head. They walked in silence for a few moments. “Near the end he hadn’t slept for two days. He was dog-tired. There was a lull in the fighting. He told me to run the show and wake him up in an hour. I let him sleep for over three hours. When I did wake him he didn’t get on my case for letting him sleep so long, just asked for the current status. When I did he knew what he had to do—surrender, stop the waste. He was killed before he could do it…
“There was something about the man, I wanted to serve under him. I’m not easily led, certainly not given to hero worship, but I would have followed that man just about anywhere.”
“I followed him too,” she said.
After dinner Stansell stayed longer than he intended before heading back to Washington. He drove the Omni north, still preferring the old highway. Mado had outlined the plan after the meeting with Cunningham, and he had spent Saturday night in the Watch Center with an analyst going over intelligence from Iran. Eichler’s advice kept going around in his head. Pieces were fitting together. He could make it work—
A dark blue car flashed into his rearview mirror. “Looks like the same BMW I saw driving down,” he mumbled. As the BMW accelerated and overtook him Stansell glanced at the two men in the car. Both were dark-complected and wearing sunglasses. The BMW accelerated away, disappearing into the Sunday evening traffic, and Stansell found himself breathing hard. “You can’t get paranoid every time you see someone that looks like an Iranian,” he told himself.
“And you’ve got to stop talking to yourself.”
*
Stansell’s pencil traced the first two letters of the BMW’s license plate—AN—the only two numbers he had been able to read when it had briefly pulled abreast of his car. He crumpled the paper up and threw it in a corner, then sketched a diagram of the prison where the POWs were being held. His pencil seemed to move of its own accord, creating an oblique view of the compound, much like a pilot would see as he approached it from low level. The drawing skill that he’d always had allowed him to add surrounding vegetation and buildings, and his artist’s eye had no trouble changing the vertical reconnaissance photos the Watch Center had shown him to another angle with different perspective and details.
Why does this look so familiar? he thought. He was a military history buff from way back, did this come from a book or…? As though doodling, the pencil changed the flat roof on the three-story main building to a sloped roof. Something was moving deep inside his memory, emerging…He threw the pad to the floor beside the easy chair he was stretched out in, then got up and walked around the VOQ room, stopping at the window, staring into the night—
“My God,” he whispered, “it’s Amiens jail,” where the Gestapo in World War II held hundreds of French Resistance fighters and the RAF raided it to help break them out…Was it a farfetched leap from then to now, or a possible way out for those POWs?
Chapter 5: D Minus 30
The Pentagon
Simon Mado was standing in front of an easel in his office. Rough block letters at the top of the twenty-by-thirty-inch briefing charts on the easel spelled out “Top Secret.”
“The President wants the POWs out within a month.”
“A D-day within thirty days—that’s going to be tough,” Stansell said.
“I’ve worked up a milestone chart showing what’s got to be done if we’re going to be ready,” Mado said. “It’s D minus thirty today.” He pointed to the chart that was numbered from thirty down to one and filled with neatly printed notes showing what had to be accomplished by each day. It was an ambitious plan. “Use this week to get an intelligence and training section together, find a training site and complete the operations plan. While you’re doing that I’ll line up the C-130s and the army unit that will be going in. By D minus twenty-three,
“There was something about the man, I wanted to serve under him. I’m not easily led, certainly not given to hero worship, but I would have followed that man just about anywhere.”
“I followed him too,” she said.
After dinner Stansell stayed longer than he intended before heading back to Washington. He drove the Omni north, still preferring the old highway. Mado had outlined the plan after the meeting with Cunningham, and he had spent Saturday night in the Watch Center with an analyst going over intelligence from Iran. Eichler’s advice kept going around in his head. Pieces were fitting together. He could make it work—
A dark blue car flashed into his rearview mirror. “Looks like the same BMW I saw driving down,” he mumbled. As the BMW accelerated and overtook him Stansell glanced at the two men in the car. Both were dark-complected and wearing sunglasses. The BMW accelerated away, disappearing into the Sunday evening traffic, and Stansell found himself breathing hard. “You can’t get paranoid every time you see someone that looks like an Iranian,” he told himself.
“And you’ve got to stop talking to yourself.”
*
Stansell’s pencil traced the first two letters of the BMW’s license plate—AN—the only two numbers he had been able to read when it had briefly pulled abreast of his car. He crumpled the paper up and threw it in a corner, then sketched a diagram of the prison where the POWs were being held. His pencil seemed to move of its own accord, creating an oblique view of the compound, much like a pilot would see as he approached it from low level. The drawing skill that he’d always had allowed him to add surrounding vegetation and buildings, and his artist’s eye had no trouble changing the vertical reconnaissance photos the Watch Center had shown him to another angle with different perspective and details.
Why does this look so familiar? he thought. He was a military history buff from way back, did this come from a book or…? As though doodling, the pencil changed the flat roof on the three-story main building to a sloped roof. Something was moving deep inside his memory, emerging…He threw the pad to the floor beside the easy chair he was stretched out in, then got up and walked around the VOQ room, stopping at the window, staring into the night—
“My God,” he whispered, “it’s Amiens jail,” where the Gestapo in World War II held hundreds of French Resistance fighters and the RAF raided it to help break them out…Was it a farfetched leap from then to now, or a possible way out for those POWs?
Chapter 5: D Minus 30
The Pentagon
Simon Mado was standing in front of an easel in his office. Rough block letters at the top of the twenty-by-thirty-inch briefing charts on the easel spelled out “Top Secret.”
“The President wants the POWs out within a month.”
“A D-day within thirty days—that’s going to be tough,” Stansell said.
“I’ve worked up a milestone chart showing what’s got to be done if we’re going to be ready,” Mado said. “It’s D minus thirty today.” He pointed to the chart that was numbered from thirty down to one and filled with neatly printed notes showing what had to be accomplished by each day. It was an ambitious plan. “Use this week to get an intelligence and training section together, find a training site and complete the operations plan. While you’re doing that I’ll line up the C-130s and the army unit that will be going in. By D minus twenty-three,
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