Kurt was flabbergasted. “Jesus, Pike! You brought him here?”
I held up my hands. “Sir, don’t worry. He’s blindfolded in the back of a van inside a dog kennel. He has no idea where he is.”
Kurt turned to one of the men with him and barked out instructions. I watched him get the van keys from Bull, then scurry out of the room. The way I was looking at it,
Years ago, Kurt had been my first troop commander at a Special Mission Unit on Fort Bragg, and pretty much kept me from letting my arrogant attitude get me fired. He looked past the arrogance to the raw talent, and while everyone else wanted to get rid of me as trouble, he managed to channel my energy until I had sloughed off the bad and kept the good. Well, mostly.
Kurt shook his head and said, “We’ll talk about this later. Have a seat.”
After getting the team’s attention, Kurt said, “Sorry for cutting your culmination exercise short, but there’s been a significant change to the mission profile. Your target, Mustafa Abu Azzam, is currently traveling to Tbilisi, Georgia. This is his third trip, and, yes, he has always returned to Jordan, but we think we’ve finally figured out what he’s been doing in Tbilisi. Intelligence indicates that he’s been attempting to purchase a quantity of radioactive waste from some contacts in Chechnya. Apparently, he’s been successful, and is planning on conducting the transaction within the next few weeks.”
He paused to let that sink in, then continued. “Now, obviously, Azzam getting material for a dirty bomb isn’t something we can allow, so things have sped up a bit. We can’t be sure he’ll return to Jordan with the material, so we have to stop him before he gets it, which is where you come in.”
I didn’t have to be told why we were the ones who were going to Tbilisi instead of the team in Jordan. The cover plan used by Johnny’s team, the same cover plan that we were going to fall in on, was specifically built for that region of the world, down to a particular commercial sector in a specific city. The cover wouldn’t transfer to Tbilisi without a significant chance of compromise.
“What’s our status in Tbilisi? We’ve all been prepped for Jordan.”
Blaine answered, “Alias shop is working that now. Luckily, we had built a plan for Tbilisi, so we just need to dust it off. Your new documents will be ready by the time you fly.”
Knuckles spoke up. “What sort of support package can we expect? We haven’t done any infrastructure development in Tbilisi. Seems we’re going to be running the ragged edge on this.”
“Believe it or not, we’re sitting pretty good. We began some preliminary infrastructure development on Azzam’s first trip to Tbilisi as a precaution, so we aren’t starting from ground zero. The support team that was flying to Jordan tonight will divert to Tbilisi. You’ll have a complete package.”
I cut to the chase, asking the question on everyone’s mind. “Are we at Omega now?”
Kurt said, “No, not officially. Since the target’s changed location, I have to brief the Oversight Council tomorrow, but I can’t wait on their approval to get your team moving. Worst case, I should have an answer before you land. Given the ramifications of what he’s trying to do, I see no issue.”
The Taskforce called each stage of an operation a different Greek letter, starting with Alpha for the initial introduction of forces. Being at Omega — the last letter in the Greek alphabet, symbolizing the end — meant we were ready to execute the mission. The missions themselves could take anywhere from three months to a year. Getting to Omega was hard work, with an enormous infrastructure behind it. There were generally three or four different missions canceled for every one that made it to Omega. It was the crown jewel of our profession, the gold at the end of the rainbow.
“Good enough,” I said. “When do we leave?”
Kurt said, “Well, your team’ll be flying with the support package tonight, along with Blaine. The flight plan’s already been filed, so a few extra people won’t cause a spike.
I heard what he said, my face betraying the struggle going on inside. Kurt noticed my discomfort but didn’t ask for my opinion. “Okay, before I turn it over to Blaine, remember, we don’t have execute authority on this. I expect it but don’t have it yet. Don’t go Rambo on me.”
7
It would have made things a hell of a lot easier if Kurt had simply ordered me to go. Now I would have to make a choice about whether to leave the team on the night they deployed, or abandon my family after I had promised I would be home for my daughter’s birthday. Nothing was more important to me than Heather and Angie, but as the team leader the mission took priority. It was an impossible choice.
My deployment was nothing new for my family. I had married Heather after I was accepted into the Special Mission Unit on Fort Bragg, so she was used to frequent absences. Even so, leaving is like twisting a knife each time I do it, especially now that Angie is old enough to know I’m gone. Our last night together before the culmination exercise hadn’t been a very good one.
I had been out grilling steaks when I heard a thump inside the house, like something had crashed. I went inside to find Heather staring at the thermostat on the wall, clearly upset. I asked her what had fallen.
“That was me kicking the damn wall. The air conditioner’s broken again. That’s just great. Right before you leave. Perfect. Something else I’ll have to deal with.”
This wasn’t a good way to start our last night together for at least six months. I tried to mollify her. “I’ll have Paul handle it. I’ll call him right now.”
Paul was our next-door neighbor. He was a good guy, but I really didn’t care for him. He was always upbeat, always helpful, to the point where it was sickening. I’m probably jealous because he spends more time with my family than I do. He’s the one that Heather turns to for any immediate help, and that hurts. But that’s not his fault, it’s mine.
Heather waved her hand. “Paul couldn’t fix a leaky faucet. Don’t bother. I’ll get Tim to help. He’s a lot better with his hands, and he’s home now.”
She started to say something else but held her tongue.
I could tell she wanted to get something out but wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it tonight. I needed to avoid a fight at all costs. While I, personally, didn’t really fear what the future held, I couldn’t predict what would happen on a deployment, and couldn’t allow Heather’s last memory of me to be a fight. We both knew the job was dangerous. We never talked about it out loud, but the potential consequences were there all the time. Tonight it was worse, because I was leaving. It was like a heavy presence that surrounded everything in the room. I took a gamble, hoping whatever she wanted to tell me would be a simple thing that I could smooth over before I left.
“What? What were you going to say?”
“I’ve said it before.” She sighed, brushed a strand of hair out of her face, then let it out. “Why do you have to go? Why is it always you? You’ve been gone since 9/11. Isn’t it someone else’s turn?”
Task Force tours were a little different than anything I had done before. They were six months long, followed by three months of downtime, followed by a three-month ramp-up prior to deploying again. During the last month of the ramp-up, we deployed permanently to D.C. and dropped all contact with our past, so for the family it was more like a seven-month rotation. The final month was lockdown. It was when we were completely cleaned from our past and prepped to become whatever was called upon by the mission. Tonight was the last night before the lockdown in D.C., the last night before my final seven-month absence. I was stepping down after this tour, something I had promised Heather I would do.
She gave me a bitter look. “Yeah, just like your last rotation at the Unit. And then you go and volunteer for this new thing. What’ll it be next, Pike? At least when you were with the Unit I had other wives to talk to, people I could call who knew what I was going through. Now I don’t even have that. I have to run around telling everyone you’re some sort of communication technician in the Eighteenth Airborne Corps. Do you know how stupid that makes me sound? You’re never here, and when you are, you never put on a uniform. It’s ridiculous.”
