colonel gray was waiting for Rapp when the plane landed at Pope Air Force Base, which was adjacent to Fort Bragg. He was in his green camouflage fatigues, a beret and black jump boots that were polished to perfection. Despite the late autumn chill he had his sleeves rolled up to the middle of his muscular and tanned forearms. Unlike most of his men Gray kept his hair short, since he didn't go into the field anymore. Delta Force operators were given a special dispensation by the Army on hair regulations. The intent was to allow them to blend in with the general population when they were deployed.
Gray, in his mid forties, was still in peak physical condition. He jogged five miles five days a week and still managed to keep up with the new recruits on the obstacle course. To keep his skills sharp he fired over two hundred rounds a day on Delta's various ranges. Gray believed in leading by example. The man did not have a pretentious bone in his body.
As Rapp stepped from the plane Gray rushed forward to help him with his bags. They stowed Rapp's luggage in the back of the colonels Humvee and jumped in. "Thanks for coming down, Mitch. I really appreciate it. I got a little worried the other day when I heard you were looking at retiring."
Rapp shrugged off the question and not wanting to get into the details of his disastrous love life, he simply said, "I'm getting old, Colonel."
"The hell you are. You old when you get to be my age. You still a young pup." Rapp figured Gray was in his mid forties, still relatively young by any normal standards, but by Special Force's standards he was ancient. "Where are we off to this morning?"
Gray wrestled with the steering wheel on the Humvee like he was a city bus driver. He turned it around a corner and hit the gas. "I want to show you something before I bring you over for the briefing."
A minute later they pulled inside a massive airplane hangar where an equally massive C-141 Starlifter was being loaded with equipment. The colonel shut off the Humvee, and he and Rapp jumped out. Near the rear of the plane were three vehicles sitting under gray tarps. Gray approached the last one and pulled the tarp off. Underneath was a white Mercedes-Benz E-Class sedan.
"What do you think?"
Rapp was smiling. "No offense, Colonel, but the army isn't exactly known for throwing money around. How did you get your hands on these?"
Gray opened the drivers door. "We do the DEA a lot of favors. We help train their SWAT guys and in general help them with tactical training"
"And?" "I told them if they ever come across any Mercedes sedans to let me know. We got them cheap."
"Drug seizures?"
"Yep. And that's only half of it. They're armor-plated. Some crazy Colombian drug dealer down in Miami owned them. A white one, a black one and silver one. We painted them all white." Gray gestured to the other side of the car. "Get in. I want to show you a few things."
Rapp got into the front passenger seat, and looked at the dash. Colonel Gray was pointing to a computer screen beneath the radio on the dashboard. "The car comes standard with a GPS map system. We brought in some techno-weenies from the National Reconnaissance Office and had them program the system for every street in Baghdad and all the main andsecondary roads leading in and out of the city."
Rapp nodded. "You have them in all three cars?"
"Yep."
"That's huge. No more Mogadishus." Rapp was referring to an operation in Somalia back in 1993 when things went horribly wrong for a task force of U. S. Special Forces. After grabbing several top lieutenants of a war lord, the ground element of the force came under fire and got lost in the maze of streets that crisscrossed the Third World hellhole. Even with a command helicopter circling high above the city giving the ground element directions on how to avoid roadblocks and get out of the war lord's stronghold, the convoy continued to take wrong turns. Taking heavy fire the group was pinned down for the night. By the time the operation was over eighteen soldiers were dead and dozens more critically injured. Despite killing over 400 Somalis the operation was looked on as a disaster back in Washington.
"The windows are all bulletproof, the tires are self-sealing and we added sunroofs to the backseat so the men can fire the heavy equipment while moving."
Rapp looked around the vehicle admiringly. He thought he knew the answer but he asked anyway. "Why didn't you go with limos?"
"We thought about it, and even fooled around with the idea a bit, but it really complicated the mission profile. If we used the limos we would either have to drive them in across the border, which presented some problems that we wanted to avoid, or we would have to load them on C-130's and either drop them by pallet and parachute, or land the planes in Iraq and off load them, which for obvious reasons we didn't like. One of my men who'd been pouring over reconnaissance photographs noticed that not all of these caravans are limousines. Some of them use sedans. Several in particular use these Mercedes E-Class sedans."
"Those are the ones used by his son Uday," added Rapp.
"The sadistic little bastard?"
"Yep"
"Where'd you get that info?"
Rapp grinned. "I have my sources."
"I'm sure you do." Gray studied Rapp for a moment with his shrewd eyes, wondering how far he should push. "Does the fact that Uday uses these cars hurt or help?" "Oh," said Rapp, "I think it helps."
"What do you know that I don't?"
"I'll tell you later, when you give me the briefing. For now I'd like to hear the rest of what you were saying."
"Going to the sedans simplified things greatly for us. They fit into the Chinooks that we use for deep penetration operations. Using the Chinooks we can fly in under radar and land exactly where we want."
"Perfect. I'm impressed. Colonel."
"Well, let's hope you still are when you've heard the briefing."
hidden among the tall pine trees of North Carolina is a military compound known as the SOT. It stands for Special Operations Training Facility. The eight-mile perimeter of the compound is surrounded by a double fence topped with razor wire. The no-man's-land between the two fences is loaded with microwave sensors and cameras. Inside the fence line, tall earth berms conceal the movement of the people who train at the hundred million-dollar facility. The men who occupy the area are referred to as operators. The SOT is home to Delta Force, the U. S. Army's ultrasecret counterterrorism Special Forces unit.
The SOT itself sits within Fort Bragg, the massive military reservation that is home to the John F. Kennedy Special Warfare Center and the Special Forces Command; the home of the Green Berets. It is from the Green Berets that Delta Force gets its operators, the best of the best. Security around the facility is very tight. Rarely is a civilian allowed entrance, but in the case of Mitch Rapp, Colonel Gray, the commanding officer of Delta Force, was more than willing to make an exception.
The guards at the gate allowed Colonel Gray through with a salute. They didn't bother checking the credentials of the other man in the front seat of the Humvee. Half a mile later the vehicle braked to a quick stop in front of Delta's headquarters building. Rapp grabbed his garment bag and on the way in Gray confided in him saying, "I envy you young guys. This is going to be the op to end all ops."
Rapp smiled back but didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Gray was right. Instead he asked, "What's on the schedule?"
"I have my team assembled. I want to give you a full briefing, have you poke a few holes in the plan, and then try and figure out the best way to coordinate our activities. We're due to ship out at fourteen hundred, so we don't have much time."
Rapp followed him down the hall to a conference room. He draped the garment bag over a chair and took a seat next to Gray at the head of the table. Gray took a moment to introduce Rapp to the team's commanding officer. "Mitch, this is Major Berg."