Echo Six: Black Ops 7 - Tibetan Fury (4 page)

"I know, I know. You're asking why we didn't do that in the first place. There are reasons, powerful political reasons. But we had to look past those, and that's why we committed the Tomahawk. As near as we can tell everyone inside is dead, as are the occupants of the three houses nearby. You should know the fallout from the Pakistanis will be, to put it mildly, terrible. They'll do everything short of declare war on the NATO Alliance. And remember, they're a nuclear power. It wasn't what we wanted, but the debacle you suffered tonight forced our hand."

Someone from the back shouted, "Tell that to the families of Vartan and Fromm."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "Again, I'm sorry."

Talley rose to his feet, but at a sign from Brooks, sat down again.

"I said when you fall off the horse, you get right back on. That's the way it's going to be. You have a few hours for a shower, change of underwear, and a hot meal. Then it's back in the saddle. You're going out again, another mission."

They stared at him in silence.

"You're joking!"

He stared at Welland, the SAS man. "No, Sergeant, I'm not joking. While you were being shot at in Kashmir, a hot potato dropped into my lap. Echo Six just happened to be here, in the right place, at the right time to take on this mission."

"We're due on leave. I have things I need to do," he protested, his voice sharp with anger, "Christ, my people are depending on me."

Talley stared at him.
People? Does he mean his family, or his race, the Chosen People? How can I get him to spell it out. Maybe I can help him.

"I can't help that," Brooks overrode his objection, "I've been handed my orders, and those are to put Echo Six back into the field."

"Where?" Guy pressed him.

He seemed to be considering his answer, but eventually gave it to them in one word.

"Tibet."

Guy shook his head as if he'd been punched. "That's now part of China, Admiral! Communist China."

He nodded. "Yes, so I've been told."

"The last I heard, they have upward of three million troops. As well as their Ministry of State Security, Secret Police, Militia, Cops, and Christ knows what else."

"Yep."

"Fuck it."

"Yep. I agree with you, but we can't. We've been handed this, and we're going in."

Afterward, Talley took Guy Welland to one side and tried again.

"What is it, what's eating you?"

"Nothing."

"That's crap, and you know it. Someone's in trouble. Who is it?"

He sighed, a deep, long breath. Finally, he answered, "Did you know I have family in Egypt?"

"No, I didn't. Jews?"

Guy smiled. "What else? We may not all attend temple on a regular basis, but yes, that's our religion, our heritage, and our culture. My great-uncle, Abraham Weissman, lives in Cairo with his family."

"I assume Weissman was the family name, before it changed to Welland?"

"Yeah, some of my folks altered it when the Nazis came to power and started the Second World War. It wasn't considered politic to own to a Germanic name."

"Understood. So this Uncle Abraham, he's in trouble?"

"They all are. He lives in Cairo, a widower. The Muslims killed his wife several months back. That was the first warning. He has two daughters, they run an antiquities business. You heard of Kristallnacht?"

"Nazi Germany, 1938, when the Brownshirts tore up Jewish homes and businesses, and left the streets covered in broken glass from their smashed windows."

"That's right. They're doing it to Abraham. Posted Islamic extremists to watch his place. They've threatened to smash up his place and rape his daughters if he doesn't get out of Cairo immediately."

"Nice people. Devout Muslims."

"Yeah. They told him to leave his property behind, all of it. He's a wealthy man. It's everything he's worked for all his life. He's a fighter and not prepared to give in to blackmail, but what does he do? I told him I'd go to Cairo and help him sort it out, but now..."

Guy spread his arms wide, as if asking for an answer. But what?

"You said sort it out, how do you mean?"

"It's a local Imam at back of it. Abraham gets on with his neighbors fine, but this priest has his eyes on Abraham's villa, just outside the city. It's a beautiful place, furnished with antiquities, paintings, sculptures, you name it. I'll go talk to him, persuade him to stop. Or else."

Or else you'll kill him.

"This Imam and his people, are they serious?"

Guy stared at him. "You're kidding, right? They're Muslims, angling to rob a rich Jew of everything he owns. They've already murdered his wife. Yeah, they're serious, no question. We can't prove it, but there's no doubt."

