Esfandiari was disgusted with what he’d seen on the TV monitor in his office.  “Turn it off now!  I’ve seen all I need to see.”  He spoke more to himself than to anyone else in the room.  He turned and looked out the window.

      Esfandiari was born in Egypt but educated in the West -- the United States, in fact.  He had the opportunity to train with the American military through an officer exchange program that the U.S. offered to many of its allies.  It was there that he developed a deep resentment for what he called  “American arrogance.”  His nationality gave him minority status among even the minorities, and, as such,  he believed, was never given due respect for his military knowledge.  Then, when he finally returned to Egypt, he was eventually expelled from the Egyptian army because of his strong ties to and sympathy for PLO terrorists.

      It didn’t bother him much, though, since he quickly found a new home in the Iraqi army, an organization that was more geared to his politics.  To him, his life was nothing more than a struggle through one barrier after another, and over the course of many years, he had become a man filled with great hate and rage.

      I will kill that American pilot eventually, and then the other passengers, he told himself, but not until I get my satisfaction.

      A tactician by nature, everything he did was carefully considered and planned.  Every alternative was thoroughly explored and contingencies carefully mapped out.  He was always thoroughly focused, causing him to have little patience or respect for the inadequate Iraqi military around him.  He sat staring out the window with his elbows on the arm rests and his thumbs under his chin, slowly tapping his two index fingers together as he planned his next step.

 

 

USS Brittany Shore

Persian Gulf

 

      From the bridge of the frigate USS Brittany Shore, Captain Neil Rainey listened to the General Quarters siren sound.  His was the lead ship of a task force made up of surface-to-surface and surface-to-air missile frigates as well as supply and troop transports.  But in order to get into the Persian Gulf, they would have to pass through the Strait of Hormuz, bordered on one side by Iran and the other by the United Arab Emirates.

      In the middle of this strait were three small islands, seized by Iran, that had seen a significant military buildup in the past couple of years.  Iran, though not friendly with Iraq, had claimed the Persian Gulf as a military free zone.  That is, to everyone, of course, but itself.  When the latest hostilities began between the U.S. and Iraq, Iran announced that it would not allow military ships to pass into the straits and immediately began to increase its already significant military force on the islands.

      Rainey knew they had American-made Hawk surface-to-air missiles, Chinese Seer II surface-to-surface, about a dozen fast missile boats, and over eight thousand troops.  The fast missile boats and the Seer II missiles concerned him the most.  The boats had such a low profile and were so quick that they could be within seven miles before radar detected them.  And the Seer II was a state-of-the-art medium-range sea-skimming missile containing a warhead capable of blasting a hole into even the most heavily armored vessels.

      The Brittany Shore had at its disposal a broad list of weapons that, if used correctly, could defeat the Iranian weapons.  She had a multi-purpose helicopter that could transport troops, search for submarines, or, in combat situations, be outfitted with air-to-surface or air-to-air missiles as required.  There was a Phalanx, a twenty millimeter Vulcan cannon, located amid ship -- considered a last ditch defense against incoming missiles -- and a multi-purpose automatic one hundred twenty millimeter cannon at the front of the ship.  Rainey was depending on the Sea Sparrow surface-to-air missiles.  The compact missiles had shown superb performances against both enemy missiles and aircraft during simulated drills.

      Rainey had taken command of his vessel eighteen months before.  He had been commanding her since her shakedown cruise and had come to love her as if she were his wife.  He had never been in actual combat before, but he did believe in himself and in his men.  The men of the Brittany Shore had come to respect their young captain.  He was always fair and honest and seemed to know each of his one hundred thirty crew members individually.

      He gently stroked the console in front of him and remembered what his last captain told him several years ago when he served as first officer aboard a different ship: “Treat her right, son, and she’ll always bring you home.”  From him, he learned that a captain earns respect from his crew by respecting them first.

      It was time to let his crew know what was going on.  He keyed his microphone.  “As you all know, we are in a state of war.  Within the next few minutes, we will be passing through a strait that Iran has illegally claimed as their territory.  We are the lead ship heading into harm’s way.  Behind us is a convoy of troops and supplies that must be delivered to Kuwait if our forces there are to continue to stand against the invading Iraqi army.  Whatever gets past us gets through to the convoy.  Remember men, it is not a question of whether we can pass through these straits up ahead, we must!  Thousands of men are depending on us and on our success.  It is absolutely imperative that we succeed, because...  because no one else can.  Trust me, your buddies, and this ship.  Do your jobs, and do them just the way we drilled.  If you do your best, as I know you will, that will be good enough.  Finally, I want to thank every one of you for the pleasure of being your captain.”

      Four miles ahead, hovering at five hundred feet, the Lance’s radar suddenly showed a small dot appearing and disappearing.  The Lance was the Brittany Shore’s helicopter, the Navy derivative of the army Black Hawk and the latest multi-purpose helicopter in military production.  The look-down radar was specially fitted to give it the ability to see sea skimming missiles and periscopes.

      “The way the dot comes and goes...  It’s gotta be a sea skimmer.”

      The pilot contacted his home ship.  “Brittany Shore, we are tracking a sea skimmer missile bearing zero-one-six at twelve miles from your position.”

      “I’ve got some boats, now.  It looks like six.”

      The Lance carried two large long-range Harpoon missiles.  Its mission was to weave its way through the picket line of missile boats and Hawk missile batteries on the island and destroy the radar station that was tracking the fleet.

      The Brittany Shore was not a primary target, but it had to be destroyed if the Iranian forces were to get to the fleet.

      First Officer Dana Pitney was watching the radar on the ship.  “Captain,  we’re tracking a missile bearing zero-two-six at four miles.  Lance has two more at six and ten miles.”

      Rainey knew this meant that there were less than thirty seconds until impact with the first missile.  “Launch a Sea Sparrow.”

      The radar operator’s hands raced deftly over his console.  “Oh, no!  We just lost primary radar!  I’ll have it reestablished in thirty seconds.”

      Pitney watched him work.  “That’ll be too late!”

      The captain stood.  “Come right zero-two-six.”

      “Sir, that will point us directly at it.”

      “It’ll give us the smallest profile for the missile.  Ready the Phalanx.”

      “There it is.”  A bridge spotter pointed to a dot in the sky just ahead of them.

      The Phalanx fired in short bursts without success.  A second later, the front of the Brittany Shore exploded.  Bodies were thrown everywhere, and fire broke out on three different decks.  The ship had lost a garage-size section of deck with most of the ship’s nose above the water line gone and a hole on the port side water line the size of a car.  The ship was taking on water.

      Rainey grabbed his microphone.  “Emergency and fire crews to the forecastle and front deck immediately.”

      “Sir, the radar is back on line and tracking two missiles.”

      Pitney turned.  “We should retreat now.”

      “Never order steak unless you’re ready to pay the price.  Launch the Sea Sparrows, now.”

      “The first one’s too close,” said the radar operator. “I’ve got a lock on the second one.  Uh, sir?  Radar has three missile boats bearing six-three-five at six miles and closing.”

      Rainey looked around his ship.  “It’s up to you now.”

      The Phalanx was set on auto and began firing at the first missile when it closed to five hundred meters, or eight seconds, away.  At fifty meters, less than one second from impact, the missile exploded, showering the deck and emergency crews with debris.  Almost simultaneously, the Sea Sparrows launched from the dual quad launcher. 

      Pitney rushed toward the captain.  “Sir, we’re taking on too much water.  We’ve got to slow down.”

      Rainey looked at the charts on the smoke-filled bridge.  Glass from the broken windows lay scattered over everything.  The ship had wedged herself between the island and the straits.  “All engines stop.”

      From this position, the convoy could pass to the west and be fully shielded by the Brittany Shore if she could just continue to fight.  The convoy can make it through, Rainey thought, if Lance can just get that radar.

 

      Lance passed through the missile boats without much problem and flew at over a hundred knots toward the island just twenty feet above the water.  “Sir, we’re being tracked,” said the electronics officer to the pilot.

      “Have you acquired the radar base yet?”

      “Yes.. Yes, I’ve got it.  Bearing seven four eight at twenty-three miles.  We’ve got to climb to at least one hundred feet to launch the missile.”

       “That’ll make us a sitting duck.”  The pilot took Lance to a higher altitude.  “We might as well wave a red flag and tell them where we’re at.”

      An alarm sounded as a Hawk missile was launched from the island.

      “Come on!  Fire the Harpoon!  Just one second more...”

 

      The radar operator was still watching his console.  “Sir, Lance has disappeared from radar.  Also, I’ve got two missile boats bearing zero-nine-three at two thousand meters.  Sir, they’re attacking and launching missiles.”

      Rainey looked at Pitney.  “Is the cannon on-line?”

      “Yes, sir, but I don’t know if it’s in any condition to fire.  There’s a lot of damage up there.”

      “Use the cannon.”

      Another officer turned to the captain.  “Captain, the phalanx is out of ammo.  They’re reloading it now.”

      The bridge spotter shook his head.  “Those missiles will be here before it’s loaded, sir.”

      “That’s all right, Ensign.  As long as they’re shooting at us, the convoy is safe.  What’s the convoy’s position, now?”

      “Sir, the convoy is due west of our position,” the radar operator said.  “Do you think Lance got the radar?”

      Rainey looked in the direction of the island. “God, let’s hope so.”

      Moments later, four missiles slammed into the side of the Brittany Shore.  Fire broke out all over the ship, which began to list sharply to the right.  Only emergency power remained.

      Pitney’s charred face appeared from behind a post.  “Shall I give orders to abandon ship, sir?”

      “Do we have any weapons left?”  Rainey’s arm was soaked with red, hanging limp.

      “Yes, Captain.  The one twenty millimeter cannon is still operational.  It worked against the missile boats.  I think we’ve sunk five now.”

      Rainey dropped to his knees, clinging to the console.  Several of the bridge crew lay wounded on the floor.  “Has the convoy passed by yet?”

      “Medic!  We need a medic here!”

      The radar operator looked at Pitney.  “Sir, I’ve got the radar back up...  And sir, we’ve got an aircraft bearing zero-six-three.  It’s... it’s a MIG-23, sir.”

      Rainey grabbed Pitney’s arm as he sank to the floor.  “Take care of her, Pitney...  And she’ll always bring you home.”  His eyes closed.

      Pitney stood and looked around.  “Is the Sea Sparrow on-line?”

      “I think I can get you one.”

      “I want that MIG!”

      “Affirmative, sir.  Firing the Sea Sparrow.” 

      “Are there any more hostiles?”

      “No, sir.  No MIGs and no more missiles.  Lance must’ve gotten the radar.”

      “Engine room.  Can you make turns?”

      “Affirmative, Captain.”

      “Give me three knots.  Pilot, set course in pursuit of the convoy.  We’ll cover them as they leave.  Somebody radio the convoy and wish them Godspeed.”

 

Day Three

Wasit Prison Facility

East Central Iraq

Prisoner Barracks

 

      Rob awoke the next morning to the sun shining in on him through the window.  He had spent the night in handcuffs leaning against the pillar, so his neck was stiff and his hands felt numb.  It had been almost an entire day since any of them had eaten.  He looked around.  Most of the others were still asleep except for Logan.  He was sitting directly under the camera where he knew he wouldn’t be seen and was watching everyone, including Rob.  He found himself wondering if Logan was one of the terrorists or maybe an Iraqi conspirator of some sort, there only to spy on the prisoners.  He seemed to observe everything and keep to himself.  He was unusually detached from everyone.

      That is...  everyone except Marie.  Several times Rob had seen him talking with her.  In fact, he could think of no one else with whom he had seen Logan talking.  Well, for now he would keep an eye on him until he could get a message to her to stay away from him.

 

      Logan walked over to stand by the window and study the outside area.  From the front door of the block house in which they were located to the front gate of the compound was less than fifty meters.  Only two guard towers kept watch over this area.  Two expert marksmen could eliminate the guards in less than two seconds, he thought.  The motor pool was just outside of the blockhouse door to the left.  There were two Land Rovers with mounted machine guns, two transport trucks, the bus, and an armored car. 

      For a moment, he allowed himself to be impressed, and somewhat surprised also, with how well his intelligence training had prepared him for this situation.  The intelligence community was faced almost daily with impossible tasks.  To find solutions, one must first define the problem, then inventory the available resources, and finally pool the resources into a workable solution.  In this case, the problem was easily definable, and he had just concluded an inventory of resources.  Now the solution was beginning to form.  It’s just too easy. 

