Arabian Storm (The Hunter Killer Series Book 5) by George Wallace (different ereaders .txt) 📕

as you boys likely know, he has a deserved reputation for being about as ruthless a bastard as there is. He gives the word ‘terrorist’ a bad name.”

Willoughby nodded agreement. “Yep. He’d cut his momma’s throat for the goofiest of causes. Now Tom, how quick can one of your SEAL teams mount a mission to try to rescue these people. I know you well enough to know you got something nearby. We start shooting big stuff, a lot of innocent people will get hurt. But I don’t like Babak having his hands on them either. Tough mission but your boys might be their only chance. And maybe having them on the scene, they can help us put some more of the pieces together on what’s going down, too.”

Donnegan rubbed his chin for a few seconds, putting pins in a mental map and calculating times and distances. But he already knew his best choice.

“As luck has it, we have one of our crack teams on call, catching a nap in Djibouti, and another team a couple of hours away. We should be able to stage something inside of twenty-four hours.”

Winking Willie’s eye was doing double-time. Bull Dog Harris looked impressed.

“Tom, we won’t have much in place to back you up if the world turns to shit,” Winking Willie growled. “Closest help is the Gerald Ford Strike Group. It just pulled into Haifa for a liberty port. We’ll do an emergency sortie, but it will be a couple of days before they can transit the Suez and be in range.”

Jon Ward chewed his lower lip. He knew precisely which SEAL teams the admiral had in mind. And he also knew perfectly well who the leader of one of those teams was. So did the admiral. The two men exchanged quick glances.

General Willoughby nodded and said, “Make it happen, Tom.”

30

Dawn found the freshly renamed Darih al Mahit al Muqadas already underway, steaming west toward the Bab al-Mandab and to the Red Sea beyond. Nabiin looked more like a cruise ship passenger, reclining in a chaise lounge on the bridge wing, than he did a madman about to set off a global conflagration. He allowed a smile to cross his face as he watched the glorious splashes of gold, orange, and red paint a swath across the purple daybreak sky. This was one of the things he loved most about the region, how there was such low humidity that colors at the beginning and end of each day were more brilliant than anywhere else on the planet that he had seen.

And now they promised a truly spectacular day.

Nabiin and his lieutenants had calculated that it would take his well-disguised ship five days to reach Jeddah at this speed. Even so, there was little chance of anyone intercepting them. Not with all the distractions created by his followers. Plus, to anyone but a close observer his ship was nothing more than a rusty old cargo vessel, trying to deliver a load of pipeline fittings or oil pumps to Jeddah.

His plans considered all contingencies, of course. It might be necessary to call ahead and have a fast-flying helicopter meet them at sea. It was essential that he be in Mecca at the Kaaba before Friday prayers.

Then the new order would be unleashed upon an unsuspecting world. Or at least not anticipated by those who had not read or heard and believed the prophecies.

Ψ

The colorful dawn also found Jim Ward and his SEAL team—now augmented by a fresh backup team of SEAL shooters—putting together the gear they would need for the upcoming night mission, now less than twelve hours away. Planning was well underway. Everyone understood it would be a tough and dangerous assignment, so it required careful coordination and all the intel they could muster.

Master Chief Johnston closely scanned a computer display that revealed detailed satellite imagery of the granite monolith they would storm that night. It rose near vertically out of the open sea, like a giant clenched fist. He had gone over every inch of the island carefully and with increasing magnification until he was certain of the location of every rock and ditch.

“Skipper,” he finally said, looking up at young Jim Ward, who was inventorying every item going into his pack. “Look, I know this place has to be armed to the gills. I can feel it in my bones. But damned if I can see so much as a gun barrel. Not even a slingshot or BB gun.”

Ward stepped over next to Johnston and looked over his shoulder at the screen.

“Ain’t no way these bastards are going to let us waltz in there and saunter off with the prisoners without a fight. Clearly this place is important to them and we know they have plenty of firepower. We just can’t see it.” Ward shook his head. “We have to hit them fast and hard, by complete surprise, or it could be a bloodbath. For us and the folks we’re jumping in there to rescue. And if we make it in and locate the civilians, we still have to get out clean and fast. I’m open to any ideas you got, Master Chief.”

The two SEALs put together their thoughts, bounced ideas off their counterparts on the second SEAL team, and then sat down for a long, secure video conference with Admiral Donnegan back at the Pentagon, along with representatives from SOCCOM and Fifth Fleet. Jim Ward could see his dad on the video feed from Admiral Donnegan’s office, sitting to the side, with that familiar look on his face. The elder Ward was worried about his boy, just as he had been when Jim ran onto the football field to play linebacker in junior high or took the family car out for his first date or went off on his summer cruise during his time at the Naval Academy. The worried look his dad kept so well disguised from those around him. But it was clear