The American rk-1 Page 5

  “Hey,” he said, after a brief, awkward silence. “I missed you.”

  “I can tell, the way you rushed in here to talk to me.”

  He lifted his hands in a gesture of exasperation. “I called you. It was a last-minute thing. Why didn’t you answer?”

  She was momentarily caught off guard. That’s a good question, she thought. “You know why! I can’t believe you just took off like that. It’s… I don’t know, it’s like you forgot I was even here.”

  A look of pain came over his face. “Katie, you know that’s not true. And it’s not fair.”

  “Did you lie to me?”

  “About what?”

  The scowl became a skeptical glare. Clearly she wasn’t buying it. “About leaving, Ryan. Did you really retire last year?”

  “Of course I did.” Her arms were crossed, her expression doubtful. “Katie, I would never mislead you like that.”

  She looked into his face for a long moment, gauging his sincerity. “If you left the Agency,” she said slowly, “why were you in such a hurry to get back to Washington?”

  It was a fair question to which he didn’t have an answer. She had won a small victory, but it didn’t register in her unhappy features. When she spoke again, it was clear from her tone of voice that she was already tired of arguing.

  “You know, I’m scared to ask where I rank in all of this. Is it below the CIA? Below a bunch of crazy terrorists in some shitty third-world country?”

  “It’s not a question of rank, Katie.”

  She smiled sadly and lowered her glistening eyes. “That’s a terrible answer, Ryan.”

  He dropped his own head and silently cursed himself for the stupid remark. God, he had never been good at this kind of thing. It had cost him more than one good relationship over the years. It had never bothered him much before, but Katie meant more to him than the rest of them combined, and his chest tightened when he suddenly realized that he might be losing her. When she finally filled the silence, he was surprised by the intensity of the relief that he felt.

  “Look, I know what you do is important,” she said in a small voice. “I would never say otherwise. I don’t try to make you talk about it — that can be separate from us. I’m not sure if I can deal with that yet, but I’m willing to try.”

  She looked up at him hopefully. “That’s the important thing, right? That we’re both here and willing. I just want to know where I stand in this thing we have going. Where we stand.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right, I wasn’t thinking.” A slight hesitation, the following words no less meaningful for it. “I don’t think you know how important you are to me, Katie… In fact, I’m sure of it.”

  She desperately tried to hold on to her anger, but it was already slipping away. A small smile spread over her face. “Do you mean that?”

  He held out his hand. She walked over to him, and they hugged gently at first, Kealey finding her lips with his. Then he pulled her closer, and suddenly they were holding each other tighter than was necessary, for reasons neither could explain. Ryan speaking quietly into her ear, “You’re all I need, Katie. You and me, in this place, is all I could ever ask for.”

  With her eyes squeezed tightly shut, arms wrapped around him, Katie wondered how she could have been so angry in the first place. She knew what he was trying to say, and for some reason it didn’t matter that he couldn’t get the words out.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered.

  About 28 kilometers south of Jableh on the Syrian coast, a casual observer would have noticed many things about the scenic beauty of the surrounding landscape. He would have likely described the orange sun high in the dying light of day, the fiery red sky contrasting sharply with the sparkling water of the Mediterranean. The gently sloping hills leading down to the water’s edge would have been mentioned, as would the unpaved road slicing its way through the heavily wooded contours of the land. A description might well have been provided of the only building visible for many kilometers, a low-slung villa with whitewashed walls and a roof of Spanish tile that seemed to burn in the sunset. The observer would not, however, have been able to detect any sign of human life in the picturesque scene.

  Beneath a heavy canopy of towering pine trees interspersed with the occasional oak, a figure lay perfectly still in the shade and the dirt. Captain Ryan Kealey listened attentively to the environment around him, waiting patiently for communication from the other members of his ODA over an encrypted radio. Glancing to his rear, he was pleased to see no sign of the five other soldiers.

