He snarled, pulled over to the side of the road, and threw it in the footwell, crushing it with his boot. Breathing heavily, he went back onto the highway, planning his escape. There was no way he could travel back to Tel Aviv or any other port of entry. He needed to get to Lebanon, and the closest border crossing was at the tip of Israel. There was the Rosh Hanikra crossing, but it was reserved for UN members and official Israeli personnel. He couldn’t use that, sure he’d be arrested if he tried, but he knew another way. An old railroad built through a tunnel that once connected the land of Israel with Lebanon, right under that crossing point.
It was now a tourist site, closed to all traffic but visitors, but it was the border. If he could get there, he could get under the wall. If he could cross into Lebanon, he could escape, leaving behind the predators chasing him.
And then he remembered the secondary mission with Michelangelo. Maybe all wasn’t lost. Maybe they could still create the final crusade. He pulled out his cell phone, held it up, and saw he had no service. He glanced at the shell of his sat phone and beat the wheel in frustration.
My Inmarsat phone connected with Taskforce headquarters, and I heard the usual statement about Blaisdell Consulting, along with who I’d like to talk with. When using the VPN, I had a direct encrypted video chat to the heart of the Taskforce, but when using the Inmarsat telephone, I did not. It was unencrypted, and prey to a multitude of different penetrations. And so I had to dance around the issue.
I said, “George Wolffe, please.”
I heard, “Sir, there’s no George Wolffe that works here. You might have the wrong number.” The voice was from the same woman who’d worked the cover of the Taskforce since it was created. A sweet old lady named Margaret, she’d given my daughter birthday cards year after year.
Sitting on the side of the road, Shoshana looking at me like I was crazy, I said, “Marge, it’s Pike Logan. I understand what you’re doing, but I’m in a little bit of an emergency. Please, put him on the line. Skip the subterfuge on this one. Anyone listening will not be worse than the threat I’m trying to stop.”
“Sir, I’m sorry, but no one here works by that name.”
I thought, Okay, pull the trigger. I said, “I have a Prairie Fire emergency. I say again, Prairie Fire.”
Prairie Fire was the code name for a team about to be overrun and in dire need of help. It could be called on any channel available—VPN, email, chat, telephone, smoke signals, whatever—and when it came in, the Taskforce stopped everything to refocus.
I knew I was pulling a card I shouldn’t, because nobody was in dire trouble—well, I hadn’t heard from Knuckles yet—but I figured it was better than nothing.
Margaret said, “Please stand by.”
And put me on hold like I was trying to get a cable service outage resolved.
Shoshana said, “He’s getting away. Let’s just pick a direction.”
I said, “Hold on. Five minutes here could save us fifteen if we’re wrong.”
Wolffe came on the line, saying, “Can you go encrypted?”
“No, sir, I can’t, and I need a geolocation of a Thuraya handset right fucking now.”
He heard, “Jesus, Pike, don’t say that crap on an open line. Can you go secure? You’re in the one country that sucks up more data than the old Soviet Union.”
“I can’t, sir. I’m on a time crunch here, and I don’t have cell coverage for the Taskforce phone. I only have this satellite phone, and I also don’t have patience for the bullshit. If it comes out in a leak, at least it’ll be because we can still leak shit. We just stopped the UAV suicide attack from the Hezbollah drone here, but there’s one more Turtle on the loose, and we don’t know where he is.”
I heard nothing for a second, then, “You stopped the attack?”
“Yeah, I did. Well, with the help of the IDF Air Force. But there’s another guy on the loose, and we don’t know what he’s got planned. It could be a culmination point.”
Wolffe said, “Maybe, maybe not. Your contact worked out. We now have a back channel with Iran. They’re willing to listen, and they’ve stopped the rocket fire from Gaza and the Houthi attacks from Yemen. With your stopping the attack from Syria, we have some breathing room.”
I took that in and silently patted myself on the back, but knew it wasn’t enough. I said, “That’s great, sir, but there’s a third player to this party and it’s Israel. I have no idea what that other Turtle is doing, but it’s not going to be good. We’ve tamped down the bonfire, but the logs are still burning. He’s going to try start it up again. I’ve left Jennifer and Aaron in Tel Aviv to find that guy, and they’re chomping at the bit to prevent this war, and Garrett’s sat phone number is the key. Give me his location.”
I heard a sigh, then, “What’s the number?”
I read it off to him, heard him pass it to someone else, and while we waited, he said, “What’s Knuckles’s status?”
And I was ashamed to realize I didn’t even know. He was my second in command, and the commander of our entire unit was asking.
I said, “Sir, honestly, I have no situational awareness of his status. I’ve been so wrapped in this firestorm in Israel, I haven’t had time to contact him. He did his DOA action in Syria less than an hour ago, and he’s now on the run. What can you give him?”
Wolffe heard the concern in my voice and said, “Don’t beat yourself up. I get the pressure. I’ve got a line to a combat search and rescue package from Jordan, on standby from your old SMU, but I need to know where to send them.”
I gave him Knuckles’s Inmarsat number and said, “That’s good news. Have them make direct contact. I’m sure he’s more than willing to accept the call.”
He said, “It won’t be that easy. I still have to get the counter-ISIS guys to agree to launch. The CSAR package is on standby for those troops, and right now they’re asking who the hell I am. They don’t want to launch only to be unavailable if some of their guys get in trouble.”
I said, “Tell them he’s a SEAL, and he’s going to write a book if he has to escape and evade by himself. That should get those SOCOM guys moving.”
He chuckled and said, “Okay, Pike, we’re on it.” He paused a second, talked to someone else away from the handset, then said, “And I’ve got your grid. The phone is no longer on the network, but the last location was on Highway Four, outside of Acre, Israel. Does that help?”
I looked at Shoshana, saying, “I have no idea.”
She said, “He’s north. He’s headed to the border.”
Chapter 73
Garrett continued driving faster than was necessary on the highway, looking above him every few minutes for a strike from a circling drone—a fear only someone who had engendered such death would wonder about. Eventually, he realized he was traveling faster than the speed limit, and slowed down. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over by some roving police patrol.
He kept checking his iPhone for a signal, and was routinely rebuffed, making him curse the fact that he had destroyed his satellite phone. Sooner or later he would reach a town or city, as the highway was the main north-south road. He was sure that Israeli phones worked throughout the country, and regretted not spending the money on a local one. His cell was from Rome, and apparently, his service didn’t transfer, which had the potential to cause the death of the entire mission.