      Something bothered him, though.  How would the authorities ever locate this place?  He knew that Israel, if not the U.S., would attempt a rescue if their location were known.  But how to get a message out of here?

 

      At mid-morning, the passengers were finally taken out for their first meal, but Rob was taken again to the same small office he had been in the day before.  This time Rob stood quietly.   Colonel Esfandiari walked into the office from behind Rob, drew his revolver and pointed it at Rob’s head.  “I could just kill you and get it over with,” he said with a soft ominousness.  “Does that scare you?”

      Rob looked into the colonel’s eyes, trying to see beyond his own fear of death.   Esfandiari squinted briefly and turned his head slightly.  There it is, Rob thought.  It was just a test.  He weighed his options and decided that a show of weakness might cause this maniac to look for someone else to torment.  No!  If anybody, it must be him.

      Rob tried to sound lighthearted.  “Actually, you’re the sixth Arab to point a gun at me in the past twenty-four hours.  I killed the other five.”

      Sweat burst across Rob’s face as he watched the muscles in his tormentor's cheeks tighten.  Then, with a deep breath,  Esfandiari holstered his pistol and turned away.

      He dismissed the guards then stalked pompously about the room.  “You obviously don’t understand that I’m not just any Arab.”

      Rob immediately caught onto his captor’s weakness.  Could it be that this western-educated Arab considered himself American?

      “I was educated in the United States...”

      Rob interrupted, pushing his luck. “I know you...”

      Esfandiari whirled around angrily, then smirked at his prisoner.  “Then, go on.  Tell me who I am.”

      “Did you ever hear the story of the pot and the kettle?”

      Confused but curious, Esfandiari just stared blankly at Rob.

      “There was a pot and a kettle sitting on a stove one day.  The pot looked at the kettle and said, ‘I’m sure glad I’m not like you.  ‘Why is that?’ the kettle asked.  ‘Well, you’re black,’ said the pot.”  Rob glanced at Esfandiari, but his captor made no move, only studied Rob intently.  “You see, what is so ironic is that they were both made from the same piece of metal.”

      “So,”  Esfandiari exploded, “they were BOTH black!  Is that what you are trying to say?!” 

      Rob had pushed the right buttons.

      “You look at me as if I am one of these... these... these spineless... ignorant... fools!”  Esfandiari sputtered.  “No!  No! I am more!” He shook his finger in Rob’s face.  “I am more than that, and before I am done with you, you will know that, too.”   Esfandiari turned sharply on his heels and stomped out. 

      Rob knew he had pretty much guaranteed the safety of the passengers.  Their sparring had turned this situation into a personal battle between the two of them.   Esfandiari no longer cared about the other passengers.  Now he would not be able to resist focusing his rage on Rob only.  Suddenly, the door opened again behind him, and the guards came back in.  Rob took a deep breath and braced himself: he knew what was going to happen next...

 

Wasit Territory

East Central Iraq

 

      Captain Taylor managed to stall the Iraqi offensive for only three hours.  To his knowledge, he was the only survivor.  He wasn’t sure if any of the Abrams or Bradleys had managed to escape the Iraqi counter-offensive.  It came quickly from every direction.  His company had been split up and destroyed completely. Attacks from the ground units, combined with those of attack helicopters and Air Force fighters made for a quick Iraqi victory.

      He tried to remember the last thing that happened.  There was an explosion as his tank was hit, then...  Then he was on this truck, but where was he being taken?  Were there any other survivors?  The guards would not talk to him or answer his questions.  He wasn’t sure if that was because they were ordered not to or they just couldn’t speak English. 

      They had spent the night before parked beside the road.  He went to sleep listening to fighters flying back and forth overhead.  He hoped they belonged to the U.S., but he had his doubts.  They had been traveling northward for a day.  If their destination wasn’t Baghdad, then it certainly must be near it.

Wasit Prison Facility

East Central Iraq

Prisoner Barracks

 

      Logan paused momentarily as he looked into Marie’s eyes.  If Rob has the leadership and imagination that I think he does, he thought, then he will certainly know what to do with this information.

      “You must get this information to Rob.  It is very important that no one know where it came from.”

      “I understand.”

      “Don’t look at it, but you know the camera over in the corner that is monitoring us?”

      “Yes.”

      “Listen carefully.  First, the camera has a transmitter on it that broadcasts the signal to different parts of this compound.  Second, the camera crew has equipment that could intercept that signal and retransmit it on a U.S. military emergency band frequency.  Do you understand what I’m saying?”

      Marie looked insulted.  “Don’t patronize me.”

      “I’m very sorry.”  Logan was apologetic, looking both surprised and impressed.   “Third, you know the two businessmen over to your left by the window?  They are electrical engineers, and one has a technician’s tool set with him.  The final piece is this.” He handed her a pocket pager.  “The crystal from this pager can be used to receive the signal transmitted by that closed circuit camera.  If all the pieces are put together correctly, the same picture that the guards are watching could be retransmitted on an emergency band width that the U.S. military constantly monitors.  It would take only minutes for the U.S. to vector our position.  Then, if the signal was picked up by the Iraqis also, they would be able to trace the signal to this compound to that camera and to the transmitter it contains, but I don’t believe they would be able to figure out what happened.”

      Marie stared intently at him.  “Let me get this straight.  You want Rob and those two businessmen... “ She waved her hand toward Grant and Katz, but Logan quickly grabbed her hand and lowered it.

      “Never, ever, point at someone when you’re being watched.”

      She looked at him sheepishly. “Sorry.  You want Rob and those two to use your beeper to intercept the broadcast from that camera and retransmit it with the TV cameras on some emergency channel?”

      “That’s correct.”

      “Can that really be done?”

      “I’m not sure.  I’m not an electrician, but something tells me that if it is possible, your husband can make it work.”

      “I’m sure he’ll be pleased to know about your confidence in him, but I’m not thrilled about having Rob do something that could get him killed.”

      He remained silent for a moment as he considered her.  She was very beautiful and obviously very dedicated to her husband.  “Marie, are you aware that there have been very few kidnappings in this part of the world that have not resulted in someone, if not everyone, being killed?  We cannot depend on diplomacy to save us.  We don’t even know if our nations know what country we’re being held in, and they certainly do not know we’re here.  If we’re to be rescued, we must let them know where we are.  The rest is up to them.”

      She looked at least partially convinced.  “What about the frequency for the emergency band?  What is it?”

      He handed her a sheet of paper.  It appeared to be a type of diary for the last couple of days with the time of day in the left-hand column.

      “A diary?”

      He looked around to see if her surprise drew any attention, but everyone seemed to be busy as they were.  “No, not just a diary.  The times are fictitious.  If you take all the numbers from the times on this page and put them together, you have the frequency of the emergency band.”

      She looked at the page again, then up at him.  “Can I keep this?”

      “No, just look at it and memorize it.”

      She visually placed all the numbers together and committed it to memory.  A moment later, she handed it back to him.

      “I’ll see that Rob gets this information.”

      He started to turn away but stopped to look back at her.  “Remember, Rob cannot know where this came from.  It’s for his own good!”  Then he left her.

 

      Rob looked at Nancy, shocked.  “Marie told you this?”

      Nancy nodded.

      He glanced over toward Marie and then back at Nancy, unbelieving.  “Marie?”  He had always been aware of her technical knowledge, but this surpassed anything of which he ever considered her capable.

      “The answer is yes,” he said, trying to regain his composure.  “I know exactly what she means.  Marie told you this?  My Marie?”

      “Yes,” Nancy repeated, getting visibly perturbed with his incredulity, “and she said that you would understand.”

      “I do, but I didn’t know that communications were of any interest to her.  Don’t you think she’s been acting strange?”

      “Not at all.  Under the circumstances, I think that she’s been acting quite normal.”

      ”Dreaming up a way to turn a local surveillance camera into a regional broadcast center is not typical for her!  Not only that, how would she know what the emergency band frequency is for the U.S. military?  You’d have to be in the intelligence commun...”

      Rob stopped himself and glanced around until his eyes found the quiet dark-haired man who talked so often to Marie.  “Never mind.  I think I just figured it out.”

 

 Wasit Prison Facility

East Central Iraq

Prisoner Barracks, 3:34pm

 

      Since the Iraqis had not yet set up a prisoner of war detention center, they took Taylor and one other officer, a pilot from a downed helicopter, to the compound where passengers from Flight 1430 were being detained.  Taylor was not expecting to see civilians when he walked into the dorm.  Surrounding him were American, British, and Israeli civilians, including a civilian airline pilot.  Every instinct told him he needed to take charge of the situation.  He turned to the guard and began to list his demands, insisting on seeing his commander.

 

      Esfandiari stepped into the room as Taylor was objecting to the civilians being held as prisoners on his compound.  Having watched Taylor with interest for several minutes, he drew his gun and walked over to the military pilot who had been brought in with Taylor.  He smiled, pointed the gun at the pilot’s head, and pulled the trigger.

      The civilians screamed and ran toward the back of the room.  Marie tried to shield her children from the horror, but they were screaming hysterically and clinging to her.

      Without thinking, Taylor moved toward Esfandiari, poised to attack.

      Esfandiari leveled his gun at the Taylor’s head.  “For every demand you make, I will shoot a bullet into your head.”

      Taylor backed off, lifting his hands in surrender.  “No, No.  I don’t have any demands.  None at all.”

      Esfandiari glared at Taylor in contempt, then walked over to Rob.  “Will you beg me for this man’s life, or should I kill him in front of you?”

      Rob knew that begging Esfandiari was the type of attention that he craved.  Fear and admiration from Americans was his life-long ambition.  If Rob gave him what he wanted, he would kill someone else whenever he needed another high.

      Rob barely acknowledged Esfandiari.  “I see a little man,” Rob held his thumb and forefinger one inch apart, “with a great... big... gun.”

      The muscles in Esfandiari’s neck grew taut and his face turned red.  He struck Rob across the face with the butt of his gun.  His hands shook in rage as he held the gun in Rob’s face, and his breathing was so heavy Rob thought he would hyperventilate.  Suddenly,  he stepped back and holstered his gun.  “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

      Actually, Rob had no idea what he was talking about.

      “You would like to be the martyr.  Well, you have much suffering to do first.”   Esfandiari turned on his heels and stalked out of the dorm.  The guards gathered the dead soldier and dragged him out with them. 

      Taylor made his way over to Rob.  “That was a pretty stupid thing to do.”

      Rob glared back at Taylor, then pointed at the blood on the floor.  “That was a pretty stupid thing to do.”

      But Taylor wouldn’t leave it alone.  “Do you consider yourself the leader of these people?”

      “If you’re asking me if I speak for them... you need to talk to them.”

      Taylor pushed his finger into Rob’s chest.  “People like you get other people hurt.”

      Rob wasn’t about to take any lectures from this arrogant jerk.  “No one got hurt until you walked in with your stupid demands, so get out of my face unless you want to become another red spot on the floor.”  Then Rob put his finger on Taylor’s chest. “Got it?”

      Taylor stood speechless as Rob turned away.  Rob knew it would not be his last tangle with the egotistical soldier who was supposed to be on their side.  Having no comprehension of the prison warden’s psychotic nature, this new prisoner was a greater threat to their safety than their captor.

      An American soldier had been murdered right in front of him, and he was helpless to do anything about it.  Frustrated, Rob limped over to the window, dropping his head against the bars.  He couldn’t figure out Esfandiari.  How much satisfaction did he get from the murder?  If he enjoyed it, then he would kill again and again until they were all dead.  Rob hoped he was able to humiliate him enough so that it would not be something he’d want to readily try again.  He glanced toward the corner where Marie knelt comforting the children.  She was eyeing him with a concerned smile.  He knew that he had to remain strong for them.

 

      Nancy couldn’t resist.  She approached Taylor.   “The answer is yes.”

      Taylor’s eyes showed interest.

      “Yes, he is our leader, and yes, he does speak for us.  He’s not the captain.  He’s one of the passengers, just like the rest of us.  And he is the reason we are all still alive.”

      He opened his mouth slightly as if to ask a question, but she didn’t give him a chance.

      “Let me tell you about that man over there you just brushed off.  When we were hijacked by five terrorists who were planning to destroy our airplane and killed our flight crew, he singlehandly killed the hijackers, disarmed the bomb, and landed the plane.  He’s not the pilot; he’s just pretending to be so that crazy commander will focus his hate on him.  Now that man has a proven track record with us, so don’t even think of asking us to choose between you.  Just think about this: until you came along, no one had been hurt.  And now that maniac has the taste of blood in his mouth.  I only hope that if he shoots someone else, it’s you!”