"How long do you think he has before they move in on him?"

He shrugged. A few weeks, no more. He complained to the cops, but they're not interested. Not in a Jew."

"I guess not. My friend, I can't do anything now, but here's a promise. When this operation ends, I'm coming with you. To Cairo."

"It's not your fight," he objected, "I mean, it may come down to something illegal, the cops could come looking for you."

"I don't give a shit what it is. You're not going alone. I'm coming along to help out."

"Me too."

"Ja, I will come."

They looked as Rovere and Buchmann entered. They'd obviously been nearby, listening.

"Hey, there's no need..."

"Makes no difference," the Italian argued, "Like it or not, we'll be with you."

"Ja, like the Musketeers," Buchmann grunted.

"There were only three of them," Talley pointed out.

"Three? But they still killed people," Buchmann said, "We are going to kill this man, Ja?"

"Nein!" Guy said sharply, and then he mumbled, "unless it becomes necessary."

"It looks like we'll be heading for a vacation in Cairo as soon as we get back," Rovere said cheerfully, "I always wanted to see the pyramids."

"Who do you work for, Mr. Campbell?"

He had to take a few seconds to gather his breath and fight the pain of the savage blow to his kidneys. Silently, he repeated his mantra, over and over.

"I told you. My name is Tenzin Davaika. I am a Buddhist monk. My Abbot will tell you ...aagghh!"

One of the soldiers had used his nightstick to jab him in the groin, and the pain was unbelievable. Again, he fought for breath.

"Who do you work for?"

There is no pain. Only blue sky, the soft sigh of the wind, and the purity of mountain snow.

"My name is Tenzin Davaika. Please…

Another hard jab.

"Please, you must believe me. I am a simple monk. I do not work for anyone. I serve the Lord Buddha, only in his name. There is no other."

Major Xu Xilong put up a hand to stop the next blow. The Major regarded the bloody body slumped in the chair, his arms tied to the sides.

This one will need a different approach. These damn monks. They are all so difficult to torture, almost as if they enjoy it.

"You like pain, monk?"

"Pain?" He looked up in surprise, "No, how could I? It is just, I can only tell you the truth. I am a simple monk."

"If that is the case, why are the Americans so interested in you?"

"I don't understand."

He looked at his Chinese tormentor, watching, waiting for the next blow. He knew what the Major wanted, but he couldn't give it to him. It would gain nothing and would result in the deaths of many men and women he called his friends. And one man more than any other, a man he had to protect at all costs. They must never know. He repeated his mantra. He'd gone into this willingly and known this moment would come.

I have to have faith, just to
survive. Have to! So much depends on it.

"I don't believe you. Do you deny your name is David Campbell? That you are an American?" He held up his hand as the monk went to reply, "I must warn you, America is not the only country to have an electronic intelligence gathering agency. In China, we believe we lead the world in this field, and our people tell us they have picked up signals traffic that point to you, Mr. Campbell. Yes, I know you look Tibetan, but that is meaningless. Did your parents defect to America, or were you born there? And then you thought you would come back here to spy on the Chinese government? Is that the way it was? Tell me, who do you work for, is it CIA?"

"I am a simple monk. My name is Tenzin Davaika. I serve only the Lord Buddha."

Major Xilong nodded to his men. "Continue."

The blows fell, repeatedly. They beat his kidneys, his stomach, his groin, and then started on his arms and legs. It seemed to go on forever, and soon the pain was so all consuming he was able to force his mind to float above it. He was drifting in an endless eternity of warmth and light, the eternity that was the gift of the Lord Buddha. These were mere men, and soon it would stop. If they killed him, he would be reborn. He hoped he had earned a new life better than this one.

There is no pain. Only the whisper of insects in the long grass, the blessed rays of the sun, the sigh of the tree branch in the wind. I am one, with them. I will not speak. I will protect him with my life, and my death.

It lasted thirty-five minutes. When he slumped unconscious, there was no point in going on, so they dragged him back to his cell.

