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The entire room watched in silence as the man with the cases was led through the roadblock and into a waiting van. The camera zoomed out, following the van as it wound its way up the narrow streets. A digital clock on the wall above the TVs crept downward from five minutes. In two minutes and twenty-eight seconds the burst transmitter would send confirmation of the location of the attaché cases and then the waiting would be over.
All at once the four large screens fell into sync, and at the center of each was the house they had expected to see. Freidman watched as the van carrying his instrument of retribution stopped directly in front of the target. Needing no further confirmation, he turned to the general on his left and nodded.
Hovering at 500 feet, on the outskirts of Hebron, lurked two of the most efficient killing machines ever built by man, or more precisely, the Boeing Corporation of America. The AH-64D Apache Longbow helicopter was an unrivaled lethal machine. Its fire control radar target acquisition system allowed it to classify and prioritize up to 125 targets in just seconds. Even more impressive was the system’s ability to designate the sixteen most dangerous targets and engage them with the Longbow’s fire-and-forget Hellfire laser-guided missiles or AIM-9 Sidewinder air-to-air missiles. The Apache Longbow is the most advanced attack helicopter in the world, and in some people’s minds the most advanced flying machine in the world.
The two birds had been on station for thirty-six minutes, patiently awaiting their orders. They’d lifted off from their airfield in the Negev and proceeded north, avoiding all towns and roadways. The Longbows that had been on station since late afternoon had returned to base to refuel.
Floating on the other side of a small ridgeline, eight kilometers from Hebron, the two choppers were running dark, their navigation lights extinguished. Each helicopter was configured for a multirole mission. They carried eight Hellfire missiles, thirty-eight Hydra 70mm folding-fin aerial rockets and 1,200 rounds of 30mm ammunition for their belly-mounted chain guns.
The amount of firepower that the Apache could carry was not what set it apart from other helicopters. The chopper, in fact, had rivals that could carry almost twice the amount of firepower. What set the Apache Longbow apart was its accuracy, stability and maneuverability. It was an all-weather attack helicopter designed to engage multiple targets with a focus on armor.
The Apache had been designed as a tank killer, but its designers had been so successful that its mission had grown. At the start of the Gulf War in 1991 it was the Apache that fired the first shots. Led by a Pave Low helicopter, a flight of Apaches snuck into Iraq under the radar and using their Sidearm anti-radar missiles, they punched a big hole in Iraq’s air defense network. Through that hole poured hundreds of coalition fighters and bombers. Within hours, virtually the entire Iraqi air defense network was shut down.
And that was more than a decade ago. Since then the Apache had been given a complete overhaul that included the Longbow fire control radar, an improved navigation system, air-to-air capability, fire-and- forget missiles and increased battlefield survivability due to improved engines, electrical systems and avionics.
Taking on buildings and lightly armed men was not what the platform had been designed for, but the men flying the machines were not about to argue with the bosses in Tel Aviv. If they wanted to use a hammer to kill a fly that was their decision. The pilots and copilot gunners waited for their orders and monitored their various instruments.
The pilots looked out at the surrounding area with their Night Vision Sensors and monitored their ships’ vitals, while the copilot gunners looked through their Target Acquisition Designation Sights. The surveillance plane circling above the city at 15,000 feet was sending a constant stream of information to the onboard fire control computers of the Longbows. Multiple targets were painted with lasers. All that was left to do was arm the missiles and engage.
The order to move came over the encrypted digital communications link. Simultaneously the twin General Electric gas turbine engines on each bird increased power and the helicopters began to climb. They moved over the ridgeline, closing on the city of Hebron at a cautious fifty knots. With each passing second the fire control computers effortlessly calculated a new solution to each target. In less than a minute the town of Hebron would be ablaze.
29
His fingers had just touched the cool black steel of his Beretta when he felt his satellite phone vibrate. Rapp froze for only a second but Moro noticed.
In an attempt to conceal his tension, Rapp smiled, and said, “I’ll never get used to these damn vibrating phones.” He withdrew his hand from the Beretta and grabbed the phone from his belt. “Excuse me, General, I’ve been waiting for this call.”
Moro flashed a forced smile and nodded. He was now watching Rapp’s movements with greater interest.
“Hello,” Rapp answered. He listened for a moment and then replied, “Yes. It’s a deal. He’s offered to join forces with us.” Rapp listened for another few seconds. “It’s going to cost us slightly more than we talked about, but the general convinced me he could make it happen.” Rapp smiled and nodded to the general. “Yep … O.K. … the ball’s in your court. I can fill you in on the rest of the details when I get back.” Rapp listened again briefly and then said, “Yep, it’s a go … all right, good-bye.” He pressed the end button and put the phone away saying, “They are very pleased, General. They’re not crazy about you upping the price, but if you follow through on your promises no one’s gonna complain.”
“Good.” Moro seemed to relax a bit.
“Now,” Rapp said, getting up, “if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to Manila and take care of some more business. If you need any assistance in carrying out your missions, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Moro got up and extended his hand across the small desk. “Do not worry, Mr. Rapp, my men are some of the best in the world.” He flashed Rapp a confident smile and pumped his hand.
Rapp forced himself to return the smile and ignore the fact that Moro was squeezing his hand a bit too firmly. He went to retract his hand, but Moro did not let go.
“Tell me, Mr. Rapp,” hissed Moro in a conspiratorial tone, “is General Rizal on your payroll?”
Rapp tried once again to retrieve his hand, but Moro tightened his grip. Having absolutely no tolerance for such childish games, Rapp clamped down on Moro’s hand with viselike pressure. Pulling the general toward him, he warned, “General, don’t fuck with me.”
With a gleam in his eye and a slick smile, Moro replied, “I am the one who you should not fuck with. I am sickened by your country and your arrogance, and let’s be very clear about something, you will never own me. I will meet the agreement we made here today and that is as far as it goes. Tell that to your bosses back in Washington, and tell them if they don’t like it the Andersons will never see their home again. Now get out of my camp before I decide to have you shot.” Moro released Rapp’s hand with a shove.
It took
every ounce of restraint Rapp had not to level Moro with a left cross to the jaw. This man had psychological issues that ran much deeper than anything he had been briefed on. The only thing that prevented him from pounding his psychotic ass into the ground was the fact that the best damn sniper in the world was sitting on a mountaintop a mile away ready to bring this little drama to a much more final and beneficial conclusion.
With that thought in mind Rapp simply turned and left the tent. Just outside he found Colonel Barboza and the general’s aide-de-camp conversing. Rapp jerked his head toward the chopper and kept walking. After several strides he pulled out his satellite phone and hit the speed dial number for Coleman. After a few seconds the connection was made.
“Did you see the tent I just came out of?”
After a brief delay, Coleman’s reply came back. “Affirmative.”
Looking ahead to the helicopter, Rapp twirled his finger in the air, signaling the pilots to start the engines. “That’s where he is.” Rapp was almost halfway to the chopper when he heard some shouting behind him. He turned to see Moro standing in front of his tent wearing his holster. For a moment he thought the general was yelling at him and then he realized his angry comments were directed at Colonel Barboza.
The colonel, who had already started for the chopper, was now stopped about midway between Rapp and the general. Rapp couldn’t hear the specifics of what was being said, but it appeared that the higher ranking of the two officers wanted the junior officer to ask permission to leave the camp.
