The Red Cell André Gallo (essential reading .txt) 📖

of a lot better,” Al said, “than what I’ve seen on the lot of battlefield operations.”

“It’s the best we’ve got,” Steve said. “Now we have to make assumptions. We believe the attack will be on the Golden Gate Bridge. That’s no more than a best guess. I believe Yosemani is here with only a small group, probably no more than half a dozen. The Mumbai attack was done with only a handful of shooters. The same can be said for most terrorist attacks on hostile territory.”

“But why is the general acting like a squad leader?” Hunter asked, playing with a Bowie knife he had produced from nowhere. “Why isn’t he directing it from elsewhere, so he doesn’t risk capture?”

“The Nightingale’s death made this personal,” Kella said.

“The Nightingale?” Al asked.

“Yeah, his wife,” Hunter said.

“The next assumption,” Steve said, “is Yosemani’s going to run this thing tomorrow like a military operation, not as a suicide mission. He saw combat during the Iran-Iraq War, and he will bank on that experience even though he only has a few men under his command. In other words, his team will have an escape route.”

“The other side of that coin,” McCabe said, “is the Iranian army didn’t hesitate to send thousands of its young men, many of them teenagers, through the Iraqi minefields in front of the regular troops during an attack on an Iraqi objective. I’d call that suicide.”

“But you agree there will be an escape route, even if it’s only for the general himself, yes?” Steve asked.

McCabe shrugged.

“Okay, then, here’s the plan,” he said, unfolding a map on the floor of the Marin Headlands and the bridge. “You guys with combat experience, speak up if you have a better idea.”

When they got seated or squatting around the map, Steve continued. “We will plan to get to our staging area, here,” he said, putting his finger on a spot labeled SF 58, “by 0500. That’s the parking lot of the Nike missile site.”

“Why not at the overlook?” Kella asked. “That will give us the best view of the bridge.”

“Two reasons,” Steve replied. “Number one, it will be dark, and our eyes will be Al’s Skylarks. Number two, I bet the camouflage Hummer I saw on the overlook from the tower was actually Yosemani doing his own reconnaissance. I also bet it’s going to be his personal command post tomorrow morning. Let him have it, and we’ll know where to find him.”

“We’ll be pretty far from the bridge to get there quick enough to stop Yosemani’s guys,” McCabe said. “What if Hunter and I post ourselves on the lower overlook, on the west side of the Bridge? When Al’s birds spots the Quds Force guys, you tell us on the radio. We’ll be on them so fast they won’t know what hit them.”

“Better yet, you two should be at the administrative building where the TV monitors are.” Steve said. “Remember, the Quds Force guys are military, too, and they won’t be easily surprised.”

“We could use somebody else at the administrative building,” Steve said, looking at Kella. “You could coordinate the show with law enforcement, with the JTTF.”

“Non, Monsieur Church!” Kella almost shouted at Steve. “I did not come here to coordinate,” she said in a mincing tone. “Capture and kill, or is it capture or kill? I don’t know these military terms,” she said, sarcasm in her voice. “I have been waiting and praying to get at him. Now that we’re so close, I’m not going to make nice with a bridge guard while you get a crack at that bastard!”

“Well, I did say I was open to different ideas,” Steve said, as the men grinned at him.

“Well, we’ve got the skeleton of a plan,” Hunter said. “Any more details, anymore talking, and I will get confused. Let’s open those duffle bags.”

“The Heckler and Koch 417 with a sixteen-inch barrel. There’s a twelve-inch and a twenty-inch barrel, but the sixteen-inch is the Goldilocks model. I also took a Glock .45 for each of us,” McCabe said. “I’ve got Kevlar vests and night goggles in the SUVs.”

“By the way, speaking of escape routes,” Al said, “Steve and Kella are world experts. I fished them out of a speeding SEAL boat on the Persian Gulf, after they crossed Iraq with a posse hot on their heels.”

“And we’ve never had a chance to thank you, Al,” Kella said.

“We’ll celebrate tomorrow night,” Steve added.

“So where do you think their escape route is Steve?” McCabe asked.

“Well, they’re highly unlikely to want to head toward San Francisco through the toll booths, so they probably plan to head north toward Canada, or go to ground in the same safe house where they’ve been hiding. Or they can dive off the bridge and swim home.”

47. Golden Gate Bridge and Marin Headlands

 Friday, 0210 hours

The captain of the Soledad watched the lights of San Francisco disappearing in the heavy Bay fog, as his container ship glided seaward under the Golden Gate Bridge guided by two pilot boats. It was low tide, and the highest part of the ship stood less than half of the two hundred fifty-two feet between bridge deck and water.

The captain looked at his watch. He was on time to make his rendezvous just past the twelve-mile territorial limit. The owner had instructed him to give up his cabin to the VIP who would be coming on board, an instruction that rendered the captain more intrigued than annoyed. The trip had been routine so far, and the presence of passengers headed by a high-ranking individual would break the monotony. He turned the pages of his ship’s journal to confirm his instructions; the name of the boat that was supposed to rendezvous with the Soledad was Sufficient Grounds, a puzzling American name for a boat.

 0445

Felix Gardiner had started his bicycle commute from his