* * *

Brooks stopped speaking as the door opened. Two people walked into the briefing room and both stared around the room. They wore sunglasses, faded combat fatigue shirts tucked into canvas boots, and
Afghan scarves looped loosely around their necks. Rovere raised his eyebrows at Talley, Agency mercenaries without a doubt. They seemed satisfied and left the room
. A moment later, another two people entered. This time it was a man and a woman. He was very tall. She was short.

The guy was about thirty-five years old, tall, slim and erect. He looked the epitome of the American corporate executive, fit and healthy, and with a friendly smile that wouldn't have looked out of place on a crocodile. The kind of man who would grin and pat your back, while lifting your wallet or stealing your girlfriend. He may as well have worn a badge that said, ‘CIA'. Even his clothes were standard Ivy League issue, Ralph Lauren tough cotton chinos, matching button down and slinky designer desert boots.

The girl was eye candy. She looked like a native of the Himalayas, and Talley assumed she was Tibetan, given their intended destination. Not all Tibetans were beautiful. Many had flat, plain faces and stocky builds, but not this girl. She had a heart-shaped face with smooth, mid-brown skin; skin that any red-blooded man would want to stroke, next to him in bed.

She was slender and graceful, and carried herself with the easy grace and indefinable inner steel of a ballerina. Dark hair, tied in a tight bun behind her head and huge, dark brown eyes that were soft and somehow mysterious. All in all, a trim package that couldn't have been more than five feet tall, enigmatic, probably pureblood Tibetan, and most likely the CIA officer's girlfriend. Brooks hastened to make the introductions.

"Men, this is Grace Ferraro and Ed Garrick. They'll be helping out with this operation."

The man nodded. The girl gave them a small smile.

"Hi, guys."

One hundred percent American accent, so not Tibetan,
Talley smiled to himself.
What is she? Who is she?

"Ed, would you and Miss Ferraro explain what we're about in Tibet?"

He gave the Admiral an easy smile and shook his hand. "No sweat, always willing to help out our NATO allies."

Talley winced.
As if he’s doing us all a favor.

"I thought it was NATO helping your people out, Ed. Not the other way around."

Uh, oh.

"Of course, of course."

He turned to face them. "I work for the US government."

"IRS?" DiMosta asked in an innocent tone, "Last time I looked, I was up-to-date with my tax return."

Garrick forced a smile. "Yeah, very funny. Okay, I work for Central Intelligence, as does my junior colleague here, Grace Ferraro."

Talley noticed the way he emphasized the word 'junior'.

Nice guy.
A real pistol.

"We're here because a Buddhist monk was arrested in Tibet," Garrick continued.

"That's nothing new," Guy Welland interrupted, "The Chinese arrest them in droves. What's so special about this one?"

Garrick sighed, "If I could continue, I'll explain. He's an American, and his name is David Campbell. His mother was Tibetan and his father American, although he looks native Tibetan. His father was a pilot in Vietnam. He went to Tibet on furlough just before the end and met his mother. They moved back to the US in '73 when we pulled out of South East Asia, and David was born two years later. After college, he was about to join the Air Force when his father died. Something changed, and he went out to Tibet as a volunteer for some kind of NGO. You know the kind of thing, baby milk for the natives, something like that," he smirked.

Grace Ferraro remained stony-faced.

So she
isn't his girlfriend; that much is clear.

Garrick continued, "David reverted to his mother's Tibetan maiden name and an equivalent Tibetan first name, to make it easier to get close to the locals. But sickened by the brutality of the Chinese, he decided to act and so joined CIA as undercover agent. After five years, he gave it up to join a Buddhist monastery and become a monk. That was just over year ago. Even so, after he became a monk, he still got out information about important stuff, anything that would undermine the Chinese occupation. Now we need to get him home, back to the US. We want you to go in and get him." He paused.

"Why not just send him an air ticket? If his passport's expired, CIA can always fix him something up," Talley asked.

He was winding the guy up; letting off steam, knowing there was more. Some people you plain dislike on sight. He suspected this CIA man had that effect on a lot of people. A couple of the men guffawed.