      “Wait a minute! I didn’t kill that man!”  He was shaken by her angry words, and his face was covered with guilt.

      She glared at him, sickened by his attempt to cover his own hide.  “You may just as well have pulled the trigger.”

      “I was just trying to establish some guidelines.”

      She laughed sarcastically.  “Is that what you call it?  Well, that you did, and over there is the blood to prove it.  Rob is our leader and the only one we’re going to listen to.  If any of these passengers are hurt as a result of your recklessness, I hope I live long enough to see you pay!”

      “I had no idea...”

      “Just a suggestion.  Don’t mess with Rob.  He’ll take you apart!”

      She turned abruptly to leave but was stopped by Taylor’s shaking voice.  “Wait!  I’m sorry about what happened!”

      She turned around and sized him up.  “You don’t owe me an apology.  Save it for the widow of the man you just got killed.”

      She stalked off leaving him shaken to the core.  He had just lived through one of the hottest battles of his life, and up until now, he had not made a bad decision.  Was it really true?  Had he cost that soldier his life?  He closed his eyes and turned away from the group.  He was just following what his training dictated under these circumstances.  But if his training was wrong, how should he act?  He was not used to functioning outside of military guidelines.  He needed a frame of reference in which to work.  He wasn’t good at shooting from the hip.

      He turned to look around at the ragged group.  Almost everyone was staring back at him.  He felt completely undone knowing that they disapproved of him.  Moreover, he wasn’t sure that they shouldn’t.

 

      Logan was slightly amused but concerned about the turn of events.  Rob and Taylor were opposites.  Rob was imaginative and intuitive.   Taylor was methodical and meticulous.  If they worked together, they would accomplish a great deal.  That is, of course, if they didn’t kill each other first.

      He noted the insignia on Taylor’s shoulder.  He was part of an Armor division, and now he was a prisoner.  That could only mean one thing.  The war had started.  The ground forces had engaged.  His only consolation was knowing he’d been right when he tried to warn the U.S. and Britain.  Inwardly, he wondered if those intelligence agents were thinking of him now, wishing they had listened.

      If I live through this, he thought, I will take great pleasure in meeting those men again to say ‘I told you so!’

 

      The door opened again, and four guards walked in.  They motioned Rob to come with them.  He studied them for a moment, and then, without a word, he walked back out the door with the guards.

       Nancy slowly moved back toward Taylor as she watched Rob being escorted out of the room.  “Do you see that?”  She nodded toward Rob.

      “Yes,” Taylor replied, guilt still written all over his face.  His eyes darted back and forth like a dog looking for a place to hide.

      She looked him over with pity.  If he had a tail, it would be stuck between his legs, she thought.

      “What’s going to happen now?”

      “If we’re all lucky, he will live another day.  You tell me what’s going to happen.  He’s on his way to see a madman, and thanks to you, he’s not in a very pleasant mood.”

      “What will he do?”

      “He’ll do whatever he has to.  He’s our leader.”

 

Wasit Prison Facility

East Central Iraq

Prison Commander’s Office, 4:23pm

 

      Rob was taken to the same little room.  Esfandiari was waiting for him, drinking wine from a crystal wine glass.  Without looking, Esfandiari set down his glass.  “My reports say that you murdered five Arab citizens.”

      “You have a point, I suppose?”

      “I could have you taken out and shot.”

      “Yeah, you could, but you won’t.  Will you?”

      “What makes you so sure?”

      “Because it won’t change anything, will it?”

      Esfandiari stared at him, his face starting to darken again.

      “If you killed me, you’d still be...” Rob hesitated, guessing at the proper button to push. “The Arab reject.”

      The look on Esfandiari’s face told him he had scored.  Encouraged by what he saw, he drove the point home.  “You’d still be you, and I’d still be me.  Only then, I’d be better than you... forever.”

      Esfandiari sneered and picked up the glass again.  Rob had struck another nerve.  “The day you kill me,” Rob said slowly, maximizing the effect, “is the day you admit that I beat you, and you would have to live with that for the rest of your life.  And you know what would be even worse?   All these people and all your men will know it, too!  Everyone will know what a failure you are!”

      The wine glass shattered in Esfandiari's hand, and he stepped back.  Then he slapped Rob with the back of his hand.  “You may be rich, but that doesn’t make you better!”

      Rob wouldn’t let it go.  “Look around you.  Why do you think they gave you a command out in the middle of a desert, a hundred miles from nowhere?  Look around you, for God’s sake!  Look at this compound.  Look at what you’re ordered to do.  You’re not even involved with any military units.  You’re just police.  Don’t you see?  Whoever put you out here thinks you’re a joke! That’s what they’re trying to tell you!   They’re probably out there right now laughing at you.”

      Esfandiari’s fist slammed against Rob’s already bruised and hurting face.  He fell to the floor, stunned.   As he slowly regained consciousness, he realized that he was lying on the floor, and he could hear Esfandiari standing over him yelling or cursing in Arabic.

      Smart move, he thought. You just don’t know when to quit.

      Rob pretended that he was still out, but Esfandiari ordered his men to drag him to his feet anyway.  “You gave me an idea.  I shall test you.  We shall all see just how good you really are.”

      Rob sincerely hoped he didn’t have to find out what he meant by that.

 

Wasit Prison Facility

East Central Iraq

Prisoner Barracks, 4:40pm

 

      Nancy was sitting next to Marie, trying to help her with the children and add moral support.  She was bothered.  In all the confusion, she’d overlooked the obvious.  What were two American soldiers doing here?  Had there been a rescue attempt?

      She looked at Marie.  She was talking to some quiet dark-haired man about how she had met Rob.  That man seems too interested in her, she thought as she stood up.  But right now, she had to get some answers from Taylor.

      As she stepped in front of Taylor, he seemed totally lost in his thoughts.  At first, he didn’t even seem to realize that she was there.  “You’re a captain in the U.S. Army?”

      “Uh, what?”  Taylor looked up, seeming almost dazed.  Apparently, she had interrupted something important.

      “I can come back if you’d rather?”

      “Oh.  No.  What can I do for you?”  Taylor jumped up.

      “Your uniform.  It’s American, isn’t it?”

      “Yes.”

      “It looks as if you’ve been wearing it for several days.”

      “I have.” 

      Nancy had hoped he would volunteer something.  He was either not very perceptive or not willing to talk, so she tried the direct approach.

      “What are you doing here?”

      “I was captured.”

      “Then you were attempting to rescue us.”

      “Rescue?  No, no rescue.  Why do you...?”  Taylor stopped himself, surprised, as he began to understand her question.  “Then you don’t know, do you?” he said faintly, more to himself than to Nancy.

      “Know what?”

      “I’m sorry.  You don’t know about the war?”

      “War!”

      Everyone in the room looked over at her.  Logan was the first to his feet from Marie’s side and strode across the room to where Nancy stood.  Several other passengers were also joining them.

      Taylor was enjoying his newfound popularity.  “Yes, war.  Yesterday morning, Iraq invaded Kuwait and Saudi Arabia.”

      “About the same time we were being hijacked,” Logan observed.

      “Yes, but I don’t know that the two are connected.”

      Nancy touched Taylor’s arm. “What does this mean for us?”

      “I really don’t know.  Perhaps more soldiers will be brought here.”

      “No, I mean will this make our stay here safer?”

      “Like I said, I really don’t know.”

      Logan knew that since this man was from an Armor division, he probably wouldn’t know much about the American intelligence information, but he decided to ask his questions anyway.  “Does the United States know about this place, and if so, do they know it’s a EPW camp?”

      “A what?”

      “EPW.  Uh... You’ve probably heard of a POW camp?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Same thing.”

      “Okay.  As far as our government knows... I couldn’t begin to guess.”

      “The reason I ask is that they will eventually see military activity here and could mistake it for an army compound.  They might bomb this place.”

      Taylor opened his mouth to answer, then paused.  “Who are you?”

      “Who I am doesn’t matter.  What happens to us does.  What corridor did the invading units use?  Are they heading only south and east?”

      Suddenly, everyone was talking at once.  Taylor backed up and held up his hands against the barrage of questions.  “Slow down, please.  I’ll tell you all I know, and that’s not much.  Yesterday morning, the U.S. and other friendly forces were attacked on a massive scale.  I don’t believe we were prepared for it at all.  I have no idea how this war affects you.  At this time, all I can say is nothing looks very promising.  Our forces are not doing so well.”

      There was a loud noise at the door, and sudden silence fell.

 

Wasit Prison Facility

East Central Iraq

Prisoner Barracks, 5:20pm

 

      Rob left Esfandiari’s office without being beaten.  He probably should have been happy about that, but it concerned Rob because it was the first time that Esfandiari had done something unpredictable.  He wondered what the colonel had in mind as he entered the dorm.  As the huge doors closed behind him, he noticed Katz and Grant pouring over one of the camera crews’ cameras.  I wonder if they could be a little bit more obvious, he thought.

      Rob was met almost immediately by Nancy, Taylor, and several other passengers.  Nancy spoke first. “Rob, did you know there’s a war going on?”

      Rob was surprised and looked to Taylor for more information.

      Taylor was only too happy to oblige.  “Iraq has invaded Saudi Arabia and Kuwait.”

      “When?  You mean since we arrived here?”

      “I was part of an Armor company that was attacked by the initial Iraqi invasion of Saudi Arabia. I think you all should know what’s going on.  I don’t know if your hijacking was part of this war or not, but we’re all in this together now.”

      Obviously, Rob was not prepared for this news and didn’t know quite what to say.  “Do you think this will help or hurt our chances for rescue?”

      Marie, looking very worried, came over to join them.

      “I can’t say for sure.  But I can tell you that our forces are in trouble.  We weren’t ready for this.  The military has bigger problems to worry about than some passengers of a commercial flight.”

      “Will there be other soldiers coming?” Nancy asked.

      “I don’t know.  I’m a little surprised that I’m the only one here.  I can’t believe that I am the only prisoner they have.  Perhaps I was captured before they had made arrangements for a prison camp?  Maybe that’s why I was placed with you.  It’s not typical for nations to mix soldiers and civilians together during times of war.”

      Rob prepared himself for the worst.  “Can we expect a rescue?”

      “Maybe.  Again, I don’t know, I’m just as much in the dark as you are.  Perhaps if they knew where we were being held.  But out here in the middle of nowhere?  I doubt that even God knows where this place is.” 

      “What if they did know where we were?  What then?”

      “Well, this place is screaming for a rescue attempt.  It’s secluded, away from any military or civilian population centers, and with all the hills around here...  They could probably land a helicopter right outside the walls if they wanted to.”

      Rob nodded as he glanced over toward Katz and Grant.  “Thanks.” Then, without waiting to see if there was anything else, he walked over to join the businessmen.

      “Is he being rude, or is it just that he doesn’t like me?”

      Nancy glared at him.  “He does have a lot on his mind, you know.”

 

      Rob explained the plan to Katz and waited for a response. 

      Katz looked up at Rob’s inquiry. “I think your idea has merit.  It’s going to take a little bit of work, though.”

      Rob looked around.  “Do what you can.”

      Rob wanted to talk more with them, but first there was someone else to whom he needed to talk.  He turned around, went over to the window, and sat down.

      Rob sat about five feet away from the mysterious man who had befriended his Marie.  “What should I call you?” Rob looked straight ahead as if he were talking to his shadow.  “Bond?  James Bond?”

      There was a pause as Logan considered how Rob found out.  Had Marie betrayed his confidence and told Rob about him?  Had he been wrong to trust her, or had Rob just figured it out on his own?

      “If you’re talking to me, my name is Jonathan Logan.” 

      “As in double oh Logan?”

      Logan was not amused as he looked around the room to see if anybody else was listening.  He was irritated by Rob’s flippant comments and attitude and wondered why Rob continued to bait him.  He had provided Rob with useful information to aid in their rescue, and he felt that Rob should accept it as such.

      “Do you have a point?”

      “Yes. I want to know who you really are, and why you are here.” 

      “And I’ve told you that.”

      “No, you’ve told me who you are, not why you’re here.”

      “I am a farm equipment sales representative.  I’m trying to sell...”

      “Oh, please!  Spare me!  You told me your name is Logan, not who you really are or what you really do.”

      “Why don’t you just tell me what you want me to say.”

