immediately. The man had made few changes to his appearance despite the leaflets dropped by
army helicopters that offered a reward in excess of 25 million dollars for his apprehension.
Saif al-Adel cursorily examined the person who had abruptly stood upon his entrance into the
room. He was instantly suspicious, as the man’s appearance seemed to embody Western
decadence in its entirety. The eyes, on the other hand, told a different story altogether, the hatred
visible deep within the vivid green irises. It was this hate he wanted to explore. Soon he would
have the answers he needed to proceed.
CHAPTER 6
WASHINGTON, D.C. ? CAPE ELIZABETH
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It had taken all her powers of persuasion, but Naomi Kharmai was finally able to liberate the
personnel file from Jonathan Harper’s protective care. It lay closed before her now, although she
had already examined it thoroughly. Naomi sipped at her tea in the deserted café as she
recounted the information she had learned about Ryan Thomas Kealey. He was thirty-three
years old, the last three of which had been spent in the Central Intelligence Agency as part of the
Special Activities Division. Within those three years, the file confirmed that he had been
awarded the Intelligence Star for courageous action in the field.
She considered this award for some time. Although the circumstances that had resulted in the
conferrence of the medal were sealed, Naomi recognized immediately that Kealey must carry a
fair degree of influence within the Agency as a result of his actions. She had noticed earlier, with
some surprise, that he was on a first-name basis with Deputy Director Harper. Perhaps this also
explained why Ryan was not attached to the CTC; certainly, they would have eagerly recruited
him given the opportunity.
The file also recorded his activities before joining the Agency. Kealey had left the U.S. Army as a
major in 2001 under pressure from Special Forces Command. Naomi took that to mean the
Joint Chiefs of Staff, whose approval would have been needed in order to indict a soldier with
Ryan Kealey’s background. The 201 military record cited numerous awards: the Distinguished
Service Cross, the Legion of Merit with one Oak Leaf Cluster, the Bronze Star with two Oak
Leaf Clusters — the list went on and on. Kharmai knew little about military decorations, but was
aware that this man would be held in high esteem by anyone wearing the uniform.
Naomi could see that he was educated as well, holding a bachelor’s of science in business
administration from the University of Chicago. His graduate degree had been awarded by Duke
University in 1994. By that time, Kealey was already a first lieutenant fresh out of Special Forces
Assessment and Selection, soon to be followed by successful completion of the Q course at Fort
Bragg.
Unbelievable, she thought. He had achieved the rank of major in eight years, and that time
included two years attached to another unit, the 1st SFOD-D, which she did not recognize. That
was phenomenal advancement. The man was obviously being groomed for high command. She
wondered what Ryan Kealey could have done to derail such a successful career.
She had a sudden insight and flipped open the file to the last page, looking for the signatory:
MG Peter Hale, USASFC. With or without Harper’s authority, Naomi Kharmai decided she
would find a way to talk with Kealey’s last commanding officer.
It was fast approaching dark when Ryan finally returned to Cape Elizabeth two days later. There
was little reason to wait around in Washington while the analysts did their work, so Harper had
given him a brief reprieve. Katie had not answered her phone for the duration of the trip, so he
couldn’t help but feel slightly apprehensive when he saw her little car parked outside the house.
The interior was almost as cold as the air outside. He went directly into the living room, where
he proceeded to carefully stack wood in the immense stone fireplace. It wasn’t long before the
fire began to spread a pleasant warmth throughout the house. He turned to find Katie leaning
against the doorjamb wearing tight jeans, a loose woolen sweater, and a look of consternation.
She was watching him quietly. It seemed to Ryan that the temperature of the room had suddenly
dropped again. Judging from the scowl on her face, he wasn’t about to receive a warm welcome
home.
“Hey,” he said, after a brief, awkward silence. “I missed you.”
“I can tell, the way you rushed in here to talk to me.”
He lifted his hands in a gesture of exasperation. “I called you. It was a last-minute thing. Why
didn’t you answer?”
She was momentarily caught off guard. That’s a good question, she thought. “You know why! I
can’t believe you just took off like that. It’s… I don’t know, it’s like you forgot I was even here.”