  “Sapper Six, Gold One, over.”

  Kealey lifted his Motorola radio and spoke quietly, careful to avoid the staccato sounds of a whisper. “Sapper Six, give me your sit rep, Gold One.”

  “In position, no targets visible at this time. I’ve got eyes on Blue Two on my left, over.”

  “Keep me updated, Gold One. Six, out.”

  Without looking back, Ryan lifted his right hand in the air and circled with his index finger, signaling the others to rally at his location. Within thirty seconds, he was surrounded by his team members. “Okay, guys, how we doing?” he asked in a low voice.

  “Good to go, sir.” The speaker was the newest member of the team, Staff Sergeant Donald Bryant.

  Kealey looked into the youthful, eager face and saw himself just four years earlier. He was grateful that this soldier’s first combat experience would be a fairly straightforward operation. The other men nodded in the affirmative without saying a word. This was just an extension of training, as far as they were concerned.

  “We’re going to move up to the woodline. Remember, when our snipers give the word, we’ll be moving down that hill pretty quick. There’s almost no cover, so keep your distance. Thomas, Mitchell, check the car. Once you get a visual confirmation, move to your entrance point. In the house, don’t pass any room without clearing it first. I mean that.” He fixed each man with a serious look, and then broke into a relaxed grin. “Piece of cake, fellas. You know why we’re here. Let’s take care of business and head on home.”

  A few little smiles at that. There was a sudden burst of static from the radio, followed by a clear, calm voice. “Sapper Six, Blue Two. I have a visual. One vehicle, looks like a black Mercedes. No tint, I have… one driver, two passengers. Permission to go green light, over.”

  Kealey responded immediately. “Gold One, do you have the target?”

  “That’s a Roger, Sapper Six.”

  “Snipers, you have a green light. We’re waiting on you. Sapper Six, out.”

  Kealey gave a hand motion, and the soldiers around him moved from their improvised perimeter toward the edge of the treeline. The men picked their way quietly around the heaviest areas of vegetation; each had used electrician’s tape to secure any loose pieces of metal that might give away their position. No one expected the enemy to send out patrols, but the elite soldiers comprising Operational Detachment Alpha 304 were not about to take the risk.

  With the exposed section of the slope less than 50 meters away, the thunderous report of a long-range rifle could be heard through the trees, rapidly followed by two more shots.

  “Six, Gold One! Vehicle is neutralized, I say again, vehicle is neutralized!”

  “Let’s go!” Kealey called out. The troops were already running, suddenly breaking through into open ground. A thought was calling for his attention, but he couldn’t quite grab it… something about the direction of those shots…

  Halfway down the hill, Ryan realized there was no one in the car, and that it had braked to a halt in the middle of the road, unscathed. The windshield was in tact. Automatically he called out, “Cover!” The members of his team immediately hit the ground in the prone position except for Bryant, who was slow in getting down. Kealey watched in disbelief as a ragged exit wound appeared in the young soldier’s back, immediately followed by the echo of a rifle shot across the valley. The man did not make a sound, only taking two more faltering steps befo
re crumpling to a heap on the ground.

  The four surviving soldiers were pouring lead into the car on the road below. Ryan could make out two armed men crouching behind the vehicle and a third lying still by their side, streams of his blood mingling with the dust of the road. Peering through the telescopic sight mounted to his M4A1, Ryan fired a 3-round burst into the head of the primary target. Adjusting his aim, he could see that one of his men had already taken care of the other terrorist. Kealey was suddenly aware that Staff Sergeant Mitchell was not moving, and then saw the halo of blood around his head, the heavy M249 machine gun inches from his lifeless fingertips.

  “Blue Two, what the hell is going on up there?” Kealey shouted into his radio. There was no response. “Blue Two, report!”

  Silence.

  “What the fuck is going on, sir?” yelled Sergeant Alvarez.