      Neither man had yet looked at the other.  Finally, Rob turned to Logan. “Look, I don’t know who you are, and that’s fine.  You could be some military communications operator who doesn’t want to get involved here, and that’s fine, too.  But if you’re in the intelligence community or an officer in the armed forces, and you just don’t want to get involved, then that’s not fine.  You can get your hands dirty with the rest of us.  If you’re who I think you are, then you’re the one here with the experience and qualifications to be the leader. Not me!” 

      Logan thought about what Rob said.  Finally, he turned to face him.  “So that’s what this is about?  You’re trying to shirk your responsibility as captain?”

      Rob’s mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened in disbelief.  “Now, wait a minute! Don’t turn this around on me!  You know that I’m not the captain!”

      “But you’re wearing the uniform.”

      Rob was about to answer when he realized what Logan was doing.  “I’m wearing the uniform because I have to keep my true identity a secret.  You want me to say that, because that applies to you as well.  Right?”

      Logan remained silent, thanking heaven Rob was as perceptive as he’d hoped.

      “But I’m not qualified.”

      Logan was not as sympathetic with Rob’s personal evaluation. “What do you think makes one qualified?  A uniform?  A medal?  Leadership is a talent that you either have or you don’t.  In your case, Rob, leadership is something with which you were born.  Don’t shortchange yourself.  I don’t think you’ve even begun to know what you’re capable of.”

      Logan paused and rubbed his face with his hand, then motioned as if he wanted to start over.  “You see, I’ve never met anyone quite as intuitive and resourceful as you are.  You’re a natural born leader, not like so many of us who spend years going to school just to spend our lives led by someone else’s rules.  You lead by the seat of your pants, and you do it very well.  Your perceptiveness with that Arab commander has probably saved all our lives.”

      Logan looked directly at Rob.  “And that’s not something that can be learned from all the intelligence training in the world.  You don’t want the job, or the responsibility that you have, and I can understand that, but don’t sell yourself short, and don’t try to pawn it off on someone less qualified.  You feel inadequate?  Deal with it, and get in line with the rest of us.  None of us is perfect, and we don’t live in a perfect world.  We all make mistakes, only men like you make fewer than the rest of us.  You may not be everything that you’d like a leader to be, but you’re the best we’ve got.  So quit looking for someone else to lead because you’d like it if they did.  You’d always know that you’d be a better leader.”

      Rob thought about it all for a moment.  “But could you at least help us?  Or is there some reason that you have to be so secretive?”

      Logan sighed in frustration.  “What do you want to hear?  Do you want me to tell you that I’m in possession of information that is so hot that it could burn the paint off these walls?”  He made a wide motion with his hand, then paused as he noticed that there was no paint on the walls, making him even more irritated.  “And if that is true, then the less you really know about me the better.”

      Rob paused as he thought it over.  He had not counted on getting rebuked and lectured by this man.  “I am right about you.”

      Logan stared momentarily at Rob wondering if anything he said had gotten through to him.  He also needed to know if Marie had given him away.  If she had blown his cover, then he had to entertain the possibility of killing her because of the knowledge she possessed.  “How’d you come up with this theory about me, anyway?”

      “Something Marie told me made me think that she’d been talking to someone familiar with military communications.  As far as I know, you’re the only one who’s been talking with her.”

      Logan had his answer.  The information Marie possessed was still secure.

      “I’m a businessman.  I sell farm equipment.  And that’s all I do.”

      Nothing more was spoken as the two sat beside the wall.

 

      Nancy knew Marie had been crying as she neared her.  “Hey, what’s wrong?  You look miserable.  Want to talk about it?”

      Marie seemed to gush.  “It’s everything.  First there was the hijacking. I thought for sure we were going to die, and now we’re in the middle of a war.  How am I supposed to get my children through this when I can’t even handle it myself?”

      “Listen, Marie, you’ve got a great husband.  He’s going to get us all out of this alive, and right now, that’s what’s important.  That’s what we have to focus on.” 

      “But that’s just it.  This isn’t the Rob I know.  He’s not a pilot or a soldier.  I know that he’s just faking everything, and I‘m scared because I don’t know how long he’s going to be able to keep on faking it.  He’s...  He’s just a programmer!  None of this is like him at all!”

      Nancy wished she hadn’t heard that.  Now she was upset.  The last thing she needed to hear from the person who knew Rob the best was a vote of no confidence.  Maybe she was right.   Maybe he was just a fake.  She looked again at Rob as she spoke to Marie, “Well, if he is just a fake, I hope he can continue to con us all!” 

      A young Arab girl who was standing near listening came over and sat beside Marie.  “Hello, your name is Marie?”

      Marie nodded. 

      “I’m sorry that I haven’t introduced myself to you before now, but I really would like to help if I can.”

      Marie smiled.

      “Maybe I could help you with the children.  You see, I feel so bad for you.  These people who hijacked the plane and these soldiers here are not a fair example at all of how my people really are.  Our religion teaches us to be kind and to help others, not to be like the soldiers in this place.”

      Marie smiled again.  “That’s nice to know, and I really could use some help.  I’m not usually so easy to upset like this.  What’s your name?”

      The young girl paused for a moment as if trying to remember something and then said, “I’m sorry, it’s rather hard to pronounce.  My Western friends just call me Terry.”

      Petite and lovely, Terry appeared to be in her mid- to late-twenties.  Obviously well-educated, her mannerisms were those of a proper family upbringing -- she must be used to a good life. Her olive skin was almost perfect, like a porcelain doll.  She’s the type of girl, Marie observed, that every wife mistrusts and every husband admires.  Girls like her keep Marie interested in her own looks.

      “Terry.  That’s a pretty name.  Where are you from?” 

      “Well, my parents were from Lebanon, but they moved to New York when I was three.  I grew up and was educated there.”

      “Were you headed to Israel?”

      “No, Lebanon.  My father’s business has strong ties to Lebanon, so I spent a lot of time there also.  I guess in a way these soldiers hate me as much as you.  You see, jealousy runs very deep in this part of the world, and people of my nationality who have moved to America are viewed as traitors.  Especially if we have been successful.”

      “I’m sorry to hear that.”

      Marie and Terry continued to talk into the afternoon.  Marie told Terry all about her life in Texas and how she and Rob had met and married.  It was nice to have a friend again.

 

Wasit Prison Facility

East Central Iraq

Prisoner Barracks

 

      Later that evening, Grant tapped Rob’s shoulder.  “I think we’ve got it,” he whispered, then walked away.

      Rob remained sitting for about ten minutes more before he stood up and went over to the window where Nancy was standing.  From the window, he could see long shadows stretching across the compound.  Dusk was approaching.  “How’s Marie holding up?  She looks like she’s not dealing with it all too well.”

      As far as Nancy was concerned, Rob was acting just like so many other men that she had known.  He was asking about Marie as if she didn’t exist.  Well, Marie was his wife.  Why should he care how anyone else felt?  “Well, we women have our days.”

      Rob didn’t know what to make of her comment, so he ignored it.  “Nancy, I need you to have the passengers do what we talked about before.”

      Nancy turned toward Rob with her eyes wide open.  “You mean, we’re ready?”

      “Yes.  We’re ready.”

      After awhile, Rob walked over to the pillar where Katz sat.  Rob sat down on the back side of the pillar, opposite the camera.

      “Let’s hear it.”

      Katz knew Rob was talking to him.  “When I pull the trigger on the hand grip, the receiver will start searching the band for the frequency on which the close circuit camera is broadcasting.  By watching in the eyepiece here, I will be able to see what the receiver is picking up.  When I see our room in the eyepiece, I simply release the trigger, and this camera begins to re-transmit the signal on the emergency band that you gave us.” 

      It sounded simple enough.  Rob glanced around the room.  All the passengers were positioned as they were instructed.

      “Let’s do it.”

      “Okay, here we go.”  Katz sat quietly staring into the eyepiece.

      After several moments of waiting, Rob became impatient, wondering if it was working.  He fidgeted, wanting to ask what was taking so long.

      “We got it.  Let’s just hope now that it’s broadcasting.  You understand that there’s no way to test this to see if the signal is actually going out.  How long do you want to broadcast?”

      “Give it about five minutes.”

      The two sat patiently as the minutes flew by.

      “Time!  Now what?”

      “Undo everything you did to the camera.”

      Rob was about to go and find a blanket for the night when Taylor sat down.  “I think we got off on the wrong foot.  I think the two of us working together could...”

      “Hypothetically speaking, Captain, if we could send a message to the U.S. Forces about our position, would they attempt to rescue us?  And if so, how long can we expect it to be before they make such an attempt?”

      “Well,  I have no idea. But none of that’s going to happen.  Now, look, you’re the captain of this flight, so you understand how important discipline and command are.  Why don’t we talk about organizing the lives of these people and bringing some discipline to them?  Talking about impossible hypotheticals is futility.”

      Rob stared at Taylor for a moment.  “Let me guess what you have in mind.  You want to get everybody up by seven thirty in the morning and begin requiring daily exercise drills.”

      “Well, something like that.  We’d all function a lot better if we could establish some form of daily discipline.”

      “Well, General...”

      “I’ve told you, I’m a Captain!”

      “Yeah, whatever.  I’ve just one thing to say to  you.  Leave these people alone!”  With that, Rob stood and left Taylor gaping behind him.

 

Recon Information Center, USS Roosevelt

Persian Gulf

 

      An E-2 Hawkeye flying over Kuwait picked up an unusual signal on the emergency band and, as procedure required, forwarded it to the control center aboard the Roosevelt.  The intelligence officer, Commander James Little, studied the film carefully, watching it several times.  It made no sense to him at all why this signal was transmitted.  What was he supposed to be looking at? It seemed to be taken from a camera that was panning back and forth, showing a group of people sitting in a room that looked something like a prison.

      It was only after watching the tape a fourth time that he suspected these may be the passengers of the hijacked flight.  Then, finally, on his fifth time through the tape, his eyes lit up, and a slight smile appeared on his face.  Now he had the answers for which he’d been looking.

      Little pressed the button to the intercom on the bridge.  “Captain, this is Commander Little.  I need to see you in Ops.”

      Captain Jim Brodie was a large man but not fat.  His barrel chest made his voice carry in a room full of people.  He had only one insecurity: his youthful appearance.  He didn’t seem to have aged at all over the past ten years.  As a result, many younger officers looked more like a captain than he did.  If his wife had not protested so vehemently, he would have grown a mustache to hide his baby face.

      He was on the bridge when the call came, so he had only a short distance to cover to get to Ops.   Ops got its name from being the Operations Center, the command, control, and communications center of the ship.  Little joined him there with the tape.  He rewound the tape and smiled.

      “What do you have?” 

      “Sir, I’d like you to see this.” 

      Brodie studied the monitor.  “What am I seeing?  They appear to be civilians.”  He knew there was something significant to there, but what was it?

      “About fifteen minutes ago, Sentinel One intercepted this transmission coming from a point southeast of Baghdad.  It was a deliberate transmission on our emergency frequency.”

      Brodie looked again at the monitor.  “Okay, so where are we headed with this?”

      “These people appear to be confined, and the motion of the picture suggests that it is coming from a surveillance camera.”

      “So...  you believe that these are hostages from the civilian flight that was hijacked the other day.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “And just what has brought you to that conclusion?”

      “Look closely at their hands, sir.  Do you see anything unusual?”

      Brodie studied the monitor and shook his head.  He was beginning to get impatient. “Why don’t you just tell me what I’m supposed to be looking for?  Are they signing or something?”

      Little leaned toward the console, pointing.  “Here.  These four here.  Look at their hands.  This one has one finger down.  This next one has four fingers down.  The next one here has three fingers down, and the last one has his fist clenched, signaling zero.  Don’t you see?  One, four, three, zero.  That was their flight number: fourteen thirty.”

      Brodie was incredulous.  “Now that’s grasping at straws.”

      “But think about it, Captain.  These people obviously knew that this was being transmitted to us and signaled us in a way they hoped only we would see.”

      Brodie paused, trying to put his thoughts together as he rubbed his face.

      “Think about it, sir.  They’re signaling us with their flight number, and it was transmitted to us on our emergency frequency for five minutes exactly.  I can’t put my finger on it, but I know this means something.”

      “Okay.”  Brodie leaned back.  “I’ll get a report out to the State Department and see if we can’t get a small recon team in to check it out.”

      “Sir...” Little hesitated, not wanting to upset the captain by pressing the issue.  “You don’t really need the State Department to send in a recon team.  I mean, if this goes to the State Department, it’ll be tied up in red tape for God knows how long.”

