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“Hell of an assault force.”
Mark said, “The target has to be the peace conference.”
Eric Stone shook his head. “Never happen. The security is impenetrable. There is no way a terrorist is going to get within a mile of a single dignitary.”
“They would if the Libyan government’s in on it,” Max countered.
“That’s the million-dollar question. If Minister Ghami is Suleiman Al-Jama, does Qaddafi know it?”
“How could he not? He appointed him.”
“Okay, say he does, Max. That still doesn’t mean he knows what Al-Jama is planning.”
“What difference does it make?” Hanley asked.
“Maybe none, but it’s something we need to know.”
“And how do we find out?”
“I’ll get to that in a minute. Mark, is there any chance we can take out those choppers?”
“We’d need to launch another UAV,” Eric said before Mark could answer. “The first drone’s out of fuel, and I had to ditch it. Though not before taking this.”
He handed Juan a grainy still photograph from the drone’s video camera. Details were murky to say the least, but it looked like two armed men escorting a third person toward one of the helicopters.
“Is that Secretary Katamora?”
“Possibly. Factoring the height of a typical Libyan male and comparing the middle figure to them, the height is right, and the build certainly fits. The person’s head is covered so we can’t see hair, which would have been a dead giveaway—hers flows to the middle of her back.”
“Best guess?”
“It’s her, and by the time we turn around she’s going to be long gone.”
Juan frowned. He’d made a conscious decision to save the Libyan prisoners rather than wait out the terrorists. The balance of one life versus one hundred tipped the same way no matter who sat on the scales. But being so close and not getting her irked. “Okay, what about taking out the other choppers?” he said to get the meeting back on course, his eyes lingering on the picture.
“We could laze them from the second UAV so I can guarantee a missile hit, but we have to consider collateral damage if Secretary Katamora’s there.”
“Options?”
“Nail the choppers in flight if they come out over the ocean. But, again, we risk her life if she’s a hostage aboard one of them.”
“They’ll stick to the desert anyway,” Eric said.
Max cleared his throat. “Listen, why not pass on what we know to Overholt and let him tell the other delegates about the possibility of a massive attack?”
“We’ll tell Lang,” Juan replied, “but I don’t want that information disseminated.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Two reasons. One, if they know the attack is coming, they will call off the conference, and the chance to get these people in a room talking peace again is zilch. The conference has to proceed. Second, we have nothing concrete linking Ghami to Al-Jama. This is our one and only chance to expose him and his entire operation.”
“You’re risking a lot of important lives.”
“Mine, for one,” Mark said.
“I admit it’s the biggest toss of the dice we’ve ever attempted, but I know it’s worth it. Overholt will agree. He understands that if we can nail Al-Jama on the eve of the peace conference, it will give it such a boost that the delegates are certain to hammer out a comprehensive and lasting treaty. In one blow, we take out the second-most-wanted terrorist on the planet and guarantee lasting peace.”
“Boy, Juan. I’m not sure. The prize is awesome, yes. But the price, you know . . .”
