Code name, p.13
Code Name, page 13
****
As he studied the situation from the concealment of the bushes, Mark’s mind suddenly caught on the grisly vision of the one who was code-named Rook, lying spreadeagle on a hot Afghan desert with his abdomen split open, his guts ripped out and spread to dry like jerky.
Blake’s journal had hinted at some serious trouble between Rook and Viper. And the next thing he knew, Rook was dead and Blake was accused of the murder and of conspiring to sell weapons to a man named bin Laden in exchange for opium.
It was the same story Leo Spence had related, but if Blake’s journal could be trusted, the CIA had it exactly backwards – Blake was innocent and Viper was the real killer and drug dealer. Viper just happened to be Roland Gates. And the way things looked, Roland Gates probably had Laura.
Mark considered his options. Gates would get nothing out of Laura. She didn’t even know the journal existed. Gates really wanted Mark, and the best use of Laura was as bait. If Mark tried a rescue at this point, it would only get them both killed.
The best thing was to continue with the plan that he and Laura had rehearsed. If they were in danger, they were to drop out of sight and flee to a predetermined safe location. If they were separated during the escape, it was up to each of them to find a way to evade capture and make their way to the rendezvous. That was the plan. It was the only strategy that would work. Mark knew that, but still it took all his discipline to keep from racing into the building to rescue his wife.
Traffic was backed up badly. Irritated employees were laying on their horns in frustration. Several of the soldiers were ordered to go talk to the employees and settle them down, and they moved off toward the line of cars.
Civilians, even dedicated NIA employees, don’t always take kindly to being told to shut up, especially when it comes from the mouth of a young National Guardsman. Tempers heated up, and Mark heard people shouting. The metallic sound of a radio cracked the air, and one of the soldiers standing next to a truck picked up the microphone. Mark couldn’t quite hear what the Guardsman said, but almost immediately all eight of the troops standing near the trucks started running toward the line of cars. It was exactly the opportunity Mark needed.
While everyone’s attention was momentarily focused on the verbal riot along the traffic jam, Mark climbed over the fence, sprinted to the back of a deuce-and-a-half, and slid under the rear axle. The truck was running at idle, obviously getting ready to leave the NIA compound.
Suddenly, over the sound of the engine, he heard footsteps. They stopped beside the truck. Mark held his breath, fearing that someone had seen him. A cigarette dropped on the ground, and a booted foot stepped on the butt. Then the foot lifted and stepped onto the running board and the soldier climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine revved, and the gears momentarily ground until they fully engaged.
****
“This was my only chance. If I missed it, I was dead.
“I tucked my suit coat into my pants, to prevent it from being caught in the universal joint, then swung my body up over the axle and lay across the rear differential. I grabbed the springs to steady myself and jammed my feet against the springs on the opposite side.” Mark took a long breath and continued.
“The truck began to move, accelerating with a jerky start that nearly shook me off my perch. There was very little room for my body between the axle housing and the floor of the cargo bed above me, and every bump jarred me badly.
“I didn’t know exactly where this truck was going, but I suspected that it was eventually heading to the far side of the search area to pick up soldiers who had been scouring the forest looking for me. From there, it would probably return the troops to their base camp for the night.
“Right now, all I knew was that riding this axle was my ticket away from the NIA compound. With all the attention being paid to the traffic jam of civilian cars, the military trucks were simply waved out the gate.
“There were eleven trucks in all, and mine was the last one in the convoy. At the bottom of the driveway, the truck cut the corner short and dropped one rear tire off the curb. It jarred me so hard I almost lost my grip, but I held on with all the strength I had. As the truck turned left onto County Road 18 and picked up speed, leaving the noise of blaring horns and shouting voices in the distance, I heaved a heavy sigh. It was a sigh of agony over leaving Laura behind.”
Mark broke off our interview, got up off of the hammock and stepped outside. I took it as a cue, so I set aside my notebook, stood and joined him in the sunshine. He stood with his back to me, just staring off into the jungle.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Mark said, “I was glad to be off the NIA grounds. But the hardest thing I ever had to do was leave Laura there.
“Blake taught me that an escape and evasion plan is evolutionary. It grows and develops in new directions all the time. It’s impossible to foresee what will happen next.
“I had to be flexible in my thinking. At any moment, something could go desperately wrong, and I would have to be able to decide, on the fly, what would be the best course of action. I only hoped Laura was able to do the same.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Within a few minutes of leaving NIA, the convoy turned onto a forest road. Another left turn, this time onto a gravel road. Several minutes later, the convoy pulled to a stop.
Mark heard voices shouting commands for the troops to board trucks. The heavy steel tailgate was dropped, concealing him from view as the soldiers climbed into the cargo bed and took their seats on the wood benches facing each other. The tailgate went back up, was latched into place, and the driver climbed aboard.
The convoy turned around and went out the way it had come in then angled off on a second gravel road that forked to the left and began the slow passage of a gradually descending canyon.
A few minutes later, the convoy passed an old car, sitting in a wide parking area near a concrete structure that had every appearance of a bunker.
