that I question anybody’s loyalty. But I’ve been involved in ops that… er, operations… that were compromised because of a careless comment made without harmful intent. That’s all I meant.”
Ayash squinted at Leopole, as if assessing the American’s honesty. Evidently satisfied, he concluded, “Mr. Leopole, we are all of the same boat, as you say. If anything goes wrong, I will be sinking with you.”
“Fair enough, Major. Fair enough.”
12
Mohammad Azizi delivered Dr. Momen’s colleague, on schedule.
Imam Sadegh Elham appeared to be in his mid-forties. In contrast to the corpulent Momen, Elham’s was a thin, spare frame with few of the scientist’s unctuous mannerisms.
However, Esmaili noticed that the cleric’s eyes had the same look. While Imam Elham did not wear spectacles, his gaze — penetrating and perceptive — reminded the Hezbollah operative of Momen’s. Ahmad Esmaili felt a tiny chill.
“Peace be upon you,” Esmaili greeted the cleric. Elham replied in kind, apparently with genuine sentiment. Then he presented papers identifying him as spiritual advisor to the Hezbollah cell. That his bona fides were genuine there could be no doubt. His warrant was handwritten by Dr. Momen and countersigned by his deputy.
After the ritual greetings, Ahmad Esmaili showed the imam to his quarters, allowed him to settle in, and departed. Esmaili realized that he was glad to be out of the man’s presence.
Azizi saw Esmaili standing alone and joined him. “Our guest is satisfied with the present situation. You have prepared well, and Dr. Momen should be pleased.”
The Hezbollah leader managed a straight face. “Praise be to God that we have performed our mission… so far.” He regarded Momen’s acolyte. “You will be in frequent contact with the doctor?”
“Yes, yes.” Azizi nodded eagerly. “My duty requires me to return to Tehran at various intervals. But do not worry, brother. You will be well mentioned in my reports for your work… so far.”
Esmaili waved a hand. “Oh, please do not trouble yourself. Doing the work is reward enough.” This time the sentiment did require some facial control. He wondered if Azizi were gullible enough to believe the statement or merely indifferent, knowing something of what was to come.
If Azizi were skeptical, he concealed it beneath an earnest demeanor. “Soon there will be plenty of work for your men to prove their devotion to the jihad.” He actually smiled. “That should please them, should it not?”
“Most assuredly. I only pray that we are up to the task — whatever it may involve.”
Azizi recognized that Esmaili was fishing for more details. But that did not bother him. Were it otherwise, he might have had reason for suspicion. “My friend, you know almost as much as I do at present. For now it is enough that Dr. Momen has entrusted an important mission to our hands, and favored us with his most valued advisor. We will learn more details when we need to know them.”
“Then my fighters can be satisfied. I should check their progress this afternoon. Please excuse me.”
Azizi nodded deferentially. “Of course, brother, of course. I shall see you at the evening prayer. The imam will conduct it himself.”
“I shall be honored to pray behind him.”
As he walked away, Ahmad Esmaili was careful to keep his head up and his shoulders back. He did not wish Mohammad Azizi to realize how the Hezbollah chieftain really felt: like the loneliest man in Lebanon.
Chris Nissen convened the planning session with the entire SSI team. “Colonel Leopole is meeting with our main Druze contact in Beirut but he left a list of topics for us to cover.” He set down his notes and jumped on one of his favorite subjects.
“What’s the best way to take down a roomful of bad guys?”
“A Mark 82 through the roof,” Breezy quipped. When his wisecrack drew no laughter, he went on the defensive. “Well, a five-hundred-pounder takes down a bunch of bee-gees.”
“It’s not a theoretical question,” Nissen insisted. “If we’re going to work with the Druze in securing their villages, we have to be ready to show them some interior tactics.”
Bosco sought to cover his partner’s gaffe. “We have the canned routine from the company’s training manual. Use flash-bangs if possible, frags if necessary, and put at least a short stack of operators through the door or another entry. Then run the walls and hose anybody with a weapon.”
Nissen nodded in agreement. “But what if there’s known or possible noncombatants?”
“That’s why we start with flash-bangs. Then secure everybody there and let the intel guys sort them out.” He shrugged. “It’s worked for us before.”
Nissen returned to the main subject. “Well, let’s realize that our clients will not have the latest gear that some of us brought. We need to stay focused on teaching them to use their own weapons as efficiently as possible.”
Josh Wallender broke his usual silence. “Chris, what do we know about the Druze and their gear?”
“Not a lot right now. Mostly AKs. I don’t think they have many sidearms. That means when we get to interior tactics we’ll show them how to use what they’ve got. The more specialized weapons, like precision rifles, we’ll address as they arise.”
Phil Green, the ex-SWAT cop, had a lot of experience putting cuffs on uncooperative suspects. “I don’t think we can be too dogmatic about this, Sergeant. I mean, there’s too many variables, and good-guy bad-guy recognition is a biggie, especially when everybody looks alike. Besides, what if there’s more suspects than operators? There’s going to be a lot of noise and confusion, especially with women and kids screaming and crying. We’ll have some guys slinging their own weapons while putting flex cuffs on everybody, and that reduces the number of shooters for emergencies.” He shook his head. “I’d avoid an inside fight if at all possible.”
Privately, Nissen agreed, but Leopole had wanted various scenarios discussed before meeting the militiamen in Lebanon. “Okay, you’re right. It’s likely to be dark and noisy and confusing. Lots of chances for distraction and surprises. But I’m talking a last-ditch situation. No way to solve the problem without entering the room.
“Just for consideration: a bud of mine did an exchange tour with the SAS. He said at Prince’s Gate in 1980 one of the terrorists at the Iranian embassy was hiding among the civilians. They pointed him out so two SAS dudes scooped him up and pinned his arms against the wall. One of the other guys double-tapped him with his MP-5 and that was that. All twenty-six hostages were released and five of six terrorists were KIA. A real slick op.”
“Not quite in line with our usual ROE, is it?” Bosco asked with wink.
“No, Mr. Boscombe. It is not.”
Bob Ashcroft, who had trained as a police crisis negotiator, had another angle. “The only situation I can think of for entering a room would be a hostage situation. I mean, if the BGs have shot a couple of hostages and tossed the bodies out the door, then all bets are off. Otherwise, I’d maintain a perimeter and wait ‘em out.”
Nissen realized that the subject was far more varied than the training teams would have time to address with their clients, so he sought to simplify matters. “All right, then. Let’s consider this: you have two or three men ready to enter a room full of hostiles. What’s their best choice of weapons and tactics?”
Breezy turned serious for a moment. “I really like my suppressed MP-5 with a light. And I’d wear goggles and ear protection.”
“Why ear protection if you’ve got a suppressed weapon?”
The operator unzipped a gotcha grin. “Because, Sergeant Nissen, the bad guys prob’ly don’t have suppressed weapons.”
“Okay, point well taken.” He looked around. “Anybody else?”
Robert Pitney squirmed on his seat. After a moment, he spoke up. “It might sound odd, but I’d take a big- caliber race gun with a laser sight. And a light.”
As a former Green Beret NCO, Chris Nissen had little experience with the civilian shooting world. But he was intrigued. “Okay, it does sound odd. But suppose I’m willing to be convinced.”
Pitney was aware that everyone in the room was looking at him. He stood up. “I like a pistol for interior