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A look of pain came over his face. “Katie, you know that’s not true. And it’s not fair.”
“Did you lie to me?”
“About what?”
The scowl became a skeptical glare. Clearly she wasn’t buying it. “About leaving, Ryan. Did you
really retire last year?”
“Of course I did.” Her arms were crossed, her expression doubtful. “Katie, I would never
mislead you like that.”
She looked into his face for a long moment, gauging his sincerity. “If you left the Agency,” she
said slowly, “why were you in such a hurry to get back to Washington?”
It was a fair question to which he didn’t have an answer. She had won a small victory, but it
didn’t register in her unhappy features. When she spoke again, it was clear from her tone of
voice that she was already tired of arguing.
“You know, I’m scared to ask where I rank in all of this. Is it below the CIA? Below a bunch of
crazy terrorists in some shitty third-world country?”
“It’s not a question of rank, Katie.”
She smiled sadly and lowered her glistening eyes. “That’s a terrible answer, Ryan.”
He dropped his own head and silently cursed himself for the stupid remark. God, he had never
been good at this kind of thing. It had cost him more than one good relationship over the years.
It had never bothered him much before, but Katie meant more to him than the rest of them
combined, and his chest tightened when he suddenly realized that he might be losing her. When
she finally filled the silence, he was surprised by the intensity of the relief that he felt.
“Look, I know what you do is important,” she said in a small voice. “I would never say
otherwise. I don’t try to make you talk about it — that can be separate from us. I’m not sure if I
can deal with that yet, but I’m willing to try.”
She looked up at him hopefully. “That’s the important thing, right? That we’re both here and
willing. I just want to know where I stand in this thing we have going. Where we stand.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right, I wasn’t thinking.” A slight hesitation, the following words
no less meaningful for it. “I don’t think you know how important you are to me, Katie… In fact,
I’m sure of it.”
She desperately tried to hold on to her anger, but it was already slipping away. A small smile
spread over her face. “Do you mean that?”
He held out his hand. She walked over to him, and they hugged gently at first, Kealey finding her
lips with his. Then he pulled her closer, and suddenly they were holding each other tighter than
was necessary, for reasons neither could explain. Ryan speaking quietly into her ear, “You’re all I
need, Katie. You and me, in this place, is all I could ever ask for.”
With her eyes squeezed tightly shut, arms wrapped around him, Katie wondered how she could
have been so angry in the first place. She knew what he was trying to say, and for some reason it
didn’t matter that he couldn’t get the words out.
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
About 28 kilometers south of Jableh on the Syrian coast, a casual observer would have noticed
many things about the scenic beauty of the surrounding landscape. He would have likely
described the orange sun high in the dying light of day, the fiery red sky contrasting sharply with
the sparkling water of the Mediterranean. The gently sloping hills leading down to the water’s
edge would have been mentioned, as would the unpaved road slicing its way through the heavily
wooded contours of the land. A description might well have been provided of the only building
visible for many kilometers, a low-slung villa with whitewashed walls and a roof of Spanish tile
that seemed to burn in the sunset. The observer would not, however, have been able to detect
any sign of human life in the picturesque scene.
Beneath a heavy canopy of towering pine trees interspersed with the occasional oak, a figure lay
Page 20
perfectly still in the shade and the dirt. Captain Ryan Kealey listened attentively to the
environment around him, waiting patiently for communication from the other members of his
ODA over an encrypted radio. Glancing to his rear, he was pleased to see no sign of the five
other soldiers.
“Sapper Six, Gold One, over.”
Kealey lifted his Motorola radio and spoke quietly, careful to avoid the staccato sounds of a
whisper. “Sapper Six, give me your sit rep, Gold One.”
“In position, no targets visible at this time. I’ve got eyes on Blue Two on my left, over.”
“Keep me updated, Gold One. Six, out.”
Without looking back, Ryan lifted his right hand in the air and circled with his index finger,
signaling the others to rally at his location. Within thirty seconds, he was surrounded by his team
members. “Okay, guys, how we doing?” he asked in a low voice.
“Good to go, sir.” The speaker was the newest member of the team, Staff Sergeant Donald
Bryant.