      Brodie sighed, then looked at his junior officer, knowing he was right.  “You have a point there.  I’ll sleep on it and let you know tomorrow.  Obviously, they’re not going anywhere.”

      He left Ops already knowing what he was going to do.  Little was onto something, and he could sense it, too.  It just didn’t seem to fit as some kind of Iraqi trick.  It was just too obvious.  Besides, a recon team would be in and out in twenty-four hours, giving him much more accurate information for the State Department.   He sat down in the captain’s chair on the bridge.  “Get Captain Wright from the Marine Tactical Unit up here ASAP.”

 

Main Operations Center, USS Roosevelt

Persian Gulf

 

      Captain Wright sat alongside a half dozen intelligence officers as he watched the film carefully.  Brodie stood off to the side observing.   Wright was a man of intimidating stature.  His powerful arms and chest made everyone think twice about tangling with him.  Handsome and trim, women adored him, from his perfectly chiseled jawline to his muscles bulging from his short-sleeved shirt.

      He had been preparing himself and his men for a covert operation behind the lines to gather information about enemy strengths and positions.  He and his men were considered the elite of the Marine Recon units, hand-picked and specially-trained.  They had to endure the most rigorous training program of any unit in the U.S. military.  They were the best-of-the-best.

      Part of their mission was to disrupt supply lines if the opportunity arose, but now it seemed that his mission was about to change.  As he watched the film, it seemed to be more confusing than informative.  It was obviously taken by a surveillance camera panning back and forth across a room of civilians.  He wondered how they got this film.

      Finally, the film ended, and the lights came on.  Brodie stepped forward, looking directly at Wright.  “Did you notice anything unusual about the film, Captain?”

      “Nothing out of the ordinary.  I take it these are prisoners, probably from the hijacked flight that was headed to Israel the other day?”

      “That’s correct.”  Brodie paused and continued to stare at Wright as if he were expecting Wright to continue.  Wright took the cue and went on. 

      “We were probably sent this film and a list of demands...”  He looked around the room for agreement, but no one spoke or nodded.  They all just continued to stare with blank expressions on their faces.

      Finally, Brodie walked to the front of the room and faced Wright directly.  “No, that is not correct.   We intercepted this transmission coming from an unpopulated, remote location southeast of Baghdad.  The point of origin is not known to be of any military value, and, to top it off, it was transmitted on our armed forces emergency band.  So now you know as much as we do.  We don’t have any answers, just lots of questions.  We don’t know who broadcast it, or where and when this film was taken.  We don’t even have a clue as to why it was transmitted.  That’s where you come in.  We’re sending you in to the location of the transmission to try to establish who transmitted it and to gather any other information you can.  We sent a reconnaissance flight into the area to get an idea of what you can expect, but the film isn’t out of the lab yet.  The only thing I can tell you is that the pilot reported seeing what looked like some old abandoned buildings.  Hopefully, we’ll have more to give you before you go in.  But don’t take any chances.  You’ll be going in as a recon squad only, and I do stress only!  If the Iraqis sent this film, then you can expect that this is a trap.  You are to avoid any and all contact with the enemy.  If there are hostages there, you are not to attempt a rescue under any circumstances.  Do you understand me, Captain?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Questions?”

      “When will we be going in?”

      “We have the chopper warming up now.  These men will brief you.  Now, if there are no further questions, I’ve got work to do.”

      Wright and three others of the Marine tactical team were aboard a SH-53E Super Stallion as it lifted off the deck of the Roosevelt.  It would be four and a half hours before they would reach their destination.  He studied the map, carefully examining the terrain while his team checked out the equipment.  They had sophisticated equipment that could snoop the compound for even the faintest broadcasts and record them for evaluation by the intelligence staff aboard the Roosevelt.

      The plan was pretty straightforward.  They would land two miles northeast of the compound and hump to the compound under the cover of night to set up the listening post.  His men were each specialists in a specific field.  Tommy was the sniper and weapons expert.  John was a medic and engineer.  Kevin was probably the only one who would get any real work.  He was a communications specialist and would snoop through the compound with his electronic eyes and ears.  These men made a habit of never learning the last names of the team members.  Their dog tags and other identifying papers would be left on the helicopter.  If everything went as planned, the helicopter would be back tomorrow to pick them up again.

      Wright considered the film he had watched prior to the mission.  It was possible that these people were placed there as a trap.  But then, it was their job to determine whether or not that was the case. 

      Known for his resourcefulness and the ability to get the job done, Wright didn’t always follow his orders by the letter or do his mission by the book.  And now he was about to give an order that went against everything their training always stressed.

      “Tommy,” Wright shouted over the noise of the turbines.  “When we land, you are to split from the group and head due east until you are one thousand yards out.  You are our ambush.”

      The team members exchanged nervous glances.  Obviously, no one favored the idea of being separated from each other.

        “This could be a trap.  I’m not going to have us walk right into the middle of it,  without something to back us up.  Tommy, that’s where you come in.  You are to make continuous sweeps of our position and watch for anything suspicious.”  Wright turned his attention to the others. “Now, listen up, everybody!  If it’s a trap, you are to split up and meet at our rendezvous point.  Remember, there is no support or backup. If you have any trouble, it’s up to you to shoot, blast, or hump your way out of it.”

 

 

Day Four

Wasit Territory

East Central Iraq

 

      Once the helicopter was within fifty miles of the compound, it dropped down to treetop level and closed in slowly.  A small hill about five miles from the compound provided adequate cover for the helicopter to set down and offload the Marines and their supplies.  It only took a minute, then the helicopter was off again, and the Marines were on their way.

      By midnight, the recon team had covered the five miles and was setting up a base of operation five hundred yards from the compound.  Since there was absolutely no sign of enemy patrols or an ambush, Wright ordered Tommy to advance and observe the compound while Kevin set up his equipment.  John unpacked the Claymore mines and began to prepare booby traps around their position to provide interference for their escape should they be attacked.

      Wright used his PVS-5 Night Vision viewer to study the compound and the surrounding terrain.  As near as he could tell, there was absolutely no activity.  Could it be they were completely unaware of the transmission?

      “This place should be crawling with security forces.”  None of this made any sense.

 

      Tommy was nearly invisible under his camouflage as he crawled on his stomach toward the compound.  He kept his M-14 positioned carefully in front of one eye to allow him to continue to observe the compound through his powerful 12X scope.  There was no activity except for a few guards in the towers either sleeping or resting.  We could take this place now, he thought.

      He was just outside the wall of the compound.  There didn’t seem to be any exterior lights, dogs, or roving patrols.  It would take him, he estimated, approximately thirty seconds to take out the few guards who stood watch and get inside the walls of this compound.

      He was only a hundred yards away, looking through the sniper scope.  There’s one of them at the window, he thought.  Now we know exactly where they are being held.  If this were a rescue and not a reconnaissance mission, there would be no debate on what to do.  But he’d seen all he needed to see.  Now he needed to get back.

 

      Wright had reached the same conclusion as Tommy.  They were in an ideal position to capture the compound and the element of surprise would be complete.  The only problem was that the pickup would not be taking place until tomorrow night, and it would be just a single helicopter.

      “Sir,“ Kevin whispered to Wright.  “Take a look.”

      Wright crawled back to the hole in which Kevin had set up his equipment.  A desert camouflage net was drooped over it with a few dead branches that would make it next to impossible to see without a deliberate ground search of the area.

      “That’s it!  Roll the tape.” 

      The monitor displayed a picture of the passengers asleep on blankets in a large room.  It was the same picture that they had seen aboard the Roosevelt.

      “It must be broadcast from a closed circuit surveillance camera.  I don’t believe it has a range of much over a thousand yards.”

      “How would it be possible to broadcast a signal four hundred miles?” 

      “It can’t!  See the static here?  This signal is barely strong enough to reach us here.  It’s probably being transmitted to a security room where they can monitor the prisoners.”

      “Are they transmitting sound?”

      “Nope.  Picture only.”

      Wright shook his head in bewilderment.  “I’ve got two questions that don’t add up to anything.  Number one, how could this signal be transmitted four hundred miles, and number two, why would they want to?” 

      “Well, I can answer number one.  Look at this.” He pointed to an area on the monitor.  “If I’m right, that’s a high aspect remote broadcasting television camera.”

      “I’m not following you.” 

      “It’s simple.  All you’d need is something like a beeper that can receive local signals and attach it to that camera.  The camera would, in turn, rebroadcast the same signal.  Any first year electronics student should be able to do that.”

      Wright’s eyes opened wide in surprise as he looked back at the compound.  “Then that explains everything!  That’s why there’s no beefed up security.  It isn’t a trap!  The passengers themselves sent the signal as a request for help.  If we’re going to send a rescue team here, then it needs to be done now before Iraq figures out what happened.”

      Wright reflected for a moment.  They had not come equipt to do it themselves, so it would have to wait.  Kevin continued his electronic search of the compound while recording the transmission.

      Kevin carefully aimed a directional microphone at the windows.   These sensitive microphones could pick up the sound vibrations that echoed off the window glass when people talked.  He listened through his headset.  “I’ve got English.  It’s English with a definite American accent.”

      “Tape it all.  We’ll let Intelligence glean through it when we get back.”

 

Day Five

Wasit Prison Facility

East Central Iraq

Prisoner Barracks

 

      The dawn broke with the sound of an approaching motorcade.  Rob and most of the other prisoners were awakened by the noise as the trucks and tracked vehicles pulled into the compound.  Two of the tracked vehicles carried radar and missiles on top while others bristled with guns and cannons.  The motorcade also included a command vehicle as well as a dozen trucks full of soldiers.  The soldiers quickly vacated the trucks and begun to start unloading machine guns, rocket launchers, and other supplies.

      Taylor was watching through the window.  “I wonder what’s up.”

      “Do who you think they’re going to move us again?”

      “Maybe they’re on their way to the front and stopping for a rest.”

      The group was full of comments and questions.  No one had any idea what was going on.  Rob was gravely concerned and glanced over in Logan’s direction.  Logan was staring back toward Rob with a very worried look on his face, and ever so slightly, he shook his head.  They were unloading all their equipment, so they must be staying.  They were making it much more difficult for any rescue attempt to be made.  They must have discovered the transmission.

      Rob sighed in resignation and turned away from the window.  They were not going to be rescued after all.  He did not have to know Arabic to figure out what they were shouting about outside the window.  An officer was instructing other men how to position the equipment and vehicles.  They were setting up a trap, an ambush for any rescuers.  He looked back toward the window.  The cameramen were filming the event, and the ever-present director was narrating.  He nudged Taylor to follow him as he walked over and sat down behind one of the pillars.

      “What’s up?”

      “The day before yesterday, the same afternoon that you arrived here, we transmitted a signal on the American emergency band.”

      Taylor stared, absorbing what Rob just told him. “What? How?” 

      “We intercepted the signal transmitted by their closed circuit camera and rebroadcast the signal to the American band.”

      “Why did you wait until now to tell me about this?”

      “Because I didn’t know positively that you really were from the U.S. Army.”

      “Then why tell me now?”

      “Because of them.” Rob pointed to the window.

      Taylor was thoroughly confused.

      “Why are they here? What do they intend to do?  Did Iraq intercept the signal, too?  I need your advice.”  

      Taylor leaned back against the pillar, closed his eyes, and let out a deep sigh.  “I see.  So you think it’s a trap, don’t you?  You think that the Iraqis intercepted the signal and are sending in forces to defend this compound, don you?  Perhaps you’re right.”

      Taylor wiped his face with his hand and leaned forward.  “The Iraqis monitor the same bands our military does, and it is most certain that they have seen any transmissions that U.S. Army received.  But our forces will not send in a rescue party without first doing some kind of recon.  The recon will see these reinforcements and take them into consideration.” 

      Rob felt a little better. 

      “Tell me, what kind of advice are you looking for?” 

      Rob wanted to be careful.  “We could, you know, broadcast another signal of what’s going on out there.” 

      “I don’t think that would be necessary.  Like I said, they’ll recon this area carefully before they come...  If they come.”

 

      Logan looks worried, Marie thought to herself.  He must have an exciting life.  She was aware of her admiration for him, but she also knew that was as far as it went.  She was equally aware that she was scared and didn’t have Rob to lean on like she did in most other circumstances.  It was difficult for her because this man was gentle and seemed to be genuinely concerned about her feelings.  He kept to himself and seemed to be so lonely that it was hard for her not to feel sorry for him.

      Logan suddenly glanced over at her, startling her.  She realized that she was staring and day dreaming, so she turned away to focus on her children.

