After he had confirmed with a Turkish doctor that the girl’s foot had been saved and she was out of danger, it was time to say goodbye. Mrs. Gannani insisted on pressing a little white embroidered handkerchief into his hand as a token of thanks. They hugged and kissed him again. He wished them well and walked back to the military compound feeling fulfilled in an important way.
Maybe what Jared had said back in the Meşale Café was right. Maybe larger commercial interests really were pulling the strings. But he lived by his own code, and that included protecting humble people like the Gannanis wherever they lived in the world, even if that made him naive, or romantic, or a renegade in some people’s eyes.
Chapter Seven
Success is going from failure to failure without losing your enthusiasm.
– Anonymous
With a renewed sense of purpose, he huddled with Logan, Colonel Oz, and Mancini back at the military headquarters to plan the mission. They quickly decided that the men of Black Cell would need some kind of cover to give them the best chance of reaching Idlib without resistance. Mr. Asani suggested that they play the role of foreign humanitarian workers delivering medical supplies to the besieged city, which the clinics badly needed.
“That will work,” Crocker said. “But we’re going to need uniforms, medical supplies, and the proper kind of trucks to pull that off.”
Logan used the phone and fax in one of the offices to communicate with Ankara Station. Returning to the conference room, he reported four things: One, Anders was on his way to Yayladaği. Two, Ankara Station would coordinate with the Canadian consulate to produce identities, passports, other documents, and even appropriate clothing for the five men. Three, the president still hadn’t approved the mission. And four, FSA Elite Battalion soldiers under the command of Captain Zeid were on their way from nearby Reyhanli to help escort Black Cell into Syria.
“What do you know about Captain Zeid?” Crocker asked.
“He’s a former Syrian Army 17th Regiment soldier who defected in early 2012,” Colonel Oz answered. “One of about five hundred. They formed the core of the armed resistance against Assad.”
“Can he be trusted?”
“As much as you can trust anyone fighting in Syria,” Oz answered.
“How much is that?”
“About sixty percent.”
By 1500 local time, the men’s physical dimensions were recorded and photos were taken and sent back to Ankara. By 1720 hours a helicopter had landed at the back of the compound, with the required uniforms, passports, documents, and other gear. Also aboard were Anders, Mr. Talab’s assistant Fatima, Janice, and the young engineering student named Hassan who had shot the video of the soldiers carrying the sarin canisters into the tunnel.
Fatima, on whom Crocker focused first, wore a tight olive uniform with no insignia. As she and Hassan retreated to a nearby office to confer via telephone with Mr. Talab, the rest of them discussed vehicles. It was assumed that Captain Zeid and other members of the FSA escort would be traveling in their own truck or jeep. The question then was, how many vehicles did Crocker and his men need, what was available, and of those available, which ones best suited the mission?
Mancini spelled out their needs. “Since we’re going in as humanitarian workers delivering medical supplies, we need delivery-type trucks. They also have to be big and strong enough to accommodate the sarin.”
“How many canisters are we talking about?” Crocker asked.
Logan, who had carefully studied Hassan’s video, answered, “Anywhere from six to ten.”
“Then we need two trucks,” Crocker responded.
“Cobras?” Colonel Oz asked. The Cobra was a Turkish-made armored vehicle.
“No,” Crocker said. “Armored vehicles will attract attention.”
“But they offer more in terms of safety,” Anders added.
“I’m thinking more along the lines of covered extended-cab pickup or transport trucks,” said Crocker. “Something that will pass for medical transport.”
“Yeah. One that doesn’t have visible ordnance mounted on it,” Mancini offered.
Oz: “We’ve got the Turkish-made 25 Kirpi 4x4.”
Mancini said, “I’m gonna have to see it.”
“Follow me.”
Behind the barracks, Colonel Oz pointed out various vehicles in a fenced-in, guarded lot. Crocker and Mancini picked out a mine-resistant, ambush-protected 25 Kirpi 4x4 and a 2.5-ton BMC covered transport truck. Then Crocker changed his mind and decided in favor of an extended-cab Ford F-250 pickup and Mercedes Sprinter van.
“Why, boss?”
“They’re more low-profile. If we’re going in in-alias, we gotta play that all the way.”
“But they give us no place to take refuge if we’re attacked.”
“We’ll manage.”
The Sprinter was beige, but the pickup sported military camouflage, which Crocker didn’t like.
“You have one in a neutral color?”
“You want leather seats and air conditioning?” Colonel Oz asked back with a grin.
“Yeah, tilt-back steering and moon roofs, too.”
Oz chuckled. “I’ll have my men check with the highway department. Their trucks are gray.”
“Solid. And find a cover for the pickup.”
“Canvas okay?”
“Aluminum is better. Slap some crosses on them if you can, so they look official.”
“You want petrol in them, too?” asked Oz.
“That would be nice. We’re also going to need to load them with medical supplies,” Mancini added.
“Medical supplies…I’ll talk to Dr. Ebril.”
Crocker: “Who’s he?”
“Head of our medical department.”
“How many klicks to Idlib?” Crocker asked.
“Klicks?” Oz asked.
“Kilometers.”
“About one hundred twenty-four kilometers. Without delays, it should take no more than two hours.”
“That’s seventy-seven miles, boss,” Mancini said, doing the conversion in his head.
“He’s our combination computer, dictionary, encyclopedia, technical manual, and atlas,” Crocker said, nodding toward Mancini.
“Where’s Cape Arnauti?” Oz asked, testing him.
“It sits at the northwestern tip of Cyprus,” Mancini answered. “Nice beach and offers excellent snorkeling, but the roads suck.”
“Impressive,” responded Oz. “I could use someone like him.”
That task completed, Mancini went to the arsenal to look at weapons. He chose his favorite HK416 assault rifles, but these were the A5s, with the 5.56x45mm NATO-caliber ammo. He made sure they had M320 grenade launchers attached to the rails and AAC M4-2000 suppressors. Backing them up, he selected two MP5 machine guns, a Browning M2HB.50-caliber heavy machine gun, and a couple of Soviet-made RPG-7Ds with a variety of warheads-PG-7VRs for taking out tanks and armored vehicles, OG-7Vs for fragmentation, and Gsh-7VTs for penetrating bunkers. As sidearms, they’d pack the SIG Sauer P226s that they were familiar with.
Back in the conference room of the main building, Crocker started to feel the tension building in his stomach. Anders had brought Phoenix IR strobe beacons, grenades, SOG knives, Tri-Fold handcuffs, M3X weapon lights, tactical wristbands with a pouch that contained maps of Idlib and Arab-language translations, and INVISIO M4 in-ear conduction headsets. The latter used bone-sensing conduction to allow operators to whisper to one another, while eliminating ambient noise.
The last two items were black T-shirts with red Doctors Without Borders (DWB) insignia and Dragon Skin SOV-4000 Level V body armor, which was lightweight, tough enough to withstand up to twenty direct hits from an AK-47, expensive as hell, and not available to the general public. Each vest was made of overlapping ceramic disks enclosed in a sonic skin textile cover and weighed about five pounds.
Pointing to the DWB insignia, which featured a figure in motion, Akil said, “This dude looks like he’s running.”