assault force could memorize the layout of the world’s most wanted terrorist’s home. The SEALs tasked with completing the mission had been successfully assaulting compounds of every shape and size, year after year, on virtually a nightly basis since 9/11, but the Abbottabad mission would have worldwide geopolitical repercussions, so nothing was spared to stack the deck in their favor.
The special operations community is a small one and, though he was older than many of them, Reece recognized a few of the Army commandos from various training schools and deployments. Navy Seabees were hard at work building a mock-up of the lodge on Medny Island for full mission profile rehearsals. Nothing was known about the inside layout, as all they had to go on was satellite imagery, which would ensure the outside was almost an exact replica of the target. Forty assaulters from [Redacted] had arrived a day earlier and had been preparing for what they had been told was a hostage rescue mission. They had assumed it was for a target in Somalia or Syria and had not yet been told mission specifics. That was about to change.
When Reece drove in, most of the assaulters were in the chow hall waiting for an upcoming intelligence briefing.
“The Unit,” as it is known by the skilled operators in its ranks, drew heavily from the Army’s 75th Ranger Regiment. An entire Ranger element had been killed alongside Reece’s troop in Afghanistan two years earlier. As Reece sat down with his tray of food, a handful of [XXX] assaulters, including their troop sergeant major, approached.
“Mr. Reece,” the large bearded man began in an accent that betrayed a southern upbringing, “I’m Christian Holloway, troop sergeant major. I just wanted to thank you. We all knew the boys killed with your troop in Afghanistan; the Rangers on those birds. You did right by them.”
One by one, the [XXX] operators shook Reece’s hand.
“Also, heard about what you did in Odessa. Sorry to hear about Freddy. I worked with him in ’09 in Iraq. Solid as they come. See you in the briefing,” Holloway said with a respectful nod.
* * *
Reece stood at the back of the stadium-style briefing room and wondered if this was the same room where his friends had first received word that the UBL mission was a go. The assaulters and a few support personnel filled the first four rows of seats, talking and joking among themselves. It was not that long ago that Reece had been in a similar room receiving the mission that would lead to the deaths of his SEAL troop, Army Rangers, and aircrews on a dark Afghan mountain.
The door at the front of the briefing room opened and Reece immediately recognized the looming figure of Andy Danreb. The Chicago native missed nothing and nodded to Reece without breaking stride. His customary blue oxford shirt was rolled up at the sleeves. He was ready to work. Nicole Phan was almost the polar opposite of the older, disgruntled Cold War relic. She was young, spry, and always chipper. Reece couldn’t remember ever seeing her without a smile. Anyone who mistook her kindness for weakness, though, would soon find themselves on the losing end of an intellectual battle of wits. Born in America to a family who escaped Vietnam in 1975, she was one of the CIA’s most talented targeters. After the fall of Saigon, her grandfather had blended in with the boat people as a refugee to escape the wrath of the NVA. She was not the first in her family with ties to U.S. intelligence. She caught Reece’s eye and waved.
Some might find it intimidating to stand up in a room surrounded by hardened special operators whose lives depend on the information presented. If Nicole felt that way, her demeanor did not betray it.
“Good evening, everyone,” she began. “I’m Nicole Phan. I’m an SSO targeting officer from the CTC. This is Andy Danreb, from the Russian Desk at the Directorate of Analysis, formerly DI for those of you who remember.”
Andy nodded, his haircut and stern look giving the impression that he may once have worn the uniform even if it was thirty years and forty pounds ago.
At the mention of Russia, more than a few operators began to send questioning looks toward the front of the room.
“This operation will be recognized as a Special Access Program, so thank you for signing the NDAs earlier,” Nicole continued. “I know you all have a lot of practice.”