 

      Logan was certainly worried, but not because of the military force that he seen.  He recognized the officer giving all the orders.  He was an Iraqi intelligence officer who may also recognize him as an Israeli intelligence officer.  He would need to keep an even lower profile than he originally thought.  He noticed Marie staring at him and felt that she was growing too attached to him.  On one hand, he wanted to keep close tabs on her, yet he couldn’t afford to do anything that would draw attention to himself. 

      Then there was this young girl, Terry.  Bright, attractive, and single, just the kind of girl who could cause a soldier to lose focus.  He would like to get to know her better, but in his line of work, too close a friendship with an Arab girl could cost him his career.  He looked back out the window at the Arab officer.  He would just have to deal with things as they happened.

 

      Two hours later, the Arab officer from the convoy entered the room along with several guards.  He looked completely different from Esfandiari.  He wore the same uniform as the Iraqi guards and had the same large nose and distinguishing mustache.  Each of the guards, without exception, appeared to be a stamped replica of the next.

      The officer paused briefly at the door, taking in the room.  His eyes fixed on the closed circuit camera in the corner of the room, obviously just what he’d been searching for.  He crossed the room to the camera in a few quick steps and stood near it, studying it carefully for any signs of tampering.  He must have been satisfied because he stepped away from it and approached the passengers.

      He officer studied each of them carefully, one at a time, then stopped in front of Logan.

      “I know who you are.”

      Rob’s heart sunk, but Logan, as cool as could be, stood up and smiled. 

      “You’ve been to Cleveland?”

      “Cleveland?!”

      “Maybe to a Browns game?”

      “You talk of America?”

      “Yes!”  He spoke eagerly, digging a card from his wallet.  “I sell farm equipment, and as near as I can tell you folks don’t have that much around here.”

      The Arab officer looked totally confused. 

      “Listen,” Logan said excitedly as he approached the Arab officer.  “I know we probably don’t have any kind of international trade agreement for sales, but my company pulls a lot of weight with Congress...”

      “Enough!  We have no need for inferior American products.”  He walked away.

      Rob was thoroughly impressed.  Logan should get an Oscar for that performance, he thought with a smile.  The officer moved over to Taylor and smiled.

      “You are a member of the First Armor Division, no?”

      Taylor stood silently.

      The officer smirked.  “The First Armor Division is ready to collapse.”

      Taylor didn’t move.  “Then that means they’re still holding.”

      The officer’s smile disappeared, and he turned to Rob.  “Now you are a different sort of problem.  You, I believe, must die.”

      Rob said nothing, staring back without expression.

      The officer, having seen what he needed to see, left.

 

      The Cheetah was near and heard the conversation.  The officer had recognized the man called Logan.  Could there be more to him than his story about being a simple farm equipment salesman from Cleveland?  The Cheetah would have to study this man carefully.

 

Main Operations Center, USS Roosevelt

Persian Gulf

 

`     Early in the afternoon, Brodie communicated his rescue plan to Washington.  Colonel Jason Dempsey listened to the conversation with interest.  He was going to lead the Marine team to rescue the hostages once it was approved by the Joint Chiefs.  He had voiced concerns about the mission and the safety of the men he would command.  As a result, he had submitted a plan of his own.

      Dempsey wasn’t cowardly by any measure.  In fact, he had volunteered for three tours in Vietnam.  His plan called for the return of a recon team to the area twenty-four hours before the main assault force’s arrival to ensure that the area was still free from hostile forces.  But apparently the Joint Chiefs had selected Wright’s plan of an immediate extraction with no advanced recon squad.

      Though it was true that Dempsey’s plan would require another twenty-four hour delay while the second recon team was sent in, he felt that this added margin of safety would significantly reduce the chance of an ambush.  Also, Dempsey’s plan called for the assaulting force to be accompanied by two Apache gun ships and a tanker for refueling.  This would have set the plan back several additional days as the Marine helicopters were requisitioned.  Given the present battlefield conditions, those gun ships would be hard to come by.

      Brodie approached Dempsey.  “Colonel, your status is go.  You’ll be proceeding according to the Wright plan, leaving at dusk.  Captain Wright will be commanding Marine team one and Captain Mike Vinson will be commanding team two. Do you have any questions?”

      “No, sir.”  Dempsey shook his head confidently.  “Marine teams two and three are ready and standing by.” 

      “Then that will be all.”  Brodie stood still as the men drifted out of the room and motioned for Dempsey to come.  Brodie was holding a document marked across the top MOST CONFIDENTIAL.

      “Colonel, I have some information to share with you.  See that it is shared with no one else.  I’m not sure how our intelligence services came across this or how accurate it is.”  He held up the paper.  “It appears we have something of a hero on that flight.  According to Interpol, the flight was hijacked by five PLO terrorists.  One was posing as a baggage handler from London’s International Airport, and he smuggled weapons aboard.  Apparently, the flight crew relayed this information to London shortly before they were all killed.  They left their radio on, and the whole thing is on tape.”

      “So what about this hero?”

      “Intelligence doesn’t know how they landed the aircraft.  They know it wasn’t the crew because a little while after the flight crew was killed, an Israeli listening post intercepted a conversation between a passenger who claimed to be flying the aircraft and an Iraqi interceptor.  It seems that, based on that conversation, the Israelis believe the passenger killed the terrorists, disarmed a bomb, and then flew the aircraft.”

      “That seems a little farfetched, Captain, doesn’t it?”

      Brodie shrugged his shoulders.  “Yes, but the Israelis are usually pretty good about their information.  Look, I don’t know what happened up there.  For all I know, that hero is actually one of the terrorists.  That will be up to you to decide once you get there.  Check him out carefully.  I think you’ll know when you meet him if he’s for real or not.”

      “I understand, and thanks for the information.”

 

 

Code Name: “Red Knight”

Mission: Hostage Rescue Operation

 

      As night approached, four CH-46 Sea Knight helicopters lifted off the Roosevelt’s deck.   The Sea Knight was a large dual-rotor helicopter that could easily accommodate two dozen adults.  Sea Knight Able contained the detachments of twenty Marine members in all.  Sea Knights Baker and Charley were empty helicopters for transporting the hostages back.  Sea Knight Dog contained two Hummer land rovers heavily armed for the assault team.  It would also be used as a backup helicopter in an emergency.

      Dempsey checked his watch.  In four hours, they would be landing about a mile from the compound.  The two hummers would race ahead and cut off the roads on either side of the compound while the rest of the Marines attacked the compound on foot.  Once the compound was secured, the helicopters would fly in and load the hostages, the Marines, and the hummers.  Then after the helicopters were airborne, bombs planted by the Marine teams would be detonated, blowing up the compound.   He  wasn’t altogether comfortable with the plan, but he didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to be in on this rescue.  He would just have to hope for the best.

      Almost four hours later, the green light came on in the helicopter’s cabin, signaling that the Marine teams would be landing in three minutes.  They checked their gear a final time when there was a whispering sound above the sound of the turbines.  Then came a flash and the concussion of an explosion.  Sea Knight Dog was falling in a ball of flames.   The swishing sound was not new to Dempsey, who knew immediately the sound of a surface-to-air missile.  They were under attack!

      Dempsey grabbed his headset.  “What’s our altitude?”

      Several of the Marines did not wait to find out and leaped from the helicopter to their deaths.  Then, suddenly, another explosion shook their helicopter from behind.  The explosion showered metal fragments that darted through the tail of the helicopter like small missiles.  The distant sound of  automatic cannon fire could be heard, and then there was a tremendous explosion above them.  Flames burst through the ceiling as the tail turbine assembly shattered and the back section of the helicopter blew apart exposing, the Marine team to a torrent of sucking wind that pulled a couple of men from inside the fuselage.

      The helicopter tumbled and twisted downward until it impacted on the ground.  About a half dozen uninjured men rushed out of the crumpled ship into the night, among them Captain Wright.  One remained to help the injured out of the burning helicopter.

      Dempsey, though dazed, was still alive.  Then another explosion sounded in the distance as the last airborne helicopter, trying to flee, was hit from behind by a missile and exploded.  Marine team members were trying to tend each other’s wounds.  They were all injured and shaken up by the impact of the crash.

      Dempsey assessed the situation quickly: the rescue was a bust! He himself had suffered a broken wrist and several broken ribs.  “Set up the satellite comm unit!  We’ve only got a few minutes to report!” His voice drifted off because of the pain.

      But they had even less time than that.  He had barely given the order when the night came alive with Iraqi soldiers.  There was no place to run and no fight left in them.  The Iraqis were waiting for them, and they walked right into the trap. 

      Miraculously, no one was seriously hurt, and after being searched, they were loaded onto trucks and brought to the compound.  Dempsey looked around at his men.  There were twelve of them, and he was the only officer.  “Did anyone see what happened to Captain Wright or Captain Vinson?”

      “Yeah, Captain Vinson bought it.”

      “Captain Wright escaped with Hawk and a few others.”

      Dempsey tried to assess what he knew of Wright.  He was a careful and sensible man who would do the right thing, and the right thing would be to try and get his men to safety.

      When they arrived at the compound, Dempsey was taken from his men and brought to a little room where an Arab officer stood.

      “What is your name?”  the officer asked.

      “Colonel Jason Dempsey.”

      “You are a long way from home, are you not?”

      Dempsey was covered in blood and dirt, holding his broken wrist close to his broken ribs.  He was in obvious pain, and as a result, lacking in patience. 

      “Why don’t you just get on with it.”

      “Yes.”  The officer turned sideways and took a few steps.  “Why don’t we indeed?”

      Without warning, the Arab turned and buried his fist deep into Dempsey’s broken ribs.  Dempsey fell to his knees moaning in pain.  He grabbed Dempsey’s face with one hand and his hair with the other while the guards pulled his hands away from his body, twisting the broken wrist behind his back. 

      Dempsey felt hot breath on his face.  “Okay, we shall get on with it.  But are you sure that is what you want?”

      Dempsey was gasping from pain through his tightly gritted teeth and opened his eyes to spit in his tormentor’s face.  The beating that followed left Dempsey unconscious and bleeding internally.

 

 

Five miles east of Wasit Prison Facility

East Central Iraq

 

      Wright and his squad of five had traveled five miles from the compound to the top of a small ridge.  From this position, they could make out soldiers below and behind them.  The Iraqis were about a half a mile back, searching carefully through the brush.  Apparently, they did not believe the Americans could have gotten as far away as they did.

      Wright needed time to evaluate the situation.  The most important thing to do now was to second guess their pursuers and elude capture.  The pursuing force would soon realize that they had escaped and set up a dragnet around them.  He looked at his charts with his pen flashlight.  They were southeast of the compound on a predictable course to the Persian Gulf.  This is probably exactly the direction the Iraqis would expect them to take.  He decided to take a chance and turn north toward Turkey.

 

Wasit Prison Facility

East Central Iraq

Prisoner Barracks

 

      The dirty, bloody Marines were brought into the dorm.  The looks on their faces said it all.  They were all enlisted men, so Taylor took charge as some of the passengers tried to help the wounded.  Some of the passengers made bandages while others brought water and blankets for them to lie on.

      Taylor was trying to get information.  “Didn’t any officers survive?”

      The Marines remained silent. 

      “Well?  Do I have to repeat myself?” 

      “Sir, I’m sorry, sir.  We’re under orders not to discuss the mission with anyone,” a young sergeant finally answered.

      “You can tell me if any officers were taken to another location.”

      “That is affirmative.  A colonel survived and was taken from us when we arrived here.”

      “Were you part of a rescue attempt?”

      The question met with more silence. 

      “What were your casualties?  I’m ordering you to answer me!”

      “I’m sorry, sir.  We are under direct orders from our colonel.”

      His meaning was clear.  A colonel outranked a Captain, and these men were going to follow their orders.

      Rob pulled Taylor back.  “That’s okay, Marine.  You don’t have to answer any questions.  You’ve all been through a lot, so why don’t you just lie down and let us take care of  you.”

      The sergeant was obviously exhausted and laid down on his blanket.  Rob turned back toward Taylor.

      Taylor glared at Rob.  “I’ve had it with your attitude!”

      “And I’ve had it with yours!”

      Nancy pushed between them.  “What is going on!  Who are you two fighting, anyway?  Have you forgotten who put you both in here in the first place?”

      Before anything else could be said, the doors opened and Colonel Dempsey was dumped onto the floor.  All of the Marines quickly ran to his aid.  He was unconscious and shaking, having been severely beaten.