  “Gold One, sit rep!” There was still no answer. Ryan had to struggle to keep his voice from shaking. The fear was thumping in his chest; he felt it and hated himself for it, but his men were completely exposed on the side of the slope, and he didn’t have time to think about what had gone wrong. The decision came quickly.

  “Thomas, Watson! When we open up, move back to the treeline as fast as you can! Alvarez, fire on March’s location!” he screamed.

  A look of shock and confusion crossed the sergeant’s face. “Sir, we can’t-”

  “Do it!” was the vicious response. “Now!”

  Intermittent streams of fire erupted from the barrel of Alvarez’s M16A2. Kealey fired in the same direction, although he couldn’t spot the sniper, whose ghillie suit allowed him to blend easily into the surrounding vegetation. He cursed the diminished range caused by the shorter barrel of his weapon, which would have been ideal for the close-quarter combat initially anticipated.

  He called out to Alvarez: “Loading!”

  Rapidly changing out his magazine, Kealey’s eyes never left the ridge where his snipers were positioned. He guessed that the line of earth was 400 meters away, a difficult shot even under the best of circumstances, almost impossible with the standard iron sights. He saw a flash of light followed by the roar of the rifle, and out of the corner of his eye caught the awful sight of Alvarez’s head breaking apart. That first fatal shot was followed by four more. It took all of Kealey’s self-control not to flinch away as he pressed his cheek against the warm metal of his assault rifle. The heat shield encasing the barrel was perfectly balanced in his left hand as he eased back on the trigger, firing until the bolt locked back on an empty magazine.

  A few minutes passed without any movement on the ridge.

  “Thomas! Watson!” he called out.

  There was no answer. A sick feeling clenched his gut as he realized that he was probably the only man alive on the hill. Easing his head slowly around, he could see the lifeless bodies of the other two sergeants in his detachment. His detachment. As the commander, he was responsible for the lives of these men. Was it right that he should be the only one to survive? Suddenly not caring, he got to his feet, a lone figure standing tall on the side of the hill, long shadows cast behind him by the fading sun. Feeling a sudden impact, Ryan looked down at the small hole in his chest, the sight almost blocking out the terrible sound of the rifle in his ears.

  He fell to the ground, for some reason absorbed by the hissing of the radio inches from his outstretched hand. Presently he was aware of a man standing on top of the ridge, the image blurred by pain. Through the red haze creeping into the edge of his vision, Ryan thought he could make out the lightweight Parker-Hale M85 rifle held loosely in the crook of the man’s right arm. The same weapon that, for the past eight months, had been lovingly attended to and cared for by one man, and one man only. The incredibly still figure of Sergeant First Class Jason March continued to blur as the pain intensified, and Kealey found he could no longer breathe.

  He couldn’t breathe…

  Ryan Kealey awoke without a sound, pieces of information slowly entering into his mind, each a revelation more startling than the one before.

  The thin sheets were clinging to his sweat-soaked torso. As the shaking slowly left his body, Ryan was suddenly aware that Katie was whispering quietly in his ear, her arms wrapped around him protectively from behind, silken fingers gliding over the raised scar on his chest.

  “Baby, are you okay? God, you were shouting so loud…” There was a noticeable tremble to her voice. “Your dreams… They’re getting worse.”

  He didn’t respond, preferring to think of nothing for as long as possible. He just wanted to take comfort from the proximity of her body. Maybe she understood, as she fell silent while his ragged breathing slowly subsided.

  Thoughts swirled around him in the dark, intruding when he could no longer hold them at bay. Jason March had murdered men that were like brothers to him. If the regular army fostered lifelong friendships, the relationships built within the Special Forces community were like family ties, carrying no more or less importance than actual blood relations. Now the man he had hoped was dead had returned from the other side of the world to commit even more vicious crimes.

  Kealey thought that he was uniquely equipped to kill March. He felt that he owed it to the men who lost their lives on that hilltop far away from home. Where it would end, he wasn’t sure. Ryan only knew that he would be there to make sure it did.

