Free Shepherd One by Rick Jones Page B

believe six, including him. There’s no information or
record of anybody else other than the six photos and dossiers we have.”
    “The guy doesn’t look like much of a soldier.”
    “I’m sure the guy couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper
bag. But true power doesn’t come by killing. It comes by getting others to do
it for you. And that’s what Hakam is, the driving force that gets others to do
whatever he wants, which makes him a very dangerous man.”
    The president fanned the photos across his fingers as if
holding a poker hand. “Tell me more about his team.”
    “Five men who were elite commandos serving under the
Republican Guard and the Iranian Revolutionary Guard as the best of the best,”
he stated. “And I do mean the best of the best. When things didn’t go right on
the war front, they would send these guys in to clean up the mess.” 
     The president nodded, and then closed his eyes. “So, we
have five elite soldiers and a mental giant. I guess if you cut off the head of
the serpent, then the body would wither and die.”
    “Perhaps, sir.”
    “And Hakam was last known to be in Russia how long ago?”
    “Six months ago.”
    “And nobody’s seen or heard from him since?”
    “No, sir.”
     President Burroughs pressed his lips into a tight grimace.
“Alan, what’s your take on all this?”
    Thornton, elfish and diminutive in his own right, leaned
forward to gather those in close conference without having to yell above the
beat of the blades. “Well, Mr. President, barring the inexperience of the
members shot and killed at the site with the exception of al-Khalid Hassan, we
have to assume the more experienced of the team got through. And taking into
consideration that it takes a custodial team of at least two people to get a
single unit across the border, simply translates that two, or maybe even three
units have made their way onto American territory. And this is based upon the
information that six members of the team remain, which, of course, is purely
speculation at this point. There could be more, there could be less.”
    “And what about Perchenko? Any feedback from intercepted
lines?”
    “Plenty,” said Craner. “We confirmed Perchenko to be in Minsk, as we speak. And it appears the Russians have mobilized their sources to find him
before we do. So we have our teams scouring Perchenko’s frequent haunts hoping
to grab him as soon as possible.”
    “Whatever it takes, Doug, find him. I need to know how many
units are out there. Because if these devices go off, then this country will
lose everything—it’ll lose its will, its courage, and its ability to sustain a
national confidence in its government to protect.”
    “I agree, sir.”
    “In the meantime, we need to come up with solutions. And we
need to come up with probable target sites despite the obvious, and cover those
areas with as many bodies as we can provide. Use whatever is necessary to
accomplish the means.  I want you to look inside every mosque, temple, or
Muslim holy site known for radical behavior. Those packages could be anywhere.
And Dean?”
    Dean Hamilton was the Attorney General whose resolve was as
steely as the gaze from his bottle-green eyes that possessed the determination
to outwit, outfight, and outmaneuver anyone within his constituency to achieve
what he believed would be the best for the administration. To fight in the vein
of rectitude by ruffling a few feathers on the political floor had become his
trademark. And to fight Dean Hamilton on his level always promised a bitter
struggle for those who always took battle against him. Not only was he
remarkably virtuous, he was equally keen and anticipated what was coming. “Yes,
Mr. President.”
    “I want all available resources in motion. I want every
field agent across this country in constant movement. And I mean constant.
There will be no time to eat, drink or sleep. I want action, lots of action,
and I want results according to those