Episode 96
[Author’s Note: We return to Matt, Victor, and Wen in Yemen right after the events of Episode 90.]
(Yemen, April 19, 2009)
As they proceeded, Victor’s observation about the lack of mortar fire worried Matt more and more. It was odd. This was supposed to be a heavily armed installation — so heavily armed that there had been questions about whether the three of them could handle it by themselves. Unfortunately, support was not an option.
As explained to Matt by the Colonel in one of his rare voluble moments, there were three tiers of deniability: “white”, “grey”, and “black”. White operations were against known or suspected enemies on enemy soil. These tended to be loud and open, and there was no need for deniability at all. In fact, deniability would be counterproductive. Such exercises usually served a political purpose as much as a military one, and it was important that everyone should know who was responsible.
Grey operations were against enemies on allied soil and were fraught with political peril. The allied government typically knew nothing about them, perhaps because they preferred not to but usually because it was just easier not to tell them. This amounted to the standard wisdom that it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission. In Matt’s experience, this invariably turned out to be a load of malarkey. The cost of forgiveness had a way of ballooning into something quite unpalatable.
Unfortunately, dutifully informing an ally was an almost surefire way to undermine the operation. They at best would unofficially sanction the mission, possibly offering nominal support in the form of a thinly veiled babysitter. If the operation were uncovered, the ally would vehemently condemn it despite having tacitly consented — and possibly more so because they had. It would be a matter of saving face and political survival. Sacrifices would be necessary to mollify their affected outrage.
Finally, there were the black operations. These were the ones which would be inexcusable if they came to light. Sometimes they issued from above and sometimes they did not, but they all were of a highly sensitive nature. It was essential that such operations never could be traced back, and this was where Matt and his compatriots fit in. The best way to ensure deniability was for the mission to be impossible. If it couldn’t have been accomplished by the United States, then it obviously wasn’t. People would turn to other explanations — an accident or internal strife. The Proteges could do the impossible, and this made them perfect.
To Matt, it all felt a bit contradictory. America wanted the world to know it had super-soldiers. It wanted the world to believe in those and fear them. Yet, it also wanted that same world not to believe that the super-soldiers were actually in use. This presumed the world was populated by idiots. But it seemed to work. From what he had seen, this was precisely how people reacted.
The only explanation he could think of was that the whole thing amounted to a carefully orchestrated diplomatic ballet. By conveniently forgetting about the super-soldiers, an enemy could avoid being forced to take action. Even autocratic governments weren’t monolithic. Whenever the United States did something particularly egregious on enemy soil, that ruler’s generals would demand action and his people could be whipped into a frenzy.
Rhetoric aside, the last thing a ruler actually wanted was confrontation with the United States. That would be foolish, expensive, and an almost surefire way to end up dead. However, if the clamoring became strong enough they would have no choice. The alternative would be revolt and certain death.
If it was impossible for America to be at fault, there was no need for action. The very implausibility of the operation furnished a means to defuse the aftermath. A leader could sell this to his generals and subordinates, who then would sell it to the people. If clever, he may even seize the opportunity to implicate a rival instead. Quite possibly, his generals and subordinates were well-aware of what was going on. Everyone played their role and everyone knew what really had happened. Everyone who mattered. The only sucker in the room was the people, but weren’t they always?
The present mission was just such a black operation. The Colonel had concluded his explanation by emphasizing that none of the political considerations really mattered as far as Matt was concerned. Things were much simpler from a soldier’s perspective. The only practical difference between white, grey, and black involved what would happen if they were caught. Would they be hailed as heroes and rescued, would they be prosecuted as criminals, or would they be abandoned to torture and death? The Colonel’s precise wording had been a bit more colorful, involving various configurations of sodomy using an imaginative range of instruments.
Matt took this with a grain of salt. He very much doubted that the United States would abandon their prized super-soldiers to enemies who might turn them. Especially, given how easy that would be. They wouldn’t even need to capture him. He’d sign on with the enemy at the first opportunity.
It didn’t even matter which enemy, though he preferred not having to learn yet another language. Once every century or two was enough. Ideally, it also would be an enemy smart enough to appreciate what he brought to the table. He didn’t expect to be revered, but a little respect would be nice. He reveled in the thought of the Colonel’s face when the man found out.
All Matt needed was the right opportunity: a situation with no witnesses, where he plausibly could have been killed, and where it would be impossible to find his body. There even could be witnesses, as long as they were the right witnesses. Victor would keep quiet, but Wen could be a problem. There was no telling what the little toady would do.
Matt had considered staging something at sea, but the danger of actually drowning was too high. There was no rush. He would do it when the time was right and not a moment sooner. He probably would get only one shot.
The mission itself was as straightforward as they came. A small group of Americans were being held hostage in a bunker in central Yemen. The local government was in shambles, probably not in on it, and possibly not even aware of it — though nothing could be ruled out. The United States had suppressed all word of the situation, and for some reason the perpetrators had not advertised their actions. As far as the world was concerned, nothing was amiss: the civilians were still working for their NGO, and everything was fine.
Matt had his doubts about whether they really were civilians or it really was an NGO, but none of that mattered at the moment. His team needed to move quickly. The information blackout couldn’t be sustained indefinitely. Either the news would leak, or the kidnappers would announce themselves to the world. If word of a hostage situation spread, the U.S. response would come under intense scrutiny, and any possibility of a quick, clean resolution would vanish.
Intelligence indicated that the kidnappers weren’t part of a known terrorist group — though, with the constantly changing tribal alliances, it was impossible to be certain. Everybody was cousins with everybody else, and today’s police were tomorrow’s ad hoc terrorist organization. But, at least for now, things seemed straightforward. The group appeared to be motivated by money, and this likely was just a good-old-fashioned kidnapping that happened to take place in an inconvenient location.
Unfortunately, that inconvenient location was very inconvenient. Apart from the difficulty of getting in and out unnoticed, the area presented other challenges. Like almost everybody in a region torn by constant internecine conflict, the culprits were heavily armed and experienced in the use of those arms. Which once again begged the question: why just two mortar rounds?
Well, they’d find out soon enough. The bunker loomed before them, a nondescript concrete box with a metal door. Matt was unsure what the structure contained, but most of it clearly lay underground. It could be a huge hidden complex or a single dimly lit room. His money was on the dimly lit room.
The mortar rounds and gunfire had come from the rooftop, but any assailants had withdrawn into the structure once the group proved undeterred by the onslaught. Matt made a mental note that there was a way out on top. They’d have to keep an eye on that, though with desert in every direction it would be hard for someone to escape unnoticed. Of course, seeing the enemy didn’t mean catching the enemy. Whatever their protections, none of the three could outrun a vehicle. Especially on sand. God, Matt hated trudging through the stuff.