“Everything is ready, sir.”
“Download, then.”
The operator touched a heat-sensitive switch. A small red light on the console blinked a couple of times, then turned a steady green. At the PC, decrypted data began flowing across the CRT as it downloaded from the Puma helicopter that had been painted to resemble an oil company helicopter. The operator flipped a switch and the data on the CRT was routed simultaneously to an overhead display for everyone to see.
The colonel rose from his seat and walked down the three steps to the main operations floor, his boots clanging on the metal rungs. He stopped in front of the communications systems array. Tilting his head back he watched the decrypted data scroll rapidly across the screen.
He’d have it printed later to study, but even as it scrolled up he recognized the radar signatures and the highlighted navigational fix, placing the American warship three miles inside Libyan territorial waters. Later, in the afternoon, a scheduled Mirage V reconnaissance flight would provide photographic proof of the American warship’s intrusion.
“Walid, enter the time as eleven twenty-three hours for event zero zero seven. The American destroyer has entered Libyan territorial waters in clear violation of international law.”
Alqahiray turned to the plotting tables, where several soldiers stood.
“Air cover?” the colonel asked.
A soldier pointed at another display screen overhead.
“Yes, sir, radar reflects two American Harrier aircraft northeast of Tripoli approximately seventy nautical miles in a racetrack orbit. Pattern suggests combat air patrol in support of the American warship.”
“Keep an eye on them and tell the Air Force to put two MiG-25s on strip alert at Tripoli. The Americans will be expecting it, so let’s not disappoint them.”
He rubbed his chin.
“Get me Colonel Alii Abu Gazellin at the airfield. Ensure it’s on the red line.”
The communications officer acknowledged the order.
He lifted the secure phone, pressed seven digits, and waited while the airman on the other end tracked down Colonel Gazellin. The colonel returned to his chair and hoisted himself into it. A broad smile showed the officers and troops that he was pleased with their performance and how well the plan was going. They smiled respectfully back.
Alqahiray lifted the phone on the chair arm and dialed a number committed to memory. The call went through several diversionary electronic relays until it was answered with a loud click.
“Stand by,” the colonel said. He reached over and pressed the cipher button. He drummed his fingers as he waited until the digital display read “secure.”
“Salam-alay-ikum, my brother,” the colonel said.
“You can lodge the complaint with the American interests section at the Swiss Embassy that an American warship is violating our territorial waters.”
He listened.
“Of course! You don’t think we confirmed it? It is nine miles from the coast. Three miles inside internationally recognized territorial waters, ninety-one miles inside Libyan recognized territorial waters.” He paused.
“The Americans will deny it as they always do.”
A raised voice came from the earpiece.
“Quit worrying, Ahmid Tawali Mintab! You file the diplomatic paperwork and do it today. We can’t file it afterward, ya effendi. Just do it and then go back to writing your speech. You leave for New York when? Tomorrow?” the colonel asked curtly.
He listened for several seconds and then replied, “Taib, Ahmid. You have your orders and you know the importance of your role. May Allah be with you.” He hung up before the person on the other end could reply.
“Allah protect me from cowards and worriers,” the colonel muttered.
“Walid, come here,” he snapped.
The major hurried from his seat to where Alqahiray sat and saluted when he arrived. “Walid, send the signal to our friends that event zero zero seven has occurred. Notify me immediately after they acknowledge. I don’t like doing this. Too much of a chance of Jihad Wahid being detected, but it is critical that they know exactly where we are in our operation, otherwise Jihad Wahid is no more than all the other plans tried and failed.”
“Yes, my colonel.” Walid saluted and began to leave.
“Walid, don’t be so impatient. Come back here,” the colonel said, his mercurial mood swinging to one of jubilation.
He leaned forward and, for a brief second, placed his hands on Walid’s shoulders.
“After you send the signal, bring me the documents on the electronic array system concealed along the coast. I want to review again how it’s going to work.”
Sharing his thoughts, the colonel added, “I never feel comfortable with things I can’t touch. Though, we are tweaking the tiger and he doesn’t even know it.” He grinned as he reached out and patted Walid gingerly on the cheek.
Walid’s face turned red.
“Colonel, these are great days in our history,” he stuttered.
“They are indeed great days for Barbary, Walid. You and the others here will be heroes for our children and our children’s children. They will read about and glorify us in the years to come.”
He gently shoved Walid.
“Go ahead. Send the signal and bring the operating document on the array. Maybe then we can grab a few hours’ sleep before the next event.
You’d think they’d have some modern name for the system instead of ‘electronic warfare array.” Something like ‘electronic signals suppression’ or ‘radar and communications interruptions device.”
” Seeing the bemused look on Walid’s face, Alqahiray stopped. “Never mind, Walid. Tell our friends of event zero zero seven and then bring me the papers on the array.”
Walid saluted and ran from the platform to his console.
Even as he threw himself into his seat his fingers danced across the keyboard; file pages spewed to the screen immediately, to be covered by other file pages until in the upper left-hand corner the system reported the signal sent.
It would be a few minutes before he received a receipt.
Satisfied the signal was transmitted, Walid departed the operations room in company with Major Samir. He returned alone fifteen minutes later with a leather satchel, which he carried directly to the colonel.
“Thanks, Walid.” Alqahiray took the satchel, unbuttoned the leather straps, and pulled a heavy folder out. Opening the folder, Alqahiray began reading the documents, which were covered in Arabic script with photographs and diagrams on nearly every page. Even a country such as Libya, with a small military force, could afford to be a technological warrior.
Walid returned to his console. Seeing the colonel occupied, he reached down and, with his back to Alqahiray, picked up his secure phone.
“Ambassador Mintab, please,” he said quietly when he heard the click on the other end.
Most of Mers El Kebir napped through the hottest part of this June day as sailors raced up and down the length of the Algerian Navy Kilo-class diesel submarine to their “sea and anchor” detail. Dull, reddish areas dotted the thirty-year-old ship where wire brushes had won recent minor battles against the war on rust. The A/ Nasser was built by the old Soviet Union and bought from the new Russia that sold off its armaments to any nation possessing the hard currency to purchase them. Along with the purchase of two Kilo attack submarines by Algeria came peripheral contracts for spare parts, maintenance, and operational training so the weapons could live up to the buyer’s expectations. The Algerian submarines had spent a lot of time at sea in the intervening years perfecting tactics and developing professional expertise to the point where they were as good as most other Mediterranean navies.
The contract with the Russians had been limited to spare parts and overhauls for the last three years. The glazed eyes of two dead Russian tech reps stared sightless through the front window of an office that overlooked the submarine pens. Revolutionary Algeria had just terminated the contract with a bullet to the forehead of each tech rep.