Garrick grimaced. "There are three reasons why it's impossible. First, many of the agents he contacted during his time with the Agency are still in place. He picked up a lot of sensitive material, and CIA estimates the secrets he holds could devastate our intelligence operations in Asia for the next decade. Which means it's damned important he comes out. Second, he's not just anybody. I told you his father died. His mother remarried, a guy named Nelson Moore. I guess you may have heard of him."

He looked smug.

"The White House Chief of Staff?" Talley asked, astonished.

"None other. His stepfather. He was understandably pissed, and he went to the President, who made it clear he has to come out at all costs."

"Signor Garrick," Rovere interrupted, wringing his hands and putting on his best Italian peasant-accented English, "Everything you tell us points to this being an American affair. Surely you need Navy Seals or Delta Force. We are NATO, and we do not involve ourselves in these kinds of affairs."

Brooks couldn't stop smiling at the Italian's performance.

"That's impossible, Lieutenant Rovere. This is directly linked to the White House, which means the President cannot be seen showing favoritism to his personal staff by using the US military. Politically, the repercussions could be, no, would be, dynamite. It has to be NATO. Of which the US is a major part, I would point out."

He looked at Garrick. "You'd best tell them the rest."

The CIA man nodded. "Two days ago, Chinese Ministry of State Security troops came to the monastery and arrested him. He was trying to leave at the time. They gave him a fast track trial and sentenced him to death for sedition. The sentence is due to be carried out in fifteen days, at 06.00. They transported him back to the MSS jail in Lhasa to await sentence. He'll be harshly treated, that's for sure. Torture, you name it. The execution will take place in the prison yard."

There was silence for a few moments as they digested the appalling prospect of the American Buddhist monk, beaten, tortured, and then executed by the brutal regime that ruled Tibet.

"You've left it late," Guy said suddenly, "China is a tough country for Westerners to operate in, for obvious reasons."

"It shouldn't have happened." This time, it was Grace Ferraro who answered, "I was due to fly in and help get him out. We were to be disguised as husband and wife, tourists."

"Lucky man."

She looked irritated at Rovere's comment. "As I said, I was slated to enter Tibet and come out with Tenzin Davaika. That's Campbell's Tibetan name, by the way. "

"What's yours," Rovere persisted, with a warm smile.

"Tenzin Sangye. Tenzin is my family name. As I said, it was all arranged, until they attested Tenzin Davaika. We got the word from Tempa Rinpoche, a monk who keeps an eye on Davaika for us. On this occasion, it was too late to help him." She smiled, "But we can still save him, if we move fast."

"And the President will express his gratitude," Garrick added. He was about to go on, but Brooks put a hand on his arm to stop him. "I think they get it, Ed."

He nodded. "Yeah, okay."

The Admiral stared around at them all, catching the eye of each man, making sure he had their attention. "That's it, in a nutshell. You'll go in, break him out of prison, and get him out of the country. He's being held in the high security prison just outside Lhasa, the capital. I'll go into the infil and exfil later, but first..."

"She said we, Admiral," Talley said quietly. "What's with the 'we'?"

"Miss Ferraro is going in with you, Commander. She's been fully briefed, and she's an experienced CIA operative. More important, she knows the people, the places, everything you'll need to make the mission a success."

"In that case, she can spell it out now, and we'll handle it ourselves."

"That's not the way it's going down," Brooks snapped, his expression icy.

Guy had had enough. "Admiral, we've been kicked around from here to eternity, and what's behind most of our problems? Intelligence! We've just come back from a fiasco, courtesy of Air Force intel, and twice before we've run into a brick wall because of faulty intel. Give us the contacts inside Tibet, and we'll go in and do the job. I don't want any outsiders involved, no Air Force intelligence, no Central Intelligence. Just give us the names and the places, and we'll get it done."

"You can't!"

Talley stared at Grace Ferraro. The beautiful face was still serene, but the two words slammed out with the force of pistol bullets. Her expression was strange. Determined, fierce even. And there was a tinge of fear there.

Why?
What hasn't she told us?

She appealed to Talley. "Commander, none of you speak Tibetan, you don't look Tibetan, and you don't know the country. The situation is complicated. It's next to impossible to know the people who you can trust, and the people you can't. "