Mark caught only a partial view of the car, and then it was gone from sight. He couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked as if two people were in the vehicle. And from his momentary glimpse, they appeared to be women. He wondered why two women were sitting in a car on this lonely gravel road. Then the car could be seen no more.
Mark had no idea how long the convoy would travel before arriving at their base camp. Not far, he figured. The state lands around NIA headquarters were often used for National Guard weekend drills and summer camps.
****
“Mud sprayed from the tires and pelted me. I wiped my eyes clear and peered out beneath the cargo bed, but could see very little. My vision was limited by being tucked between the axle housing and the cargo bed floor, with huge dual wheels blocking the view to the side. All I could see in the gathering darkness of the approaching evening was an image of heavy forest lining both sides of the gravel road. After a while, the forest fell away and I saw an expanse of gravel.”
****
With a lurching deceleration, the truck thudded to a stop. Both doors opened, there was the sound of boots on the gravel, and the tailgate fell with a crash. A dozen men jumped from the cargo bed, shouting and talking as they walked away from the convoy parking area toward their main camp. Each truck in the convoy was unloading a similar number of men, and the sound of their many voices blended into an incomprehensible clutter of verbiage as they headed for the mess tent.
The smell of food drifted in and lured the men toward the cooking and eating area. These men were hungry and tired after beating the bush, hunting a prey they never found. Not that they cared. There was no special reward attached to finding what they were looking for.
Mark understood that all these guys wanted now was some hot chow, dry clothes and a horizontal position on their cots.
It didn’t take long before everything was quiet around the parking area. The laughter, loud cursing and boasting faded into the trees. The only sounds were the whisper of wind in the tallest branches and the occasional crackle of the hot engine as it cooled. Mark lay on the axle housing for a long while, breathing and resting and making sure he was really alone.
****
“I was thankful for the stillness, now that the bone-shattering ride was over,” Mark said. “Before I made any move from under the truck, I had to be sure there wasn’t a driver still around or a sentry standing guard over the motor pool area. I figured the drivers would be back after dinner to check engine oil, tire pressure and fill out the log books for each truck. But they would wait for the oil to settle back into the crankcase and the tires to cool before performing those maintenance checks.
“Almost immediately, a lone sentry stepped from the semi-darkness and began making his rounds. I waited and listened, but heard only a single set of footsteps.
“So, I thought, there’s only one guard pulling duty in the motor pool tonight. I heard the sentry make a long, slow pass around the perimeter until he reached the trail leading to camp. Then he reversed direction and made a long, slow pass the other way. I expected that it would take several passes before the sentry began to relax into his routine. Only then could I make my move.”
****
From the distance was the noise of an undisciplined camp. If this were a combat training operation, the exercise was intended to prepare these young men for insertion into a combat zone where an enemy was trying his best to sneak in and kill everyone in camp. In a war, the camp must be kept under tight control, with noise and light discipline, or the enemy will take swift and deadly advantage of the situation.
This camp sounded like a college fraternity. Mark could only imagine what was going on in the light of the campfire. The commander of this unit was obviously more interested in being liked than in preparing his troops for combat.
Ultimately, he thought, the men under this commander will suffer because of his failure as a leader. Blake had taught him that.
Half an hour passed, and the dim gloom of evening intensified into the darkness of night. The sentry switched on his flashlight, making it easy for Mark to know exactly where he was and which direction he was walking. It was time to move.
Mark wanted to be in the woods and fully concealed before the drivers returned for maintenance. It took the guard three minutes to walk the perimeter in one direction. Because Mark was on the last truck into the compound, he was positioned not far from the edge of the forest, giving him a better chance of making it into the woods undetected.
The key was to move slowly, deliberately and at the right moment. A fast-moving object might catch the eye of the sentry. A sudden move would also increase the chance of making a noise on the gravel or snapping a twig once he made it to the forest. He had to move with extreme care and patience, or risk being caught.
The sentry walked by and Mark started mentally counting off seconds. Thirty seconds later, he dropped silently from the axle to the ground, laid completely still and listened. The beam of the flashlight continued on a steady march away from him. He rolled slowly to the rear of the truck and sat up. Careful to avoid scuffing his feet on the gravel, he stood and then listened once more. The guard was still walking the other way.
Mark had an advantage in not using a flashlight. The guard’s eyes had adjusted to the light, so looking suddenly into the darkness he would be somewhat blind. Each time the guard walked by with his flashlight shining, Mark closed his eyes, preserving his night vision. It was something else Blake had taught him many years before.
He shifted his weight to one foot and lifted the other straight off the ground to a height of several inches. Then he slowly extended his leg and rested the foot on the ground about 18 inches toward the forest. He very slightly tucked his pelvis forward and slowly shifted his weight, moving his body mass over the supporting leg until the opposite foot was totally relieved of his weight. That foot was then lifted vertically so not a pebble was disturbed.
The process was repeated again and again, each step carefully made, each moved him closer to the ragged edge of the parking area where the forest took over.