  CHAPTER 7

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  “I’m due at the White House in two hours, John. I can’t go up there empty-handed. What do you think we’re looking at here?”

  Jonathan Harper glanced up at Robert Andrews, the recently appointed director of the Central Intelligence Agency. It was a difficult question to answer; the combined efforts of the CIA and the FBI had yielded very little new information in the past week. Phone calls had been made, favors called in. The interagency cooperation that was supposed to have come into effect following 9/11 had never really materialized, despite the recent development of the Terrorist Threat Integration Center located just a few short miles away. Harper had been one of the few to recognize beforehand that this would be the case.

  “Well, we still have no claim of responsibility for the attack on Senator Levy, which in and of itself is highly unusual. Iran is denying all involvement, but I don’t think we can take that at face value, especially since they officially announced that they’re starting up their weapons program again. The timing is just too damn convenient. Besides, they had a better reason than anyone to take out the senator. He was their most vociferous opponent on everything from the acquisition of nuclear material to human-rights violations. One thing we do have is a tentative ID on the man who carried out the attack, and we can link him directly to Al-Qaeda. I sent that up to you earlier.”

  Director Andrews nodded slowly, his lips pursed. “I find this a little hard to believe. Why would they trust an American enough to bring him that far into the organization?”

  “Maybe they know what happened in Syria.”

  Andrews looked up sharply. “You said the ID was verified by this guy Kealey. Where is he?”

  “He just got back this morning. He’s looking at cell phone intercepts with Davidson and Kharmai right now.”

  “I thought he was retired.”

  The deputy director shrugged. “He gave it a shot. I think he knew it wasn’t going to last, though.”

  “Keep an eye on him,” Andrews warned. “I read the file, and I know what he did in Bosnia. We’re not trying to generate any publicity here, John.”

  “That was never proven, sir.” The director shot him a skeptical look, which immediately made Harper regret the words.

  “Just keep him in line, John. I appreciate what he’s done here as much as anybody, but we have our hands full as it is. I don’t need the Senate Oversight Committee jumping into the fray as well, okay?”

  Harper nodded and stood to leave, but Andrews waved him back down into the seat.

  “One more thing. I hear you have an analyst asking a lot of q
uestions about Kealey. By that, I mean the same analyst you just mentioned.” Harper tried to contain his surprise, but the director noticed his incredulous look and gave a small, reluctant smile. “There is a reason I have this job, John.”

  Harper nodded. “Naomi Kharmai. She’s been with us for four years. She had clearance for the personnel file, so I gave it to her just to keep her happy. I told her not to take it any further, but I don’t know if she’ll listen. She’s pretty stubborn.”

  The DCI considered his response for a long moment. Finally, he said, “If you think it’s worth keeping her on this, then make sure she stays busy with the relevant stuff. As in, what happened in Syria is not relevant. Those soldiers officially died in a training accident… We need to be able to work with the military, and if that piece of misinformation comes out on our end, then they won’t trust us with anything else. And frankly, I wouldn’t blame them,” Andrews added.

  Harper was about to respond when the heavy mahogany door was edged open by a secretary. “Excuse me, sir, but you might want to turn to Channel 3. It’s about Senator Levy.”

  The confusion was evident on the faces of both men as the director scrambled for the remote control. An image appeared on the screen of a high-rise apartment complex that Harper recognized immediately.

  “If you’re just joining us, we’re here outside the Kennedy-Warren, an exclusive residential building on Connecticut Avenue, where officials from the Justice Department have tracked down the man suspected in providing information that led to the cold-blooded murder of Senator Daniel Levy last week. The man has been identified as Michael Shakib, a Congressional staffer with strong ties to the Iranian American community, who has-”

  “Jesus Christ!” Andrews screamed, his voice drowning out the excited anchorwoman. “How the hell did this get past us, John?”