Serve in the Shadows Recruitment, page 2
He raised his left arm up and waved forward once. Shadows rose up and sprinted up the path. They stopped at the unmoving shape on the ground. Crouching low, one man turned him over. Hushed murmurs and a few curse words were heard…. They were very angry. Aarash lay before them, unnaturally still. One of the village elders lay before them, dead. One man reached down and closed his eyes, “As-salāmu ʿalayka,” he whispered. Peace is unto you.
Anger began to boil their blood, and they stood as one and ran up the hill and around the corner, very determined. Skidding to a halt, they saw an American tactical backpack lying on the ground. “Fucking Americans!” shouted the first man. He brought his leg back and kicked the pack.
As the backpack went sailing off the trail, an apple-sized shape lay exposed. The green M67 grenade rolled an inch then stopped. A few turned to run away, but it was too late.
*****
Derek heard the explosion and saw a quick flash of light from behind him briefly illuminating the area. Smiling to himself, he thought, burn in hell, as he poured on the extra speed. He just hoped whoever warned him was safely away. He would have sworn it was his brother, but that was impossible. Grant’s work with the CIA, placed him in another part of the world.
“Romeo One, this is Black Dog. Coming in alone. Hold fire.”
As he turned the corner, a small mountain clearing opened up, barely giving enough room for the extraction point.
A UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter was hovering a few feet off the ground, and the rearward sliding door was open. Eager hands reached down and pulled Master Sergeant Derek Lawson inside as the helicopter rose swiftly and disappeared into the night.
Chapter 2
Camp Marmal
Afghanistan
Once the helicopter landed, Derek turned to the smaller man sitting beside him.
“Lieutenant, this is it,” he said, handing over a cell phone and a hard drive. “Aarash had nothing else of any value.”
Lieutenant Powell pocketed the items and said, “Go get cleared by medical and get cleaned up. I will meet you and the team in the Lounge for after action report in an hour.”
The lieutenant (LT) met up with another man that was waiting and sprinted off to a series of small headquarters buildings beside the hospital.
“Okay, Beef, get the guys moving. See you in an hour.”
The very large, bearded man beside him nodded.
Sergeant Steve “Beef” Duncan was his section second in command and got the nickname from resembling a side of beef. Very large, hairy, and with the temperament of a stubborn bull. Great guy to have in a firefight though.
Derek jumped down and went to their barracks to get cleaned up first. No doctor or nurse needed to smell him in his current state, as no one got paid that much.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Derek felt refreshed and ready to go back into the field if required. The last mission had been too chancy. There had been too many close calls, and Derek couldn’t get that voice out of his head, yelling at him to get down barely in time to avoid that sniper attack. He would have bet anything that it was his brother calling out to him. Clearly, however, there was no one there. There just wasn’t anywhere to hide along that trail.
Sitting on his bunk, Derek put his head down in his hands and started wondering if he was losing it. Even if that was the case, the warning came in time to save his life.
Getting cleared by medical was a formality, on which he insisted for his troops. He was cleared within a few minutes, as he only had a couple of scrapes and a nick from a stone fragment that came too close. He’d had worse injuries from shaving.
Derek spotted his team inside the Lounge passing a few well-earned beers. One was put in his hand when he sat. Lieutenant Mark Powell sat near the end of the room and looked at the men gathered around him.
Mark Powel was their assigned liaison officer to the operations command at Camp Marmal. The German officer was learning quickly what it was like to work with the American’s and how to deal with the Ranger section.
Master Sergeant Lawson scanned the room to see how his section was doing. Sergeant Duncan was joking around with Richards and Kendal. The two newer members seemed to be fitting in well and had handled themselves quite nicely over the last few days. Brad and Charlie were just sitting silently at a table, staring down into their beers.
Brad Wallace was one of the older members of the section and an excellent mentor to the others, and with five tours under his belt, he was next up to be promoted to sergeant. Charlie Miller was the sections explosives expert, for demolition and disarming, and to date, he still had both hands. A good sign for someone working with explosive materials.
Corporal Samantha Noland was the first female that Derek had on his team. She was an amazing linguist who knew over six languages and could get by with a limited understanding of a few others. She was overqualified to be working in this section, and Derek knew he was lucky to have her here. The rest of the team didn’t hold anything back with her and treated her like the team member she was. No favoritism allowed.
The last member was their communications and technology specialist, Patrick Reed. If there was a computer chip involved or a dial of any kind, he would be able to take it apart and back together. There were good odds it would run better than it previously did.
The LT began, “Derek, once the team got separated, what happened?”
“I ordered the team to continue on and meet up at the LZ. I was on the far side of the village near the cave and was having difficulties with Aarash. He fought and caused too much noise, alerting the camp to our presence.” Derek paused.
He was wondering about saying something about the “person” he saw and heard. He knew if he did, the LT would pull him out from active duty, and have a series of psychologists take over. He could judge himself, and if it happened again, or became an issue, he would pull himself from the field.