 

      The Cheetah sat near the center of the dorm and assessed the situation.  The introduction of so many highly trained Marines severely complicated things.  The mission still had to be completed.  It had been four years now that the Cheetah had operated and never met with defeat.  Each mission had its problems, but in each situation, the Cheetah had found success.

      As night went on, the Cheetah thought more and more of the Egyptian colonel who held them prisoner.  The Cheetah was also Egyptian and understood the hate that he held for the Americans.  But under no circumstance could the Cheetah be exposed.  It was tempting to give information about what these prisoners were planning, but that would only let the prisoners know that a spy was in their midst.  The Israeli officer, whoever he might be, would certainly become suspicious and make the job harder for the Cheetah to discover who he was.  For now, the Cheetah must remain quiet, even if it means allowing the prisoners to escape.

 

 

 

Day Six

Main Operations Center, USS Roosevelt

Persian Gulf

 

      The Roosevelt’s Operations Center had been busy all night trying to put together what went wrong.  After there had been no communication with Red Knight team for nearly two hours, a single CH-53E Super Stallion had been sent out at 1:30 A.M. with a small recon team to find out what had happened.   The recon team had arrived at the target area around 5:30 A.M. but were unable to get within twenty miles of the compound because of the heavy air and ground activity.  As a result, they were unable to find or recover any wreckage from any of the helicopters.

      “Sir, Red Knight Rescue is heading back.”

      “Captain,” another voice announced.  “It’s the Secretary of State.”  

      Captain Brodie thought for a minute about the time difference.  It would be early evening in Washington.  He flipped the console on in front of him, and the secretary appeared.

      “Am I looking at this picture right, Captain?  I show twenty-two Marines and twelve Sea Knight crew members dead or missing, along with four choppers and two hummers.”  He dropped the paper from which he was reading and took off his glasses.  “Am I reading this right, Captain?”

      Brodie sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment.  “Yes, sir.  You’ve got it all right.”

      “I’d fire you, you understand, if we weren’t at war.  But we are.”  The secretary paused thoughtfully and shook his head.  “I don’t even have the luxury of firing you, and you don’t have the luxury of quitting.  We’re in trying times, and I need everyone where they are, doing what they do, including you.  Don’t even think of turning in your resignation, not after this.  I don’t know where to go from here because I only get what you give me.  So I’m putting the ball back in your court.  I don’t know if those men are alive or dead, but I’m leaving it up to you.  Come up with something, and do it soon.  And Captain, I don’t want to see any more dead.”

      Brodie thought about asking him to reconsider his resignation, but he knew it was no good.  His request would not even be considered until after this war was over.  Besides, even if he resigned, it wouldn’t bring his men back.  He knew these men were his responsibility, and he didn’t need anyone pointing that out to him.  Even though the decisions had been made by other people, he would ultimately be blamed.  He had done everything right.  He had done it by the book and still his men had died.  No one there felt the loss more than he, and he alone would have to pay the consequences for their deaths.

 

Wasit Prison Facility

East Central Iraq

Prisoner Barracks

 

      With morning’s arrival, the Marines awoke and began to familiarize themselves with their fellow prisoners.  Taylor became more frustrated with them as they continued to withhold information he requested.  It was early in the afternoon before the colonel woke up.  Taylor was first in line waiting to talk to him.

      “Colonel.”  Taylor stood at attention.  “May I have a word with you.”

      “At ease, Captain.  We’re all prisoners here.”

      “Sir, my name is Captain Taylor.  I’m from the First Armor Division, U.S. Army, sir.”

      “What’s on your mind, Captain?”

      “Sir, your men have refused to give me any information as to their mission or division.  I request that you instruct them to give me the courtesy due an officer of my rank.”

      Dempsey paused, gazing at Taylor sharply enough to pierce a hole right through him.  Then, with his index finger, he motioned Taylor to come closer.  Taylor knelt down and drew close to Dempsey. When he was within reaching distance, Dempsey grabbed his shirt and pulled his face up to his own.  “That question will be the last question you ask either me or my men.  Do I make myself clear?”

      “Yes, sir!”

      ”You will address me as Colonel Dempsey and my men by whatever name they choose to give you.  You will refrain from questioning their names, missions, or anything else that they choose not to share with you.”

      Taylor was visibly embarrassed by his reprimand and wisely chose to remain silent.

      Dempsey tossed him back and turned his attention to his men.  “You all know the code.  You all know the drill.  We talked about this day.  Now let’s just do what we’re paid to do.  Okay?”

      Dempsey then turned his attention to Rob.   “You’re the captain of this flight?

      Rob hesitated, not knowing how to respond.

      “It’s not necessary to respond, Captain.  I’ve seen the intelligence reports on who killed those terrorists and who flew the plane.”

      “And just how did you come across that kind of information?”

      “Does it surprise you?  That I know?”

      “Yes, it does.”

      The colonel smiled approvingly.   Then, just as quickly, his face became serious again.  “Just don’t quit on me now, okay?”

      “Well, just let me say that I’ll do everything I’m capable of.”

      “How should I address you?”

      “Just Captain, please.”

      “Well, Captain, do you know how we were able to find you?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      That was enough for the colonel.  Now he knew for sure that these passengers sent the first transmissions.  “Could the same events be repeated?”

      “Without question.”

      “Do you play cards, Captain?”

      “Sometimes.”

      “Well, to answer the question in your mind, we don’t want to play our Joker until we draw out their trump.  Understand?”

      Rob nodded.  Reusing the transmission of the surveillance camera would be a last resort.

      Dempsey decided to change the subject.  “Tell me about the arrogant little punk who beat me when I arrived.”

      “Oh, him.  That’s just his way of introducing himself.”

      Dempsey looked Rob over, noting the cuts and bruises on his face.  “So you’ve already been properly introduced I see.”

      “He’s definitely not Iraqi.  Somehow he’s been educated in the West, probably in America.  He seems to despise the Iraqis and considers them fools.  My guess is that the Iraqis have used his knowledge of American systems and then stuck him out here because they couldn’t stand him or he couldn’t get along with them.”

      “You’re probably correct, Captain.  He’s most likely Egyptian, because they are the only Arab nation with whom we have an officer exchange program.  But go on.”

      “Before you, your men, and the Captain over there showed up, I kept his focus on me by making it personal between him and me.  I’m concerned because he seems to feel that our very existence is a threat to his... being a whole man in some way.”

      Worry shot across Dempsey’s face.   “He doesn’t need all of us, does he.”

      Rob shook his head.  “He’s going to try to break us in some way to prove his superiority over us, and when or if he does, he no longer needs any of us.”

      Dempsey looked down, then back at Rob.  “It’s you and me, isn’t it?  He doesn’t need to destroy everyone, just our best.”

      “One of us must hold out no matter what.”

      “Son, I’m in no shape for it.”

      The door opened.  Esfandiari entered, flashing a broad smile.  “My, don’t we have a nice little group.”

      Dempsey struggled to his feet.  “Sir, I must insist that you release these civilians.   They’re not soldiers or criminals.”

      Esfandiari turned quickly on his heels to face him and smirked.  “You? You are in no position to insist on anything, are you?”

      “Sir, it isn’t necessary to hold them now that you have us.”

      The Arab turned his head slightly to stare deep into the colonel.  “Then you do understand.  If that is the case, then you must also realize that these people are necessary to witness your repentance.”  He turned to look directly at Rob.  “And you will repent.”

      Rob could no longer stay silent.  He leaned nonchalantly against the wall.  “You know, most people have to make others pay to be part of the audience, but not you.  The only audience you can keep is at gunpoint.”

      Esfandiari's face turned to stone.

      Rob crossed his arms.  “Face it.  The only way you can get someone to appreciate you is at gunpoint.  Why, I bet you sleep with your door locked and a gun under your pillow, afraid one of your own men would shoot you.  I’ll bet you pay these men extra just to watch your... ”

      “Enough!”  Esfandiari jerked his gun from his holster and pointed it at Rob.  His hand was shaking and his teeth were clenched.  Then, almost immediately, his face relaxed, and he returned his gun to its holster.  Taking a deep breath, he turned around and walked out.

      Rob turned to Dempsey just as Dempsey began to laugh.  “Do you always get under people’s skin so easily or were you just lucky?”

      Rob just smiled.

 

Wasit Prison Facility

East Central Iraq

Prisoner Barracks

 

      Rob stared out the window, watching the hills in the distance as the sun began to set and studying the quiet sergeant standing beside him.  “Do you have a name?”

      “Rock.  They just call me Sergeant Rock.”

      Rob couldn’t help but notice how his name fit him, given the size and build of this impressive African-American.  Rock was not the tallest of the Marines, but he certainly appeared to be the strongest.  He looked like an NFL running back, huge muscles swelling from his chest and arms.  The drab green T-shirt seemed barely able to contain him.  His square face and piercing eyes shouted, Don’t mess with me.  He was the one everyone wanted on their side.       “Do you have a family?”  Rob asked.

      “Nope.  You?”

      Rob looked back out the window.  “Well, I used to.”  He turned to Rock to change the subject.  “How did you get a name like Rock?”

      “Well, I guess it’s because I've always been big and solid.  I once hit a man and killed him.  I didn’t think I hit him that hard, but I guess I did.”

      “You must have gotten in trouble for that.”

      “Well, no, actually it was the kind of fight where you’re supposed to hurt the other guy.”

      “I see.  So now you go by Rock?”

      “Yeah.  One of the guys said, ‘What do you have, a rock for a fist?’  It just sorta stuck.”

      “All of you seem to go by some kind of nickname rather than your real name.  John Boy, Chad, Hawk, Micro, Ducky.  Is that just some sort of military thing or is there a reason for it?”

      Rock looked uncomfortable with the question and looked around before he answered.  “We don’t carry dogtags or other ID.  You see, some of us have bounties on our heads from different terrorist organizations and hostile governments.  Bottom line...  most of us don’t even know the real names of our buddies.  You get used to it, though.”

      Rob nodded in approval.  “You seem to be Colonel Dempsey’s main man.”

      “Well, I guess you could say that.”  Rock smiled.  “See, I’ve been with the colonel the longest of anyone in this group.  I’ve been with him for almost ten years now.  I was with him when he was still a captain.”

      Rob liked this man immediately and couldn’t help but feel comfortable with him.  “I know you all have your specialties, so what’s yours?”

      Rock’s face suddenly turned from smiling and tender to rock solid and cold.  He turned to look squarely at Rob.  “I kill people.”

      Something in the way he said it chilled Rob to the bone.  He understood why they called him Rock.  It was because he was just as cold.

      The dorm’s door opened, and a dozen Iraqi soldiers came in.  “You will all come with us.”  The passengers and Marines were taken to another large room that resembled a small windowless gymnasium.  Everyone was lined up along one wall, giving them the eerie feeling of being in front of a firing squad.  The group was facing the other end of the gym where a small hall led to a set of double doors.   It was no surprise that Esfandiari walked into the gym through those doors.  The surprise came when a seven-and-a-half-foot giant walked in behind him.

      The giant, wearing an Iraqi uniform, was an enormous man in both size and strength.  He stood at ease with his hands behind his back and studied the group without emotion as Esfandiari moved to the center of the gym.

      “I have decided to accept your captain’s challenge,” Esfandiari announced, looking at Rob.  He took in the rest of the group, then gestured toward the giant.  “May I present Mir Al-Hamradt.  He will represent me in battle against your champions.  Which one of you will be the first to battle him to the death?”

      “That’s enough!” Dempsey stepped forward.  “None of us are going to do any fighting.  Let me remind you that we are prisoners of your government, and as such, you are responsible for our safety.”

      Esfandiari said nothing as he studied Dempsey carefully.

      Rob knew that Esfandiari would take any opportunity to kill someone, so he took advantage of Esfandiari’s hesitation to warn Dempsey.  “Colonel, he means it.”  But even as Rob spoke, Esfandiari drew his pistol and shot one of the Marines in the head.  The prisoners near him scattered, screaming as he fell, his blood pooling on the floor.  Marie tried to shield her children by staying in front of them, but there was no way to protect all of them at once.  Nancy tried to help her, but the children naturally clung to their mother, screaming in terror.

      “No!”  Rob jumped forward. “I’ll fight him.  Just no more!”

      “No, you won’t.” Dempsey put up his hand, motioning Rob to back off.  “He’s crossed the line now.  He’s gone too far.”

      Almost immediately, a tall blond Marine known only as “Ducky” stepped forward to take the challenge.  Some of the other prisoners were still crying as the guards dragged the bloody dead Marine from the rest of the group.  Most believed they had been brought here to be killed.

