This time, they’d use their UDT knives. Again, as in a mirror image of one another, the two SEALs advanced from behind. Their blades came up as they grabbed their targets heads with their left hands and quickly slit their throats. Simultaneously, the guard between them crumpled to the ground, felled by a bullet from thirty yards away. But death would not be so immediate for Nolt and Shaughnessy’s two, unless they ended it with a back-entry slash to the kidneys and another front plunge into the heart. It took all of another second.
Now Pintar did more of the cleanup. He fired four perfectly aimed shots through his noise-suppressed SR45.
Plus thirty seconds. On schedule, Nolt reported to himself. Two more men at the edge of the guerilla’s compound. He signaled Shaughnessy. Suddenly, the man on the right stepped forward, then turned to address his compatriot. He spotted Nolt.
“Kunjungi!" — Look! the sentry exclaimed. His automatic instantly came up. The other Indonesian guerilla whipped around.
“Apa?” he asked. What? His confusion bought Nolt his life. The first guard started to explain rather than fire a round.
From his blind side came Lopez. He slammed the butt of his Sig Sauer up and under the skull of the combatant. He dropped him with the other end of his weapon, plunging his K-Bar into the man’s heart. This drew the second man’s attention, which prevented him from detecting Shaughnessy. He worked his knife in around the front of the Indonesian’s chest and dropped him with one blow.
There was no time for thanks or congratulations. The camouflaged tent was ahead.
Based on the number of seconds between the flashes and the sound, Taylor calculated that the bombs were exploding eight-to-ten miles away. He didn’t know for sure what they were, but he had a strong feeling about the possibility.
Five minutes into the bombardment, the terrorist commander returned to the tent. He strode right to the president and laughed aloud.
“Do you hear your bombs?”
Taylor ignored Komari.
“All your American technology and you can’t find the right target? Your soldiers are blind. They attack the wrong island. But listen.”
Another volley passed overhead, exploding miles away. “That is the sound of their disdain for you. No helicopter gunships to rescue you. Why? Because that is how you infidels fight. Missiles from the sky. Bombardment from a ship. There is no substitution for a man on the ground. For loyalty. For a true jihad.”
Komari laughed heartily again and kicked two of the nearest captives; one was a woman reporter for The Miami Herald.
Morgan Taylor never took his eyes off the commander. Keep him talking. Engage him. He wanted Komari to remove the tape over his mouth. He tried to speak through the gag.
“What? Are you ready to plead for your life?”
Taylor continued to make noise. Komari came back to him.
“At first, you presented a problem to me. But I realized the Prophet himself delivered you. You, the President of the United States: the enemy of my brother. My enemy. You were a gift from Heaven. The Prophet Muhammad rewarded me with the honor of punishing you.”
Taylor tried to speak again. Komari felt no reason why he shouldn’t be heard. With one quick, painful tug, he tore the duct tape from the president’s mouth.
“There. You deserve to plead for your life — not that it will matter. Your fate is sealed.”
Taylor spit out a mouthful of blood and took in a deep, refreshing breath. Salt air. They were so close to the ocean. Close to an infiltration point. Stay alive, he said to himself.
“Your English is quite good,” Taylor managed. His mouth and lips were so dry it was hard to talk. “May I learn the name of my judge, jury, and executioner?”
“You may. I am Umar Komari, Commander of the October 12th Allegiance.”
“October 12th?” The president searched his memory for the meaning. There was always a meaning.
“Come now, you have to be a student of history. October 12, 2002? Kuta on Bali? The news called it the deadliest act of terrorism in Indonesian history. It was an act of war on Christian colonialism.”
The president remembered. Keep him talking. “Hundreds died. Mostly tourists. The Jemaah Islamiah.”
“Yes, my brother was JI. He moved to the Solomon Islands, where you and your godless allies launched an indefensible attack only weeks ago. You killed him.”
Taylor remembered. The recollection was in his face.
“Ah, you can’t deny it. So your judge is right.”
Keep him talking. “The Australians found a bomb in a hotel. He could have killed many people.”
“I know this plan. What great patience my brother had. One of many such bombs.”
Keep him talking. More bombs. A diversion?
“Ready to be detonated at the proper time. But it was discovered. Yes, and somehow your spies found him.”
“He would have killed hundreds of innocent people.”
“There are no innocent people in this war,” Komari shouted. “You, yourself have proven that with your decision to bomb encampments. To kill my brother.” He stood up and kicked the president squarely in his stomach. “To kill my brother!” The sheer physical act of hurting the president made Komari happy.
“Was one of my brother’s bombs intended for you?”
The president grimaced at the pain. He feared another rib was broken. As Komari’s foot landed a second blow, he nodded yes.
The commander knelt down again. An almost spiritual glow came over Komari’s face. “I understand the meaning of it all now.” He leaned into the president and whispered in his ear. “The Prophet has truly delivered you to me, so I may complete my brother’s work. Praise be Allah.”
Chapter 73
Katie fumbled for her cell phone, which was under a stack of papers. Her work was spread out on Roarke’s IKEA desk in his apartment. She already vowed that his furniture had to go.
She just hadn’t told him yet. “Coming!” she yelled, willing the phone to keep ringing. She missed it. “Caller ID Unknown.” Okay, no one to call back. Katie was about return to her work when her phone rang again.
“Hello,” she quickly answered.
“Ms. Kessler?” It was a man’s voice. He sounded official. There was urgency in his voice.
She didn’t recognize it. “Yes.”
“Where are you right now?”
“What? What’s the matter?” She straightened up. “Who is this?”
“Agent Roarke instructed me to call you. You must meet him precisely at 3:30 P.M.”
“Where is he? Who is this?”
“I work with Agent Roarke. He’s in a briefing and he can’t be disturbed. He’s asked that you not call his cell phone, but it’s extremely important you meet him as he requested. He said you’d understand.”
“But why?” This was a little too cloak-and-dagger for her. She remembered the Charles River. “What going wrong?”
“All he said was you must meet him. He told me 3:30, Ms. Kessler.”
“Okay, okay. Where?”
It still didn’t make sense when he told her, but the past few days had been full of surprises. Why should today be any different, she thought.
“All right, I’ll be there. But can I call?”
“No. Absolutely not. He’ll explain when he sees you.”
“Do I need to bring anything?”
“No. But be there on time.”
“I will.” She asked another question about reaching someone else who could help, then realized the caller had dropped off. Katie was having a hard time getting used to Scott Roarke’s world. She also realized that so much seemed to be played out between the lines of the law. Most of that was never reported.