“And?”
“And my office manager in Leuven answered.”
“She must have forgot to unforward her calls.” Jake said.
“That’s what I thought too.” Wiley said. “But she answered Kyli’s actual phone. Kyli left it at the office. I have no way of getting in touch with her. Sometimes Kyli does personify the absent minded professor.”
“What about her friend? Can we get her number?”
“Already thought of that, Jake. I had my office manager call Kates’ mother in Florida.” Wiley shook his head. “Kates doesn’t have international service.”
“Scott,” Wiley said. “Jake and I need to go to Paris. If you can get us to Sigonella, I’ll make arrangements to have us picked up there. I’ll also alert the French Gendarmerie.”
“Sorry, E.W.” Bentley said. “You can’t go. I’ll send Gregg with Jake. You and I have business that can’t wait. Not even for your granddaughter.”
† † †
Jake and Kaplan were picked up by a helicopter and transported to an aircraft carrier patrolling the Gulf of Aden. They touched down on the deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln, a Nimitz class nuclear-powered super-carrier. Jake and Kaplan were allowed thirty minutes to rest, eat, and change into flight gear. They were then loaded into separate F/A 18F Super Hornets.
Five minutes later Jake and his pilot were catapulted into the air over the blue water. The rapid acceleration and resulting g-forces sent a wave of nausea through him but he forced back the bile as the jet fighter rocketed into the afternoon sky. He’d flown in a fighter jet once before and he didn’t like it then either. The hotshot pilots always wanted to impress their riders—or more accurately themselves—by over-controlling the aircraft at the sake of their riders’ stomachs. Another sick rider, another tale for happy hour. On his first flight he’d vomited in the
sic-sac
. He vowed it wouldn’t happen again.
The first thirty minutes were spent in silence, the only noise being the communications between the pilot and the air traffic controllers. Jake couldn’t help but remember something Wiley had said to him while they were on Wiley’s Citation jet enroute to Belgium,
“In all likelihood, the next few days will be life altering for you.”
It seemed like such a long time ago and so much had happened since Wiley spoke those words. He’d been running on pure adrenaline. It felt like days since he’d slept and he was exhausted. He needed to rest, it would be a long night and he and Kaplan would probably spend it awake.
“Sir?” The pilot broke the silence. “This flight is quite irregular. You and the other man must know someone pretty important to pull this off. I’ve only seen this once before…it was terrorist related.”
“Captain?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This mission is classified and never took place,” Jake spoke into the fighter’s intercom. “A lot of lives are at stake. The order came from the top.”
“I hope you stop the bastards, sir.”
“Me too, Captain.” Against his closed eyelids, Jake saw Kyli and her pleading face. “Me too.”
CHAPTER 40
Northern Red Sea
35,000 Feet
7:00 P.M.
J
AKE WATCHED THE last of the day’s light lose its battle to darkness while the underside of KC-10 tanker aircraft loomed above the F/A 18F’s canopy. With a supersonic range of just under 1900 miles, the Super Hornets were incapable of making the nearly three thousand mile hop from the USS Abraham Lincoln in the Gulf of Aden to the Naval Air Station Sigonella in Sicily without refueling along the way. And the only option available was the tanker that was already in the eastern Mediterranean preparing for a refueling exercise with a combat squadron based on a carrier currently patrolling the Mediterranean. With one phone call before the helicopter picked up Jake and Kaplan, Bentley had overridden the Mediterranean carrier’s objective with a mission priority status issued by the President.
According to Hunt’s briefing, the explosives were shipped to a small French Islamic community west of Paris called Trappes. Khan was to setup in the Mosque de Trappes and ready five suicide bombers for the two unknown targets in Paris. The only additional information she could provide was that Khan had assured his superior that the targets were guaranteed to be highly visible and packed with tourists. In Paris, that list was long. But with five more days, Jake assumed he and Kaplan would be able to cull the list of probable targets down to a manageable number.
Although a former Naval Officer himself, Jake had never experienced an aerial refueling. His job was strictly an intelligence officer deployed on the USS Mount Whitney. Jake watched the drogue, or basket as the pilot called it, inch its way down from the tanker. The F/A 18F pilot extended the probe on the nose of their aircraft and, with perfect precision, maneuvered the probe into the funnel-shaped basket.