Kealey looked into the youthful, eager face and saw himself just four years earlier. He was
grateful that this soldier’s first combat experience would be a fairly straightforward operation.
The other men nodded in the affirmative without saying a word. This was just an extension of
training, as far as they were concerned.
“We’re going to move up to the woodline. Remember, when our snipers give the word, we’ll be
moving down that hill pretty quick. There’s almost no cover, so keep your distance. Thomas,
Mitchell, check the car. Once you get a visual confirmation, move to your entrance point. In the
house, don’t pass any room without clearing it first. I mean that.” He fixed each man with a
serious look, and then broke into a relaxed grin. “Piece of cake, fellas. You know why we’re
here. Let’s take care of business and head on home.”
A few little smiles at that. There was a sudden burst of static from the radio, followed by a clear,
calm voice. “Sapper Six, Blue Two. I have a visual. One vehicle, looks like a black Mercedes. No
tint, I have… one driver, two passengers. Permission to go green light, over.”
Kealey responded immediately. “Gold One, do you have the target?”
“That’s a Roger, Sapper Six.”
“Snipers, you have a green light. We’re waiting on you. Sapper Six, out.”
Kealey gave a hand motion, and the soldiers around him moved from their improvised
perimeter toward the edge of the treeline. The men picked their way quietly around the heaviest
areas of vegetation; each had used electrician’s tape to secure any loose pieces of metal that
might give away their position. No one expected the enemy to send out patrols, but the elite
soldiers comprising Operational Detachment Alpha 304 were not about to take the risk.
With the exposed section of the slope less than 50 meters away, the thunderous report of a
long-range rifle could be heard through the trees, rapidly followed by two more shots.
Page 21
“Six, Gold One! Vehicle is neutralized, I say again, vehicle is neutralized!”
“Let’s go!” Kealey called out. The troops were already running, suddenly breaking through into
open ground. A thought was calling for his attention, but he couldn’t quite grab it… something
about the direction of those shots…
Halfway down the hill, Ryan realized there was no one in the car, and that it had braked to a halt
in the middle of the road, unscathed. The windshield was in tact. Automatically he called out,
“Cover!” The members of his team immediately hit the ground in the prone position except for
Bryant, who was slow in getting down. Kealey watched in disbelief as a ragged exit wound
appeared in the young soldier’s back, immediately followed by the echo of a rifle shot across the
valley. The man did not make a sound, only taking two more faltering steps before crumpling to
a heap on the ground.
The four surviving soldiers were pouring lead into the car on the road below. Ryan could make
out two armed men crouching behind the vehicle and a third lying still by their side, streams of
his blood mingling with the dust of the road. Peering through the telescopic sight mounted to
his M4A1, Ryan fired a 3-round burst into the head of the primary target. Adjusting his aim, he
could see that one of his men had already taken care of the other terrorist. Kealey was suddenly
aware that Staff Sergeant Mitchell was not moving, and then saw the halo of blood around his
head, the heavy M249 machine gun inches from his lifeless fingertips.
“Blue Two, what the hell is going on up there?” Kealey shouted into his radio. There was no
response. “Blue Two, report!”
Silence.
“What the fuck is going on, sir?” yelled Sergeant Alvarez.
“Gold One, sit rep!” There was still no answer. Ryan had to struggle to keep his voice from
shaking. The fear was thumping in his chest; he felt it and hated himself for it, but his men were
completely exposed on the side of the slope, and he didn’t have time to think about what had
gone wrong. The decision came quickly.
“Thomas, Watson! When we open up, move back to the treeline as fast as you can! Alvarez, fire
on March’s location!” he screamed.
A look of shock and confusion crossed the sergeant’s face. “Sir, we can’t—”
“Do it!” was the vicious response. “Now!”
Intermittent streams of fire erupted from the barrel of Alvarez’s M16A2. Kealey fired in the
same direction, although he couldn’t spot the sniper, whose ghillie suit allowed him to blend
easily into the surrounding vegetation. He cursed the diminished range caused by the shorter
barrel of his weapon, which would have been ideal for the close-quarter combat initially
anticipated.
He called out to Alvarez: “Loading!”
Rapidly changing out his magazine, Kealey’s eyes never left the ridge where his snipers were
