The Phoenix Affair by Dave Moyer (best ebook pdf reader android txt) 📕

a look he would not under-estimate at any time.

“I think I’ll leave the story to Jones, if he wants to tell it Patrick. Maybe I’ll come back to Paris next Fall with Elizabeth and buy you dinner and a bottle of wine, maybe then I can tell you myself. Meantime, let’s just leave it that fighter pilots are rarely if ever very stupid, most are way above average, some are downright scary-dangerous smart, and all of them are very, very fast learners. Doesn’t matter if they’re American or not I don’t think. You run across a guy that you know is or was a fighter pilot for a big chunk of his life, mind your wives and daughters, Patrick, and don’t underestimate the guy. He’ll kill you if that’s the way of things, you make sure you kill him first if that’s the way of things. I like you, son, so stay sharp.”

“Yessir,” Ripley said automatically, suddenly an Army Sergeant again talking to his Colonel. “Uhh, I mean, thanks, Colonel.” He thought for a moment. “Will you need anything in Amman, like, for the trip into Saudi?”

“Glad you reminded me. We, err, might need to tool up a bit, so to speak. I was thinking a couple of handheld GPSs, maybe a set of those NVGs like you had the other night, compass, a couple of tactical radios if someone can spare ‘em, maybe a satellite phone, spare batteries for everything, a pack or something to haul it all in?”

Now it was Ripley’s turn for the belly laugh. “You would be in the scary-dangerous category, Colonel, good thing I have neither wives nor daughters. What, no guns?”

“Thought about that, but I think not. I’ve never been to Jordan, don’t know what it’d be like to get caught with guns, and I’m pretty sure crossing into Saudi with any would be a real pain in the ass. Besides, I kinda think Fahd will be taking care of that if he thinks there’s a need. I gather his tribe and kin are more or less Kings in that part of the country, figuratively speaking of course.”

“Right. What about some muscle then? I think Jones came over with orders from the DDO to make sure you stay . . .well, that you stay healthy. Allen, too, for that matter.”

Cameron considered this, glancing across at the two men across the park. They were quite invisible, really, nobody else was taking any notice of them at all.

“Hadn’t really thought of that until now, but they might just come in handy. Can you get them there? I can’t take them in the Saratoga, we’re full. They’ll need visas to get into Saudi, Fahd’s handling mine . . .?”

“We can get them there, Colonel, leave it with me. You have my number on your cell, and it’ll be safe to use once you get to London. Call me when you know when you’re going, flight numbers and the like, and we’ll set up a meet in Amman. The Company will take care of getting them where they need to be.”

“Great.” Cameron got up. “Well, Patrick, all’s settled then and I think I should be going. It’s a fine day for flying, but there’s a storm in the Irish Sea that’ll put England in the crapper for weather by later this afternoon, and I hate doing this in these little airplanes in lousy weather. Hard on the passengers.” He could see Ripley turning a little green again. “I’ll call you later this evening from London, or as soon as we have our papers and flights arranged.”

“Fine, Colonel. Sir, it’s been a real good ride working with you.” Ripley held out his hand.

“Me too, Patrick,” Cameron shook it warmly. “Take care, son. Hope to see you in the Fall for that dinner and a good bottle. Find a date, have a life. My wife will drive you nuts otherwise.”

With a last pat on the shoulder, Cameron strode off in that liquid walk, leaving Ripley with the feeling of having made a lifetime friend. Reminded him of the “Old Man,” his Colonel and brigade commander in 10th Mountain. He watched Cameron walk over to Jones and introduce himself to the shocked man from Langley, and then the same with Allen, finally spinning on his heel and gliding away like a swift boat on a glassy pond. He sat down on the bench again, wondering if it was too late to get into the Air Force and become a fighter pilot.

*****

Ibrahim checked his watch just after nine-thirty and took another sip of his café au lait. His train to Cologne would leave in another half hour or just under, probably boarding twenty minutes ahead of time. Another casual scan around the small café confirmed his confidence that he had escaped unnoticed, and more importantly, not without some potentially useful information.

He’d left the subway a stop after he’d been forced to let the Americans go, his skin still crawled a little when he thought of the bigger man almost sniffing the air there on the platform, and then looking directly at Ibrahim. But never mind. He’d taken a chance guess and a roundabout route to the American embassy near the Place du la Concorde, and he’d waited a block away from the rear entrance to the compound hidden in a basement stairwell. An hours’ time proved a good investment. He’d seen the two men and one other leave the compound in two vehicles. He knew for certain at least that he’d been destroyed, nearly killed, by Americans. He also knew his quarry was Saudi, and he had a fair certainty that they would soon be leaving France, probably as quietly as they could manage.