Within a few minutes, the pilot disengaged from the basket, retracted the probe and banked to the left allowing the aircraft Kaplan was in to move forward and connect to the basket.
“My orders are to leave and proceed to NAS Sigonella as soon as we refueled.” The pilot accelerated toward supersonic. “Your friend will catch up to you in Sicily.”
Jake activated his microphone. “Gregg, try not to hold up the show too long. We’ve got work to do.”
“You know, Jake.” Kaplan replied. “If I wasn’t surrounded by all these squids—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Jake interrupted. “You’d kick my ass. Adios, my friend.”
Jake felt the power of the F/A 18F as the pilot pushed the aircraft through transonic to supersonic.
“We’ll be there in about an hour.” The pilot said. “So enjoy the ride.”
Jake watched the airspeed and altimeter climb. After a few minutes the aircraft leveled off at 40,000 feet and Mach 1.56.
Wiley told him the black Learjet would meet them in Sicily at NAS Sigonella. The fighters were instructed to taxi next to the Learjet, then he and Kaplan would transfer directly to Wiley’s jet and be airborne for the Paris-Charles de Gaulle Airport within minutes.
Jake played it through in his mind, over and over. He and Kaplan would make an unannounced visit to the Mosque de Trappes. If Hunt’s information was accurate then they would catch Khan off guard. The last thing Khan would expect would be for them to walk through the front door. The only thing troubling him, the one thing he couldn’t shake from his mind, was how he would find Kyli and her friend and get them out of Paris. It wasn’t safe and Kyli’s carefree nature could put her and Kates in danger.
France had become a boiling pot for trouble. With their liberal laws coupled with the high Islamic population, it was a haven for terrorists. Bentley had insisted the French government render assistance in tracking down and stopping the terrorist attacks, but even they had a reputation for non-cooperation when it came to issues inside their own borders. They held disdain for Americans and were reticent about sharing vital information.
One hundred miles out, Jake’s pilot slowed to subsonic speed and started a descent. At 20,000 feet, they leveled off and slowed to 400 knots on the airspeed indicator.
Jake heard a crackle in his headset then Kaplan’s voice.
“Hey, does this thing have a horn?” Kaplan said.
“Where are you?”
“Turn around and see for yourself.”
The F/A 18F Kaplan was in had rejoined formation and Jake had never noticed.
“Prepare for landing.” The pilot interrupted. “Welcome to the hub of the Med.”
Established in 1959, Naval Air Station Sigonella is the U.S. Navy’s second largest security command, second only to the one located at Naval Support Activity Bahrain.
Jake hadn’t anticipated Kaplan’s aircraft catching up to his flight, but obviously Wiley had. As the Super Hornets taxied to a remote location on the airfield, Jake noticed the black Learjet idling on the ramp.
As if on cue, when the Super Hornets canopies opened so did the Learjet’s cabin door. Jake and Kaplan were relieved of their flight suits and helmets and escorted by Naval personnel to the awaiting Learjet. Three taps on the fuselage by the Naval personnel outside and the Learjet started taxiing. In and out in less than five minutes, just like Wiley said. Jake had learned to expect nothing less from the old man.
Now came the hard part—convince Kaplan to go along with his plan. First thing in the morning, right through the front door of the Mosque de Trappes. Armed. And ready for action. But Jake knew it would be a hard sell. Kaplan was Mr. Conservative, concentrating on thorough planning before execution. Gregg always touted the hallmark of Special Forces planning—PACE—primary, alternative, contingency, and emergency. There was a time and place for all that planning, but not this time. The element of surprise meant attacking now. They had to neutralize the cell. Jake needed Kaplan’s help, but if he had to, he’d go it alone.
CHAPTER 41
National Gendarmerie Invention Group Garrison
Satory, France
Midnight
O
VER AN HOUR after arriving at the Charles de Gaulle airport, their escorted vehicle pulled inside the gates of a square building with a large open courtyard in the center. Jake studied the building; it was old, in need of repair, and bland. The exterior of the red brick building was covered with black mold.
