LITMIR.BIZ

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he said as the two men shook hands.

      “That’s very nice of you to offer but if you could just get her there I can guarantee she will be protected,” said Wade putting his arm around Crystal’s shoulder.

      5.

      The men were chomping at the bit as the Dauphin II gently touched down on the deck of the aircraft carrier. Blue waters of the glass smooth Atlantic sparkled in the afternoon sun. The flight deck burst back into activity after the short delay to allow for the helicopter to land. Men scuttled. Hand signals were flashed about. A catapult thrust the F18 Super Hornet jet into the sky. Ten seconds later a further deafening sound. Arrestor cables and the full thrust of a twenty four tonne jet stopping in one hundred metres; reverberated across the deck. A Nimitz class aircraft carrier is not for the faint hearted.

      With a pack on their backs, parachute on their chest, large black bag in each hand and sound suppressant, oxygen enabled helmets; the four men looked like astronauts heading to their spaceship.

      Wade felt his emotions stir as the thought of previous missions flashed before his eyes. He had been a soldier involved in some form of military since he had finished school, at seventeen. All his adult life he had felt and seen military weapons, equipment, machinery, clothing and people. He had eaten the food, listened to the commands and put his life on the line many times. He could not remember how many helicopters he had flown in or how many times he had been on aircraft carriers, invited or not invited. But this felt different. It had been five years since he had put on the boots, held the rifle, carried the packs. His psychology studies had opened his eyes to a whole new perspective. He had spent the flight attempting to analyze what he was doing. Why had he returned? Was it some desire to save his friends? Did he feel he was the best suited to successfully complete the mission? Or was it, plain and simply, in his DNA to be a soldier?

      A naval seaman escorted them across the deck and up to the flag bridge. At one of the highest points of the carrier the two hundred and seventy degree view was incredible. Sloping glass added to the magnificence. Planes and jets could be seen buzzing around like flies. People on the deck ducked, weaved, signaled and moved like a choreographed dance routine. A first timer would be fascinated by the sheer enormity of what was happening. Upon entering a short, middle aged, grey haired man leapt out of his stately leather chair.

      “Wade Ross, great to see you again. My god boy; you look as fit and healthy as ever.”

      “Hi Admiral. Good to see you too.”

      After dropping their gear and making all the necessary introductions the Admiral cleared his staff from the room. Checking all comms were off, he faced the four hardened faces.

      “I know why you’re here. I’m the only one in this fleet who does and I intend to do everything I can to help.”

      Looking down into the eyes of the smaller man Wade asked, “Why?”

      “Jacob told me he had mentioned to you about Veronica, correct?” asked Plower.

      “Veronica? No … not that I can recall,” replied a puzzled Wade.

      “Veronica was the woman Jacob was going to marry. She was my wife’s twin sister.”

      “I’m sorry Admiral. I didn’t realize. The Colonel never told me her name.”

      Plower went on to explain how he had kept up communication with Wine throughout the years. How the team dynamics had changed after Wade’s departure. The fact they had became more affiliated with and the majority of their work was for the current US administration. How the Colonel had felt blackmailed, by President Markham, into his latest mission, even though he was unable to explain why.

      “I believe he’s still alive and I owe it to him to do everything I can to help you find them,” added Plower.

      “Thanks Admiral. I believe so too and we appreciate your offer,” said Wade as the four men grabbed their gear, nodded and departed.

      After being escorted to the officer’s quarters the quartet gathered in Wade’s room.

      “Hey Wade. Do they have mini bars in these officer’s rooms?” asked Bud opening and closing doors. “I could get use to travelling in one of these.”

      Wade smiled as Franco replied. “No good for you Bud. Too much class required.”

      “Fuck you too, Frenchie.”

      “Alright, listen up. You need to be geared up and ready to leave at 2245. We jump at twenty three thousand feet. Bud and I first, then you two. I found a clearing north west of Dambara,” he said pointing to the landing area on a map. “The jungle in this area is seriously thick so we travel no more than ten metres apart.”

      Wade explained the formation they would move in. The tactics they would adopt if attacked. Their rendezvous point if separated. They studied and memorized the maps and photo of Marcus Riol. Discussed various scenarios. Hit their fists against each other and left for their respective rooms.

      Using the secure MI6 sat phone Wade called Plant. He outlined their plan, gave the drop zone coordinates and explained the relationship between Admiral Plower and Colonel Wine.

      Pausing until he was sure Wade had finished Plant said, “We were able to intercept some further information on an order that came through from SECDEV. It appears the NSC, on advice from SECDEV, issued an order to the Commander of the Sixth Fleet for a drone strike. The coordinates given were four kilometres west of the small village, Sambalu, in the east province of Sierra Leone. Our analysts have determined through graphical analysis and the available reports that the coordinates were the same as those sent by Colonel Wine … The NSC order arrived two minutes after the Colonel’s was received.”

      “Slow down Joe. I am seriously confused. What are you trying to say?”

      “We believe Colonel Wine found the President’s daughter and got her on to the Sikorsky. The helicopter flew for a few minutes and was then shot out of the sky by a SAM. At the same time a drone strike was made on the location of the Colonel and his team.”

      “Holy shit … so who the hell can we trust?”

      “I have no idea,” replied an exasperated Plant.

      Thirty seconds had passed when Plant asked, “Wade are you still there?”

      “Yeah, I’m here. I want you to make sure nobody, and I mean nobody, is told anything. We need to get Director Harel on board. You must explain to him everything you have told me. Okay?” He waited until he heard Plant’s grunt of a response. Knowing full well that Plant felt nervous in talking with the Israeli. “Can you also ask him to get a protection detail on Crystal, and her father, at her father’s home in Maryland?”

      Director Ben Harel, head of Mossad and a good friend of Wade’s. After leaving the SAS Wade had trained for many years as a Mossad operative both within Israel and worldwide. His affinity to the plight of the Jewish people, and the similarity to the Australian Aboriginal, had developed a strong trusting relationship between himself and Mossad hierarchy. Wade and his then training and operations partner, Kia, were highly respected operatives with an extremely high success rate.

      2250 hours the four men were led into the carrier’s ‘Ready room’. Wearing war torn jungle clothing, cam cream covering their faces, helmets, breathing apparatus, various forms of knives, weapons and explosives strapped to their bodies and carrying their parachutes; they looked formidable. Their demeanor was hard and tough. The young, nervous, escort seaman scurried from the room checking over his shoulder as he closed the door.

      The pilots had finished their preflight. They explained what and how things would unfold and ten minutes later everybody was aboard. Take off went as planned and they climbed to cruising altitude. The internals of a C-2A Greyhound are very plush and extremely quiet compared to what they were used to on C-130 military HALO flights.

      “Hey Wade. Is there something about all this that seems odd to you?” asked Sammy.

      Having had the same thoughts but unable

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