It took several seconds for Mark to reach the edge of the motor pool parking area, where open field and forest came abruptly together. He still had nearly half a minute, by his mental calculation, before the guard reached the turning point and begin his return around the perimeter.
Now the difficult part faced him – penetrating the forest fringe without rustling leaves or snapping a twig underfoot.
He shifted his weight and lifted his foot, extended the leg and placed the foot into the foliage, dropping it down and down until he felt solid ground under the sole. Every move by his lower body was countered by fluid movement of his upper. It was as if he were filled with air instead of muscle and bones. His body lightly rotated, and flexed effortlessly to maintain perfect balance.
More weight was shifted, as he explored what was beneath his foot – no sound – the next step, then the next, each in careful succession, and each carrying him a little farther into the underbrush.
****
Mark looked at me and tapped his temple with an index finger. “What nagged my mind was the fact that the time had run out. The guard had made his turn and was coming my way, flashlight in hand.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Pages 15–25, notebook #2
“I was only three strides into the forest fringe when the guard turned around and began walking back toward me. Each second brought the sentry closer and gave him a better chance of spotting or hearing movement in the forest. His footsteps could be clearly heard on the gravel, and each step was louder than the last as the sentry moved closer.
“Without taking another step, I quietly squatted into the bushes. I sank slowly on my legs until I was sitting directly on my heels, my feet still flat on the ground. There I froze with my back facing the parking area, concealing my face and shirt. Carefully, I pulled my suit coat collar and lapels up to cover my neck and shirt collar, so they wouldn’t be bright spots in the otherwise dark underbrush.
“In my peripheral vision, I saw the flashlight beam sweeping from side to side, lighting the way before the sentry. I knew that even though I was well concealed, if the beam of light fell directly on the bushes where I was hiding, my blocky form would stand out among the otherwise broken pattern of branches and leaves.
“The light swept closer. I held my breath, waiting for the shout that would trigger my capture.”
“Hey,” a voice yelled, but it came from across the parking area. “Corporal Nelson, here’s the coffee you asked for.” It was one of the drivers, arriving to perform his maintenance check.
The sentry broke off his patrol, turned and walked across the open space between the trucks.
“Thanks. Helps keep me awake. Guard duty is so boring.”
“Yeah, tell me about it; the only thing worse than KP is guard duty, in my book. Well, I gotta get my truck ready for tomorrow. Have fun.”
“Right! Well, the country can sleep easy tonight, ’cause I’m on duty,” the sentry joked, and the two men laughed.
****
The driver strode away into the night. Mark heard a truck door open. A second flashlight came on. A squeaky hinge complained into the night air as the driver raised the hood and went about his work. Over the next few minutes, other drivers began arriving. The guard stood and drank his coffee in the middle of the now noisy parking area.
Soon the motor pool was abuzz with activity. Nearly a dozen drivers had hoods up and lights on. Doors slammed. Hood hinges creaked. The men talked loudly with each other as they worked.
Noise and light discipline were obviously a foreign concept with this unit, but Mark understood that was fairly normal among troops in non-combat zones. Security was slack. Everyone relaxed and tried to make it through their time without being noticed by someone up the chain of command. Recognition never seemed to be a positive thing when you were just a lowly grunt, the nickname worn by low-level infantrymen.
It didn’t take long for the guard to finish his coffee. Then he resumed his patrol around the perimeter. Apparently forgetting exactly where he had left off, the sentry walked to a point several yards beyond where Mark was hiding and began his round. His flashlight swept back and forth in the same rhythmic cadence as before.
The noise of tools and men and machines took some pressure off Mark, reducing the hazard of a small sound in the bushes being heard by the others as he moved. Even though there were more sets of eyes that could possibly spot him, the night vision of those eyes had been ruined by staring at objects in the beam of a flashlight.
****
“I decided that now would be a good time to slip away into the night. From my squatting position, I slowly and silently lowered to my hands and knees and crawled into the forest blackness,” Mark said. “I felt the ground with my fingers, before placing weight on my hands as I crawled forward, wanting to avoid snapping a twig or rustling leaves. After positioning my hands and shifting weight to my arms, I carefully lifted one leg and moved it forward, then down, feeling for firm ground before applying weight.”
****
The process repeated: one hand, one leg, then the opposite side. It was slow going, and Mark almost chuckled as he thought his progress must look like the jerky movements of a chameleon walking along a stick.
For twenty minutes, he crawled. Behind him, the noise of chatter and tools and the slamming of hoods and doors in the motor pool continued. The sentry made his rounds, unaware that the man they had all been searching for was only a few yards away, crawling through the trees. Finally, when Mark had penetrated a safe distance into dense foliage, he rose to his feet behind a tree and surveyed the situation.
Camp was 50 yards to his left. He wanted to get an idea of exactly how things were laid out. There was a supply tent somewhere in camp, and he needed to make a raid on that tent sometime before morning. He must have food, water, a change of clothing, and boots to replace his slick-bottomed dress shoes.”
