“I just received an update on our new mission. The situation remains fluid, and our immediate objective is a simple reposition. We’ll be going ashore on the southern coast of Turkey, hopefully without being detected by the authorities. The plan is to make landfall at a place called Kelinder Bay. It’s remote, and a series of coves should provide solid concealment. The weather is also in our favor. The forecast is for low clouds and rain all morning with a temperature in the mid-fifties. That should keep the locals in the coffee shops and off the hiking trails. If we can getAphrodisiainto the bay unnoticed, the chances of being spotted should be minimal.”
“Do you have a map of this place?” Wu asked.
“I’ve got one on the laptop we can call up. There’s also a moving map on the radar display at the helm. Feel free to take a look after we’re done. The suggestion box is always open.”
“Unlike the complaint department,” Wu quipped.
“And once we’re ashore?” Ding inquired.
“Charlie is running advance and she’s got all the logistics arranged. She forwarded a coordinate set for our infil and she’ll be waiting there with two vehicles. If we have to beach elsewhere, for any reason, we’ll adjust as necessary. Once we’re loaded up with our gear, the plan is to drive to Bodrum. We should arrive late this afternoon. A safe house is being procured outside town. That’ll be our staging point.”
“Staging point for what?” Toussaint asked.
“That remains to be seen. Last night one of our VIP aircraft crashed on its approach to landing at Bodrum. The reasons for the crash aren’t clear, however the DNI thinks sabotage is a possibility. If that turns out to be the case, our services may be required—presumably to track down any suspects.”
None of this drew a response, which didn’t surprise Clark. For units like Task Force 99, missions often began with vague objectives—in essence, they were precautionary deployments that gave policymakers a kinetic option. Most went nowhere. Yet when further action was warranted, the directives often came on short notice.
Ding said, “We’re carrying light weapons and two spare limpet mines. With a load like that, any response we could generate would be limited.”
“I made that very point to the DNI. She assured me that any potential intervention would be scaled accordingly. It’ll be a job that we can handle with what we have, or we’ll be given the means to pursue something bigger.”
Bauer called from the wheelhouse, “I am getting radar returns on the shoreline. We will reach the rendezvous point in fifteen minutes.” The German’s heavy accent mangled the pronunciation of the French-derived word.
“Rendezvous,” Toussaint corrected with a proper Parisian inflection.
“Dummkopf,” Bauer shot back.
Clark ignored them both. “Once we get ashore, the main road is three klicks north. There will be two identity packages for everyone. The primaries will show that we entered Turkey legitimately through Istanbul International one week ago.”
“What aboutAphrodisia?” Ding asked.
“We leave her anchored in the cove. The CIA has a Cypriot skipper on their payroll. He’s en route in a small fishing boat and will collect her in a few hours. His instructions are to sail her back to Cyprus at a leisurely pace.”
“I’ll leave a note for him on the helm,” Ding said. “He needs to watch out for flooding from the starboard seacock.”
“I’m sure that would be appreciated. The DPDs and dive gear stay on board—it’ll be collected by the agency when she gets back to port.” Clark checked his watch. “Once we snug up to the coast, we move fast. I don’t want to be exposed on the beach any longer than necessary. Go below and sort through your gear, bring only what you need on deck. I want all weapons and ammo divided evenly in two duffels. As soon as we’re feet dry, we’ll put one in each vehicle and get underway. Questions?”
When none came, Clark called the meeting to an end.
As the team began to disperse, Ding called out, “Land ho!”
All eyes went forward. Slightly to port, the dark silhouette of the shoreline emerged from a mist-shrouded morning.
Minutes later, everyone was topside with their gear. Aside from a change of clothing and a few personal items, it was the basics of spec ops life: weapons, ammo, NODs, comm gear. Bauer eased the bow within ten yards of the stone-strewn beach and broughtAphrodisiato a stop.
Charlie was waiting. There was a smile on her tanned face, and her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Standing with hands on hips at the water’s edge, her stance was that of a lifeguard contemplating whether to rescue a flailing swimmer.
“Welcome to the Republic of Turkey!” she called across the divide in her thick Aussie accent. A seasoned intelligence officer, formerly of the Australian Special Air Service, she had blended in seamlessly with the task force. “My name’s Charlie and I’ll be your guide today. Our vehicles are behind the hill to the right. Please keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times.”
Her spiel drew the usual banter in response.
Bauer stood at the bow, gauging howAphrodisiahad settled to the shoreline. “When will our replacement captain arrive?”
“He should be here in roughly an hour,” Charlie replied.
“We have an incoming tide, so that should work.” Bauer went to the helm and activated the anchor windlass. Soon a primary and secondary hook were in place, one on the bow and another on the stern. It would be more than enough to keep the boat from moving for an hour on a calm morning.
Everyone unlaced their boots, slung them over their shoulders, and waded ashore with the gear. Clark was the last to cross. He was wearing tactical pants and a tight long-sleeved shirt. His biceps bulged under the weight of his gear as he moved surely through clear knee-deep water. Clark was exceptionally fit for his age. Genetics were partially responsible, but the intensity of his regular workouts played a greater role. He might be getting older, but no one on the team would ever accuse him of going soft.
