A God in Ruins - Leon Uris [57]
“Who do they have there now?”
Duncan nodded to Charlie Bethune, the CIA chief.
“General Duncan contacted us as he flew out of California. We gave him the data we had on Fort Urbakkan. At present it is holding Bandar Barakat.”
Bandar Barakat! The name resounded off the walls of the Situation Room.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Barakat!”
“Charlie?” the President asked.
“If you can figure Bandar Barakat out, then you can figure out the Middle East. He was one of the top intelligence people under the shah. He smelled the ayatollahs taking power and turned double agent. Because of his Western intelligence contacts, he could still deliver information to the new regime. On our side of the equation, we thought we had buried a valuable mole in the new government. This source of Western intelligence would dry up if they whack off Barakat’s head. So, they imprisoned him and moved him up to Fort Urbakkan, where the VIP prisoner or prisoners are housed in a specific tower.”
The room hummed in admiration at the preciseness of the CIA data.
“Go on, Charlie,” the President said.
“Barakat is probably making like Scheherazade, giving just enough new information to remain alive.”
“What do we want this bastard for?” Admiral Clearfield, chief of Naval Operations, inquired.
“Good question,” Bethune answered. “Barakat had worked his way in Iran to becoming chief coordinator for terrorist activities. Moreover, the ayatollahs aren’t going to get rid of him until they find the money he’s skimmed from the Saudis, who are financing a major part of his operation. In our hands, Barakat can give us the names of terrorists, their aliases, cells, organizations, training sites, bank accounts, future targets being planned—”
“Do you mean to say,” Air Force Commander Hoyt interrupted, “you intend to take him out of this fort?”
“Precisely,” Jeremiah Duncan said.
“How do you know he’ll cooperate?”
“Read my lips…M-O-N-E-Y.”
Drawn smiles.
“Believe it or not,” Bethune said, “he still has friends in Western intelligence. That cautiously includes the CIA.”
“How does that figure?”
“He has more money sitting and waiting in the States than in Iran. It includes a prime building on Fifth Avenue. With the ayatollahs breathing down his neck, Barakat has to figure they’ll find and extort his fortune in Iran and Europe. On the other hand, we feel that he’s picked us as the winner and wants to run for it. One more thing, Barakat is an Arab. The Iranians don’t trust Arabs.”
“Are we all on the same page?” the President asked.
“With reservations,” General Bellicek, chair of the Joint Chiefs, noted. “Always with reservations.”
“And you think you can snatch Barakat?” the President asked Jeremiah Duncan.
“I sure as hell like the odds. If he is killed, the raid is still a success. If we spirit him out, we’ve won the lottery.”
“How do you envision this?”
“Quinn.”
Click, click.
“Here, we’ve an extended map that includes the NATO base at Tikkah on the Turkish border next to Armenia. We take the SCARAB out of the C–5, unfold the wings and blades, arm it with bombs and missiles we’ve designed, fuel it, and go.”
“Hold it a minute, Jeremiah. Are you suggesting we are going to avoid Iranian radar?” Hoyt of the Air Force asked.
“Yes, in two ways. We’re going to take a page from the Israeli attack on the Egyptians in the Sixty-seven War. The Israelis flew out to the Mediterranean away from Egyptian radar, then came in and attacked