Not a minute sooner.
“They ended up taking out their own man. It would have been nice to have him here for the interrogators, but I hope the tech guys could get enough from that hard drive and phone.”
“Sergeant Duncan?” asked the LT.
“Not much to say really, sir,” Beef said. “Once ordered to the exfil, we were there in a few minutes, free and clear.”
“Anyone have anything else to add?” asked the LT. A few “no sirs” were heard. “Okay, next briefing is at eight in the morning tomorrow at Operations Central.”
The Lieutenant stood and left, leaving his beer barely touched on the table. Standing and shrugging his shoulders, Beef stood up and brought it over to his table. “No point in wasting it.” A few chuckled and began to relax a bit more, relieving some stress.
Derek stuck around for a little bit longer then headed over to the quartermaster (QM) and put in the resupply paperwork for his team.
Back in the barracks, he began to strip and clean his Glock. A little grinding of the slide meant sand or dirt was in it. The story of his life here in Afghanistan … sand and dirt ended up getting everywhere. He stored his HK416 in the room’s lockup.
After a few minutes, Derek heard a knock on his door, and then it opened.
Lieutenant Powell stood there, along with Major Chapman, the Camp Marmal base commander, and another man who appeared behind them. He was slightly out of place, wearing a suit and tie and clutching a file folder. He was about average height, had dark hair, and was about in his late fifties.
Derek began to get that funny feeling in his guts that this wasn’t a social call.
“Master Sargent,” began the LT. “This is Chris Arnott, from the CIA. You know Major Chapman.”
Derek stood and shook hands with the CIA agent, and quickly nodded at the major, “Sir.”
“We need to have a quick talk, Serge….” At this point, the LT began to trail off.
“What has happened to my brother?” Derek asked. His guts were doing the talking here. And he knew without a doubt that he was right. He has had many briefings with the CIA present for Intel, but his last close encounter was still very much on his mind.
“Derek,” started the CIA officer, “I have some bad news. Grant was in Sudan, near Juba. He was trying to obtain information on a very valuable target.”
Derek sat down on the edge of his bed and waited for the hammer to fall.
“We had intel that Ymir’s son-in-law, Mustafa Abdulla was being recruited by possible ISIS operatives and was involved in training others to become explosives experts. We believed that the threat was imminent, and Ymir knew the location of his son-in-law.”
“How did he die, Mr. Arnott?” asked Derek.
The CIA officer took a deep breath and hung down his head, showing genuine remorse.
“After interrogating Ymir, Grant was ambushed. He was shot twice. It was very quick. Ymir was shot and died as well. They were found by another agent near the safe house. It was possible they were followed after picking up Ymir. We don’t know yet, as there are too many unanswered questions.”
“I am very sorry, Sergeant for your loss,” began Major Chapman, “Effective now, you are on bereavement leave, and you can take as much time as you need.”
Although Grant was four years older than him, Derek was close to his brother growing up, and they had a great childhood. However, soon after high school, both their parents were killed in a car crash, which left the drunk driver unharmed. In fact, he woke up in a ditch without a single scratch and a zero recollection of being in an accident. Grant was finishing College of Criminal Science in West Virginia and already knew he was going into the CIA. Recruitment from colleges and even high schools found the Agency the best candidates with the most potential. Derek joined the army at nineteen years old, and seven years later, he transferred into the Ranger unit.
As Grant moved into Clandestine Services and was learning his tradecraft, Derek was doing much the same training with the Rangers.
They got together a few times a year when ever their schedule allowed it. Comparing skills from their various training was fun and served as a great bonding moment for both of them. Grant taught Derek how to conduct surveillance detections and how to shadow someone, as well as, lock picking skills. Derek loved pushing Grant physically, and rappelling and free climbing were some of their favorite moments together.
Their small arms skills were near equal, with Derek preferring the Glock 17 and Grant a Beretta 92. It was a healthy competition in which they both excelled. He knew he should be very upset and missing Grant. However, maybe it was what he saw on the mountain trail or his instinct, but Derek had a feeling about this. It was his gut talking again, and it was almost never wrong.
“Mr. Arnott, where is he now and what arrangements are being made?” asked Derek.
“Ramstein Air Base in Germany. I would like to bring you with me. I have a flight leaving here within thirty minutes arriving in the morning. From there, you can make arrangements. We will help get your brother home.”
“Serge, because of this, I can’t put you in the field for a while. You also have lots of annual leave saved up, and compensation time. Go and take care of your brother, we will be here when you are done,” said Major Chapman.
It didn’t take Derek long to think of this.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, turning to the CIA officer, “I will be ready in a few minutes. I have to say goodbye to my team, and then I will meet you at the airfield.”
*****
Derek spent a few minutes in his room, locking up his gear and weapons. Quickly dressing in civilian clothes and placing personal items in a backpack, it didn’t take long to be ready to go. The team was still finishing off a few beers in the Lounge, and it only took a few words to brief them on the situation. With their goodbyes and sympathies still in his ears, Derek still arrived early at the airfield.
