Satan's Spy (The Steve Church saga Book 2) by André Gallo (most inspirational books of all time TXT) 📕

indeed. He should never have allowed Kella to join him. Her life had been at risk from day one. He should have simply refused her help. He recalled now the scene and how she had convinced him; he had been willingly manipulated. He knew that he might very well act in a similar fashion if the scene were to be reenacted.

What about Farah? Was her death his responsibility? Kella had taken the lead in her recruitment, and he had made the final pitch. Again, Farah had willingly joined them. In retrospect, Farah had unconsciously been open to an opportunity to achieve closure by exacting revenge for the death of her father. She was dead for having allowed herself to work with Steve and Kella. In fact, she had seized the opportunity. Should he have pointed out the dangers more explicitly?

Suddenly, Mike slowed the vehicle down just enough to make a U-turn. Heading back north, he brought the truck up to seventy-five miles an hour. He instructed Kella, “Tell me before we get to this trail on the right that will take us to the yellow pin,” and he pointed to a blue line on the GPS map in front of her. The pin was on the West side of the road.

“Ali spotted a roadblock. Not clear if they saw him. He’s off the road. That yellow pin is our emergency meeting point in this section of the road. After that, it’s on the bikes all the way.”

 

60. Manama: U.S.S. Dulles

A tall, red-haired Sea, Air, Land officer stood at attention in Navarre’s shipboard office and said, “Captain Navarre, I’m SEAL Lieutenant Duncan from the Naval Special Warfare Task Force reporting for duty. My orders were emailed to your ship a couple of days ago. I have four men with me. Their names and ranks are included in our orders, sir. My RIB and weapons were put onboard yesterday. I’d like to brief you on our mission.”

“At ease, Lieutenant; SEAL assignments usually emphasize stealth, mini-subs, that kind of thing. Why a Rigid Inflatable Boat this time?”

“In this case, speed will be more important, Sir.” Duncan’s prominent chin seemed to emphasize his statement.

“Let me get my exec and my tactical activities officer. We’ll do this in our conference room.”

When they were all there, he said, “Proceed, Lieutenant.”

“Sir, our mission is to pick up two CIA operatives on the Iranian coast and turn them over at a helicopter pickup. According to my last information, they were being taken to the coast by two CIA Special Activities Division officers from here,” he said, pointing on a wall map to Firuzabad, “to here,” now pointing to the Nayband National Park. “On motorcycles, cross-country. Iranian authorities were in hot pursuit at the last report, according to the NCS Chief Thérèse LaFont and her Near East Division Chief Jason Farrish who briefed me and my team this morning.”

“Where did this briefing take place Lieutenant?” Navarre asked. “Fifth Fleet Headquarters, Sir.”

Navarre made a point of sitting back, hiding his heightened interest. “Go ahead Lieutenant.”

“I’m guessing the beach pickup may take place under fire. We’ll see. Depending on the size of the hostile force, we may need extra help. We’re scheduled to pick them up at this park at sunrise minus forty-five minutes, or 0514 hours local time, 0944 Zulu.”

“Where do you want us to take you, exactly?”

“Sir, if I understand the ops order correctly, the Dulles is about to leave for the Somali Coast imminently.”

Navarre appreciated the understatement. He said, “Yes, we’re putting out to sea in an hour.”

Duncan continued, “If you could drop us off here,” he pointed again to the map, “at 0414 local without deviating from your normal course, we’ll take our boat to the beach under cover of darkness. That gives us an hour to reach our objective. Our boat shouldn’t appear on Iranian radars. Their radars and their patrol boats will be too busy tracking the Dulles. At least, I hope so.” He smiled.

Straight-faced, Navarre told his men, “Make sure this mission takes place without a hitch. Obtain all-source intelligence on Iranian patrol boats. This mission won’t get off the drawing board if the Iranians want to play ‘chicken’ again.”

 

61. Zagros Mountains, Iran

Mike, Steve, and Kella reached the yellow pin first, after a ride that took them over rocky arid ground full of fissures and little vegetation. It was now dark. Mike let Steve and Kella out then parked close to a boulder as high as the truck. He and Steve rolled the second motorcycle off the truck bed.

“Ali should be here soon. We’ve been riding in and out of this area for the last week, first during the day, then at night. Ali has a good grasp of this geography. That’s what rehearsal is all about,” he said in a reassuring them.

He asked, “Either of you ridden one of these?”

“Nothing that fancy,” Steve said, eyeing the bike with heightened interest. “I had an old Harley in college.”

Looking less enthusiastic than Steve, Kella said, “Never have.” She hesitated an instant then added, “I guess the truck is out of the question.”

“From here on, the trails go through choke points too narrow for any truck or car. For example, there are a couple of ravines that can only be crossed on planks masquerading as bridges. It’s either bikes, or walking, or horses, and bikes are best. We’ve got,” he looked at his watch, “about five hours to reach our rendezvous with the SEALs. By daylight, you should be on a ship enjoying blueberry pie.”

Noticing the unspoken question in Steve and Kella’s eyes, he added, “As far as I’m concerned, that’s the Navy’s best contribution to mankind.

“How about weapons? Either of you weapons qualified?” Mike asked, leaving blueberry pies to refocus on the practical requirements of the mission.

Steve answered for both of them. “We both have