      Dempsey straightened.  “Don’t worry.  Ducky’s a third degree black belt.  He’s the best we’ve got.”

      The other Marines seemed to share Dempsey’s confidence.

      Esfandiari was not amused.  “Just in case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’ll explain it to you.”  He grinned.  “You are my prisoners, not my government’s, and I’ll do with you as I please.”

      Ducky’s slender body was conditioned for martial arts fighting.  He didn’t possess the bulging muscles many of the other Marines did, but his arm and legs were well-toned.  Being muscle bound can sometimes get in the way of a fighter, and his fighting style resembled that of a striking snake.

      He was not the largest of the Marines, but now, standing near the giant, his six-foot one-inch height seemed only half that size.  The unit was very proud of the trophies and awards Ducky had earned, and their respect for him was quite evident. If Ducky were at all concerned or afraid, he hid it very well.

      Ducky approached the giant and attacked him without warning.  First, he gave a kick to the stomach, then a solid jab to the chest.  The giant grunted slightly at the kick but caught Ducky’s jab effortlessly with his left hand.  The giant grabbed Ducky with his other hand and tossed him across the gym.

      Rock was muttering under his breath.  “It’s okay.  He usually has a slow start.”

      Ducky was back on his feet almost immediately and attacked with a grueling display of kicks and jabs, most of which seemed inconsequential to the giant.  The giant’s lack of concern was disturbing to the other Marines, and they exchanged worried glances.  Ducky was in trouble.

      Finally, the giant tired of toying with Ducky and grabbed his arm, cracking it like a stick in his hands.  The sound echoed across the gym.

      Ducky screamed, holding his mangled arm as he dropped to his knees.

      Rob couldn’t stand by any longer.  “Okay!  You won!  Now stop this!”

      “No...  No...  No!”  Esfandiari insisted.  “Your colonel has accepted this challenge.  We will continue.”  He pointed his gun directly at one of the young girls.  “You will all stay where you are.”

      Ducky was in terrible pain as he struggled to his feet and stood in a defensive position, waiting.  When the giant approached Ducky, he dropped down on his left ankle and swung his right leg around, hooking the giant’s ankle and pulling his feet out from under him.  As the giant crashed backward onto the floor, a weak cheer could be heard from the prisoners.  Not a word, however, came from the Marines, who understood just how grave the situation really was.

      Ducky tried to look confident as he braced himself for another attack.  His initial overconfidence had cost him his arm and could end up costing him his life if he made another mistake.  The giant got to his feet much more carefully now.  Both of these men had found respect for each other.

      The giant jabbed carefully at Ducky, knowing that his arm span easily outmatched that of his opponent.  Ducky now seemed only able to block.  He had to wait for an opportunity to use his speed should the giant make a mistake.  He was slowly being maneuvered by the giant down the short hallway but he was helpless to prevent it.  It took all his skill to just avoid or block all the kicks and jabs.  The pain and the constant onslaught of blows were beginning to take their toll: Ducky was weakening.

      With Ducky’s back pressed firmly against the wall, the giant was able to catch his chin with the back of his right hand.  Ducky spun to the floor, and the giant was quite ready to take advantage of the situation.  He grabbed Ducky around the chest, lifting him into the air.  Ducky struggled, kicked, and finally cried out as his ribs and back broke.  The giant dropped him to the floor like a limp rag.

      Ducky was dead.

      Ducky’s easy defeat broke the confidence of the rest of the Marines.  He was their best fighter, and no one believed that they could succeed where he failed.  So it was predictable that no other volunteers were waiting when he failed.

      This fact seemed to surprise and excite Esfandiari.  He kept gun trained on the girl.  “Who’s next?  You will all face this man, or I will shoot you where you stand.  So decide, either fight and die like a man or be shot like a dog.”

      Rob edged away from the wall with his hands up.  “Listen, you’ve made your point.  What more do you want from us?”

      Esfandiari’s lips curled, feeding on the fear of his prisoners.  “You.”  Esfandiari pointed at Chad.  “I want you next.”

      Chad’s mouth dropped open slightly, and he glanced over at his commander.  He was taller and stronger than Ducky and skilled in hand-to-hand combat.  His considerable strength and skill that would easily outmatch an opponent in normal situations now seemed dreadfully inadequate.

      He had no distinguishing physical qualities setting him apart from the other Marines.  His well-defined physique was typical of his unit. But his dark hair, dark brown eyes and a face that might grace the cover of GQ magazine, he might easily mistaken for a model.

      He set his face into combat mode, controlling his fear as he moved forward and rolled up his sleeves.  His fellow Marines offered advice.

      “Stay low, man.”

      “Ducky’s swing kick worked good.”

      “Keep away from his arms.”

      “Get behind him.”

      The suggestions were obvious, and Chad already knew them, but he also understood that his friends were just understandably worried.  He approached the giant slowly, and this time, it was the giant who attacked first, jabbing his right fist at Chad's face.

      Chad ducked down and stepped forward,  then swung upward quickly, landing a powerful fist under the giant’s chin.  The giant stepped backward slightly, giving Chad another opportunity.  He kicked the giant’s knee, sending him to the floor.  He kicked again to the chest, knocking the giant completely down.

      Encouraged by Chad’s success, the prisoners became hopeful but not for long.  The giant quickly returned to his feet and kicked forward, catching Chad in the stomach and sending him into the air.  He impacted on a wall and slid down to a kneeling position, badly hurt by just one kick.

      Chad struggled to his feet and began to circle the gym as if trying to maneuver around him.  The giant watched his circle in amusement.  “Come a little closer, “ he teased.  “I’ve got something to tell you.”

      Esfandiari laughed as he watched, thoroughly enjoying every minute.  He savored the respect and fear he was finally getting from these spoiled, arrogant Americans.

      Chad was becoming desperate.  Every time he approached the giant to kick or strike, he was met by a powerful stroke that sent him tumbling to the floor.  He struggled to remain conscious and out of the giant’s reach.  If those huge hands captured him, it would be his end.

      By now, Chad was bleeding from the mouth and nose, holding his chest where several powerful kicks had broken ribs on both sides.  But even with his injuries, he was proving to be a tougher competitor than even he believed.  But another grueling kick sent him into a corner from which there was no escape.  He tried to crawl free but was caught in the grasp of the giant.  The giant grabbed the back of his neck with his right hand and forced his head to the floor.  Then, with a mighty stomp, it was over. 

      Every head turned away from the gruesome sight.  Most of the women and children were crying, and the men were begging not to be next.  Rob stepped out again, facing Esfandiari directly.  “It’s my turn.”

      Marie turned at the sound of Rob’s voice, horrified, but she held her tongue as her heart felt crushed within her chest.  The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself and her children.  But, she thought, how could Rob possibly be so willing to force his family watch him be slaughtered?

      “Are you sure this is what you want?”

      Rob’s despised the Arab and bristled at his sarcasm.  “No, I want you...   next.” 

      As Rob approached the giant, memories of the old rabbi filled his mind, especially his last words to him:  “You have the heart of David.”  He struggled not to cry or shake from fear.  He knew he dared not look back at the others, especially Marie and his children.  He could not afford to partake in their fear, so he continued his careful advance.

      “What is this?” bellowed the giant.  “Have you sent me a squirrel to butcher?  Come close, and I’ll be quick with you.”

      Rob could feel his body shaking and knew that terror must be emanating from his face.  He looked at Esfandiari, knowing that his smugness would give him strength, strength enough to kill.  He let the image of the Arab’s face sear into his mind until he went mad with rage, and then, with a howl, he tore into the giant.

      The attack took the giant totally by surprise as Rob struck the giant with useless kicks and jabs.  But the giant easily picked him up with one hand and threw him against the wall, knocking his breath from him and causing momentary disorientation.  The giant laughed as Rob stumbled from side to side.

      Rob’s anger continued to mount.  There had been enough useless death, enough punishment for unknown crimes.  Into his mind flashed the memories: the Israeli soldiers being shot in front of him while he hid in the closet, the flight crew being executed for no reason at all, Chad’s life being squeezed out of him as he struggled for his life.  He charged forward again and again, taking the giant by surprise with his voracity.  This time a well-placed kick to the groin put the giant on his knees.  He kicked his knee upward, breaking the giant’s nose and splattering blood over both of them.  The blow sent them both backward to the floor in opposite directions.

      When Rob opened his eyes, he saw only boots in front of him, Esfandiari’s boots.  His strength was instantly renewed, and he stood up to strike Esfandiari down with his fist as hard as he could.   He turned around just in time to see the giant charging him.  As he stepped backward to avoid the collision, he tripped backward over Esfandiari.  The giant tried to stop to avoid stepping on Esfandiari also.  The giant came to a halt directly over  Rob, who kicked upward into the giant’s groin as hard as he could.

      Pain shot through the giant, and his knees began to shake.  Rob stood, doubled up both fists, and struck the giant in the neck.  He had lost his fear, and now he watched the giant fall to the ground.

      Dazed but aware that someone was yelling for him, Rob turned around just in time to see a club swinging toward his side.  It was Esfandiari, Rob realized as the club impacted on his abdomen.  He had just enough strength left to grab the club and counter with a fist to Esfandiari’s chin.

      But now the giant had returned!  A fist almost the size of a basketball collided with Rob’s face.  He fell to the floor bleeding from all parts of his face.  Only his uncontrollable rage kept him conscious and pulled him to his feet.  As Rob turn around and saw the giant charging him again, he tightened his fist.  But something solid prevented it.  The club!  It was still in his hands!  He backed up and swung the club at the giant as hard as he could.  The giant shifted slightly, sending the blow over his right shoulder.

      The giant had him in his grasp and began to squeeze his chest.  He struggled vainly to free himself from the giant’s vise-like grip so he could breathe.  He was desperate as he felt the life draining from his body.  With one last effort, he managed to swing the club over the giant’s shoulder, striking the middle of the giant’s back with a solid blow.  The giant’s body jerked, and his grip momentarily eased enough for Rob to draw another breath.  The giant was shaking in anger and tossed Rob backward over his shoulder.

      Rob reached up to grab the giant’s left ear.  As he went over, his left elbow hooked under the giant’s chin just as his hand gripped the ear firmly.  Feeling the momentum, he dropped the club and gripped both fists together as he swung his body over the giant’s left shoulder.

      The momentum of his body pulled the giant’s head up and to his left at a higher and higher angle that a head was never meant to go.  For a moment, both he and the giant seemed to freeze in motion as he struggled to maintain his grip around the giant’s powerful neck.  It was the irresistible force against the immovable object, and the object moved.

      Then, as if a miracle took place in the most hopeless of circumstances, the giant’s head twisted almost completely around.  Then with a quiet snap that seemed to echo across the gym, the giant dropped to the floor with Rob on top of him.  It was over, and just like that time thousands of years before in this very part of the earth, once again David slew Goliath!

 

      Marie was still kneeling on the floor, the children’s faces tucked into her chest, their backs to the fight.  Her body was trembling slightly as she resisted crying.  She tried not to listen to the battle before her, but she couldn’t help noticing the sudden shouts of joy.   Was it over?

      There was only one way to know for sure.  She lifted her head slowly to look.  As her unbelieving eyes fell on the bloodied and beaten Rob standing over his beaten opponent, everything seemed to stand motionless in time.  He stood alone on his field of valor, as a knight who had just taken his kingdom.  He stood alone and defied the odds.  She couldn’t help remembering the rabbi’s last words to her about him: he has the heart of David.

 

      Rob looked from face to face, feeling as if he should say something.  But what words could possibly express his feelings at that moment?  How could he possibly verbalize his joyless victory without lessening the humility he felt?  Was it victory or just dumb luck?  Was it skill or simply fate?  What could he possibly say that wouldn’t belittle the situation?  His wandering gaze stopped, focusing on Esfandiari’s bewildered face.

      He tried to smile through his swollen face without success.  He wiped the dripping blood from his nose.  “Sometimes the battle isn’t given to the strong and the swift.”  He paused for dramatic affect.  “Sometimes battles are won by the desperate determination...  of fools like me.”  His expression hardened as he returned Esfandiari’s stare.  “You’re next.”

      Esfandiari swallowed hard, and for a moment, he showed the slightest bit of real fear before he pulled himself out of the room.

      Rock rushed to Rob and hugged him. “Man, I been in some hot spots, but what you did...  Man, that’s gotta be the bravest thing I ever saw.”