Derek’s civilian clothes looked a lot like his work clothes, khaki pants with a dark work shirt, and solid hiking boots. Rangers were not much into uniforms when working on operations. It is easier to blend into an environment when you looked more like a local. Most had beards while on deployment, but Derek just preferred a few days of stubble. Easier to maintain, and less scratchy. He felt oddly naked without his Glock, for its comfortable weight always felt reassuring.
Looking around, Derek could see that the C-130 Hercules with engines running was the only aircraft ready to go. Derek had been on enough of them over his nearly two decades in the Rangers, and they felt very familiar. One of the great perks of being a Ranger was having an ability to sleep anywhere at any time, and with a long flight ahead, he knew he could rest up while in the air. You never knew when you would be sleeping again, and you took your rest when you could. A quick glance at his watch told him they would arrive in Germany early according to the local time, which meant there was more than enough flight time to catch up on sleep. He felt like he was going to need it.
“Ready?” Derek turned to see Chris Arnott walking up behind him. He still had a folder in his left hand. The rear ramp was down, and they both made their way up into the aircraft. From experience, Derek knew that the two pilot jump seats at the back of the hold were usually the most comfortable, and once buckled in they put their headsets on. Over the communications system, the CIA officer let the crew know they were strapped in and ready to go. The engines picked up some speed, and the noise level began to permeate the C-130. The lights by the ramp switched from green to red, as the ramp began to lift and lock into place. They began to feel the Hercules move and start to accelerate, and a few minutes later, they were off the ground.
Chris reached over and switched their headsets to a private channel. Derek was amused to see a CIA spook very comfortable and familiar with the C-130.
“Sergeant, the first thing I need you to do is sign these two forms. The first one is to change your security clearance level from Secret to Top Secret/CSI level, and the second is your basic “you will not divulge any information you may learn” NDA form.” The Department of Defense (DoD) clearance levels were apparently not good enough for the CIA.
Sensitive compartmented information, also known as top secret/SCI is usually several steps above his pay grade, which raised his eyebrows a little bit.
Just exactly what was my brother involved with?
After reading, he signed. A hard lesson learned in life, always read what you are about to sign.
“This is Grant’s last mission report back to HQ.” Arnott handed over a few pages. “The CIA has solid intel that Mustafa has been recruited and is playing a large part in training the terrorist soldiers for an attack. We recently learned his stepfather Ymir may have knowledge of his location and we sent a team in to pick him up and shake the tree, to see what information would fall out.”
“Ymir was an explosives expert during the Soviet war in Afghanistan in 1980. And for a few years, his devices helped tip the balance, and the Soviets paid dearly.”
A photo of a young man hunched over a box while others gathered round, was taken from a great distance. It was slightly out of focus and grainy, but it clearly showed the man to be assembling a bomb.
“Around 1985, Ymir had an accident, and the resulting explosion left him maimed and unable to work. He gathered up his daughter and son-in-law and moved to Sudan. That seemed the end of Ymir, and our file on him has always confirmed he is retired.”
“Thank you for filling me in,” Derek sat back and started processing. “What is next?”
“Once we get there and you have positively identified the body, then arrangements can be made to move your brother home.”
Derek leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes and wondered about the last statement.
Home? Where was home?
Chapter 3
Sana’a
Yemen
Mustafa sat back and looked down at the table. Arrayed before him lay various components -pliers, wire cutters, several cell phones, and a small pyramid of stacked long thin bricks wrapped in a dark olive drab paper wrapper. Each brick was about eleven inches long, two inches squared and covered in yellow writing. There were approximately twelve bricks stacked neatly. They smelled like motor oil and were covered in a light sheen.
Taking a deep breath, he began to work.
Making sure the batteries were disconnected, he began to use a small screwdriver to pry the backs off the cell phones. Grabbing a hot soldering iron, he heated up the speaker contact points and gently removed the wires from the circuit board. Reaching out and grabbing two new wires, he fused them to the circuit board and connected them to a long period delay detonator (LPD).
The detonators had been modified by his design. There was an extra battery inside, so even if the power source of the cell phone failed to go off, the battery would retain enough juice to detonate once separated from the phone. Also, preventing cell signal jamming from being effective, a small device that, when it no longer detected a cell signal, would auto-start the detonator. A “dead man switch” was also hard-wired into the detonator. Once the button was pushed down, the device would go off if the button became released.
The whole device was about the size of an actual cell phone, and it had been bought for under 11,200 Yemeni Rials (about $45.00 in US currency) at a local market. Putting the unit together only took Mustafa a few minutes.
Watching from the window area, an older man in a three-piece gray suit remained silent. He was wearing an open-collared white dress shirt and a red and white patterned turban. He had dark skin, lined with the sun and years of age. His white beard stood out in sharp contrast.
“Once you are done, you will leave each phone batteries out, on the table. My car will pick you up outside.”
