Sierra Leone is substantially smaller than South Carolina, but it has more intense revolutions, the most recent and most persistent being the relentless, bloodthirsty forces of the Revolutionary United Front (RUF) against the ruling President Kabbah.
This truly ghastly African war saw 50,000 people lose their lives, generally because the forces of the RUF, led by the savage Foday Sankoh, conducted years of terror against civilians, raping, pillaging, and mutilating.
Back in the year 2000, Sankoh's brutal hordes actually managed to capture 500 United Nations troops in the towns of Makeni and Kailahun. They stole their vehicles and weapons, adding them to their own formidable arsenal, purchased with income from diamond mines they controlled deep in the western interior of the country.
This was too much for the Brits, the old Commonwealth Masters. They sent in a force of 700,1st Battalion Parachute Regiment, to begin evacuating British and European citizens. The paratroopers captured a large hunk of the capital, the coastal city of Freetown, including the airport.
But there was fierce fighting. The British paratroopers forced the release of most of the hostages, and hammered away at Sankoh's jungle fighters, utilizing helicopter gunships, driving the RUF back into the hinterlands.
Sankoh would not let go, however. They attacked again, and suddenly seized six soldiers of the Royal Irish Rangers, holding them hostage deep in the interior. These characters called themselves the West Side Boys, and they held the British troops captive in a very strong position either side of the Rokel Creek.
Whitehall considered there was an obvious risk the men would end up with their throats cut, or worse, unless the British Army moved very quickly indeed.
Captain Wade now showed Admiral Morris a detailed plan of this grotesque little theater of war, around the village of Gberi Bana, north of the Creek, and Forodugu, to the south.
'The Brits sent in the SAS right away, sir, ' he said. 'D-Squadron. And they infiltrated this area right here, high above the river, five observation posts, brilliantly camouflaged in the brush, while the Special Forces made their assessment of the problem.
'Their Commander masterminded the entire operation. He talked in five helicopters loaded with British Paratroopers, who landed downstream along the creek and attacked on either bank, knocking out the machine gun positions.'
Captain Wade adjusted the map and pointed out the direction of the onrushing British Paratroopers. 'These guys right here, sir. They drew the West Side Boys' fire… Then at the correct moment, the SAS commander gave the order, called up the gunships, and led his men into the attack…
'Right here, sir,' said Scotty. 'SAS D-Squadron stormed out of their hides at first light, and rampaged down the north bank of Rokel Creek. They swept into the village, gunning down anything in their way, and freed the men. They blasted a path back to the waiting helicopters, leaving twenty-five dead RUF rebels behind them, eighteen wounded and captured. Only one SAS man died in the action.
'Admiral, I've really checked this one out. We're looking at a classic Special Forces operation right here. I guess I don't need to tell you the SAS Commander was Raymond Kerman… '
'Jesus!' breathed George Morris. This Kerman was someone to be reckoned with. Without a word, Morris picked up his telephone, and dialed the White House on secure line direct from Crypto City.
'Get me Admiral Morgan,' he said.
Kathy O'Brien, the stunning red-haired secretary to the National Security Adviser, picked up the telephone and heard the familiar voice of George Morris, the one voice in the entire country Arnold Morgan would always answer.
At the time, she was standing between her desk and the big wooden door to her boss, and, knowing he was alone, she walked across and pushed it open.
'George is on the phone,' she said. 'Shall I put him through?'
'George who?' grunted the Admiral absentmindedly, staring at a pile of documents. 'George Washington? George Patton? George III?'
'Christ!' said the future Mrs. Arnold Morgan, knowing full well he knew precisely who she meant. 'Admiral George Morris, Director of the National Security Agency, located in Fort Meade, Maryland, five miles north of the Beltway, latitude thirty-nine spot one zero.'
'Vague,' he grunted. 'Too vague.' Then Admiral Morgan sprang to his feet, chuckling, walked across the room and hugged her, told her he loved her and, 'to put that clever old bastard through right away,' and could he have some coffee, and where the hell was the Washington Post.
Kathy returned to her desk and connected Admiral Morris on the secure line.
' 'Morning, George.' Arnold greeted his old buddy with equanimity, knowing he would never have called if it was unimportant.
'Hello, sir,' responded Admiral Morris, granting the President's right-hand man full respect before lapsing into 'Arnie,' which thirty years of friendship, most of it in the U.S. Navy, plainly permitted.
'Can I come over and see you?'
'Sure, is it urgent?'
'No. But my team has turned up a situation I don't like and neither will you. Can you give me an hour early afternoon?'
'Come for lunch, George. White House. About 1300.'
'Perfect,' said Admiral Morris. 'I'll be there.'
Right on time, the staff car from Fort Meade pulled up outside the West Wing, and the agents escorted the NSA Chief to the office of Admiral Morgan. The two men chatted for a few moments and then went directly to a small private dining room, the table set for two.
Vice Admiral Morgan poured them each a glass of fizzy mineral water, and hit a button to alert the waiter.
'Okay, George. Lay it on me.'
'Right. I'll start with a question. Did you know the Brits lost an important SAS Commander in that battle in Hebron last spring?'
'Can't say I did. You mean dead?'
'I thought I did a few days ago, although there was no evidence of his death. He just disappeared, and there's been no hostage demand. But I don't think he's dead any more. I think he's alive, and he may have A) deserted, and B) joined Hamas.'
'He's WHAT! An SAS commander joined a terrorist group? Christ. That's bad. But at least in Hamas they pretty well restrict themselves to the Middle East. So it's not life threatening.'
'No. Not yet. But this character is unusual. He's called Ray Kerman, which sounds Jewish. But he's not. He was born in Iran, and his parents are Muslims. He used to read the Koran.'
'What's his rank?'
'Major. He was the SAS Commander who rescued everyone in that action in Sierra Leone three or four years ago.'
'Was he? I remember that. Hell of an operation. Didn't the Brits charge across the river and blow the place apart?'
'That's the one, and Ray Kerman was in charge. You'll remember they hit suddenly, at dawn, got everyone out, killed or wounded around forty people, and escaped. Lost only one man. Textbook Special Forces.'
'Yeah. Big surprise. Big stick. That's the way to do it,' replied the Vice Admiral, approvingly.
At this moment the waiter came in with two bowls of lobster bisque and placed one in front of each Admiral.
'You remember to put a splash of dry sherry in each bowl?' asked the Vice Admiral.
'That's good. Don't want my guest to think my standards are slipping.'
As they sipped their soups, Morris filled Morgan in on everything he knew, concluding with the spectacular bank robberies.
At the end of this, Morgan just said, 'Holy shit! These guys ran off with $100 million in old bills, and no one's even made it public? That's amazing. But more amazing is the fact that two crimes in Israel that brilliant must have been planned and executed by professionals. Someone in there has serious military training — and the officer who did it, must be a very talented man.'
'My thoughts exactly, sir. We got a goddamned tiger out there, in charge of a very organized group. And we