The National Gendarmerie Intervention Group, or GIGN as their driver Philippe called it, was officially operational in March of 1974 as a result of the Munich massacre during the Olympic Games of 1972. In 1973, the GIGN became a permanent force of the French National Gendarmerie and is considered their elite Special Operations counter-terrorism and hostage rescue unit.
Jake and Kaplan were escorted inside the building. A cloud of cigarette smoke hung in the air, its stale pungent stench filled Jake’s nostrils. They were escorted to the GIGN’s commanding officer, Lieutenant Travers Heuse. Not what Jake expected, younger—mid forties—and short. In his mind, Jake had pictured an older, conservative man.
Heuse wore faded jeans and a wrinkled white button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up revealing a tattoo on his right forearm. His necktie was pulled loose and a tweed jacket was draped over the back of his chair. He sat behind an oversized mahogany desk smothered with stacks of papers, an old computer, and an untouched cigarette burning in an ashtray.
“Messieurs Pendleton and Kaplan.” Heuse pointed to two chairs. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. I understand you’ve had a long day. Or should I say a long two days?”
“Please, Lieutenant, call me Jake.”
“But of course, Monsieur Jake.” Heuse smiled. “And you, Monsieur Gregg?”
Kaplan smiled at Heuse’s sarcasm. “Oui.”
“We have been fortunate, messieurs.” Heuse said. “The Mosque de Trappes is but ten kilometers from this office. Right under our noses, so to speak, eh?”
“That is fortunate.” Jake said. “Have you sent someone to stake out the place?”
“Stake out?” Heuse had a puzzled look on his face.
“Observe.” Kaplan said. “Do you have someone observing the Mosque?”
“Ah. Oui.” Heuse looked at his watch. “I have sent men to drive by Mosque at irregular time intervals. They will stop surveillance in one hour for the night.”
“Why are they stopping?” Jake asked.
“Your own intelligence reports indicate we have five more days.” Heuse said. “We have the luxury of time. The GIGN has arranged hotel rooms for you in Versailles, just a few blocks from here. I will send a car for you in the morning and we will resume around ten.”
“Ten?” Jake couldn’t believe the lieutenant was so flippant about a potential terrorist attack. An attack that could kill or injure dozens, maybe hundreds of French men and women as well as many tourists. Including Kyli and her friend. “Shouldn’t we get started earlier?”
“No, monsieur. The GIGN needs its rest too.” Heuse stood and spread his arms. “Now come, Philippe will take you to your hotel. Get some rest, tomorrow might be another long day.”
† † †
Hotel de Ville
Versailles, France
6:30 A.M.
Jake got up early thinking about Lieutenant Heuse’s perspective. If Isabella Hunt was right, they did have time on their side. The only problem with waiting was that sometimes plans change. Waiting could cause him to miss the opportunity. His instincts told him they needed to strike fast and strike early. If Heuse and the GIGN weren’t willing to move, then he would convince Kaplan to help him storm the Mosque.
Jake rapped on Kaplan’s door until he heard Kaplan cussing. “Gregg. Open up.”
“What the hell, Jake?” Kaplan snatched the door open. His thick black hair was tousled. Eyes bloodshot. “Go back to bed.”
“I called Philippe.” Jake said. “He’ll be here in twenty minutes. Get dressed. We’ve got work to do—with or without Huese.”
“Jake, this is France. The last thing we need to do is piss off the head of the Gendarmerie.” Kaplan rubbed his eyes. “We should wait.”
“For once, Gregg, trust me.” Jake said. “If you’ll start getting ready, I’ll explain what I have in mind.”
While Kaplan dressed, Jake explained the plan he’d been hatching during the night. Kaplan interrupted several times but Jake insisted he be allowed to finish. Jake had covered every angle and was convinced his plan would work. He just needed Kaplan to concur with it.
“Okay, Jake. Give one good reason why I should go along with your plan.”
“It’s Wiley’s granddaughter out there. We owe it to him.”
“Is this just about Wiley? Or is this about you?”
“Gregg.” He looked Kaplan in the eyes. “If it were Isabella in Paris, we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we?”