Without much time before his train, he’d gone to an internet café, thinking as he walked, and when he arrived he’d had a pretty good idea what should be done. It was too early to expect any response from Khalid, but he’d emailed anyway. His network was destroyed, Americans had intervened, he himself was moving to Cologne for the time being to insure he was not captured, perhaps to return to Paris in a months’ time or more. He recommended two things: first, that Khalid attempt to interdict the Saudi when they arrived back in the Kingdom, although he did not know how or where. Second, that this might be aided if their connections in some key European cities were told to watch for the Saudis at their embassies in those cities for the next couple of days. Ibrahim reasoned that they would need new papers to get out of the EU. That done, he’d emailed his own contacts in Berlin, Zurich, Geneva, and London with the specific request that they monitor the Saudi Embassies for the next two days, providing a description of the General and asking for photographs to be taken if he was seen.

He’d found a telephone store as it opened precisely at nine o’clock and bought a new phone, the old one was in a sewer a few blocks from the station where he now sat. He would charge it on the train to Germany and call Khalid himself when he was safely in a hotel there.

The call to board his train interrupted this review, but he was pleased as he gathered his duffel and coat, palmed the cup of coffee, and walked toward the platform. His depression of early morning had given way to a feeling of confidence. He’d been put out of operation for a while, but he was not out of the picture entirely, and he had a feeling that, mashallah, “by the Grace of God”, he would manufacture his own luck and an opportunity to take revenge on both the Saudis and the Americans. XVI. London/Washington/Riyadh

“Paris, Saratoga Foxtrot-two-three-five-Papa-Alpha level at eight thousand.”

“Saratoga Five Papa Alpha, Paris Approach Control, Roger. You are cleared direct via GPS to London and destination as filed, maintain eight thousand.”

“Five Papa Alpha, roger,” Cameron acknowledged. He grinned as he looked right to General Fahd in the co-pilot’s seat. “You want to fly, abu-Mohammed?”

Fahd grinned back, “Absolutely abu-Sean. I’ve never flown one of these.” He took the yoke on his side and said “My airplane.”

“Your airplane, General. It’s nothing compared to what we’re used to, so much slower, but flying’s flying. Here’s the autopilot switches if you decide you don’t want to hand fly. If you can handle air traffic control and the radios for a while, I might try to take a nap for twenty minutes or so.”

“I’ve got it, Paul.”

Cameron could see his friend instantly take on the look he imagined would be on his own face if he were flying: eyes scanning the horizon and the instrument panel in a rapid sequence, the altitude remained pegged at precisely eight thousand feet. Behind him, he could see that Mohammed and Aziz were asleep, the two women were chatting quietly. “OK, you got it. Wake me before we go feet-wet over the Channel or when they pass us over to the first English ATC station, whichever comes first.”

“Got it, go to sleep,” the General said. Cameron leaned his head against the window on his left and was out like a light in a minute.

*****

The digital clock said 4:17, but that didn’t make sense. He closed his eyes, but the noise in his head kept going. He blinked twice. Still 4:17. As his brain began to work it decided the phone was ringing. Struggling a little, he came awake and lifted the secure phone.

“Anderson,” he said simply.

“Sir, this is the duty officer, you asked to be advised if anything happened in Paris. It’s after ten there.”

Awake now, he sat up in the bed, saying “what have you got?”

“Initial report from Paris Station says they took one terrorist alive and interrogated him, another four were eliminated in a hotel room. All five are in the hands of the Paris Police as of 0900 Paris time. Phoenix and Falcon are enroute to London in a private airplane. According to this a follow up report is due in about another hour, about five-thirty our time. Also, the State desk officer over at the Joint Counter-Terrorism Center had a call from a mid-level guy in the French Foreign Ministry asking if they knew of an op we might be running in Paris.”

“What’d our guy tell him?”

“Nothing, sir, he didn’t know of anything, nobody else at the Center did, either. Neither did we, so we told them we had nothing.”

“OK. Do me a favor, check and see what’s going on on the Paris Police network, any APB’s or whatever those Frogs call such things. I want to know what they think they’re looking for, who if they have any names, and how hard they’re looking. I suspect I’ll have a call from their Director sometime this morning, awfully Christian of him not to have called already and woken me up. Guess he’s not that pissed.” Anderson realized he was musing aloud. “Oh yeah, and flash Paris that I want a teleconference at,” he looked at the clock again, “at seven o’clock Langley time, with all the details. You did say Phoenix is enroute to London by private airplane?”

“Yessir, that’s what it says here. Is that bad?”

Anderson chuckled. “No, not