Operation Turtle Rock

By Ed Krekorian MD

Hammoud al-Addadi is a terrorist leader with headquarters in North Yemen. Motivated by an abiding hatred of the United States he establishes dozens of sleeper cells throughout the United States. At a given signal the cells will be activated simultaneously to spread terrorism. Details of sleeper cells are contained in a single notebook kept in a safe in the terrorist's headquarters in Yemen. A young female CIA operative successfully steals the note book. Escaping on a motorcycle she evades capture long enough to bury the notebook. When she continues her escape she runs into a wire almost decapitating her.
Rescued by Navy Seals she is taken to a US Army hospital in Germany for reconstruction. Al-Addadi, desperate to recover the, notebook, attempts to kidnap or kill the young agent and the surgeon
assigned to her care.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Apr 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665719414

Ed Krekorian MD

Ed Krekorian was a teen-aged US Marine in World War Two. Later as an US Army lieutenant he commanded a platoon of self-propelled automatic weapons in Korea. His platoon created havoc among the enemy. It rescued sixteen wounded British about to be captured. Observing treatment of the wounded at a MASH had a profound impact. He vowed to become a doctor. Graduating medical school with honors he eventually became Director of head & neck surgery at Walter Reed. He completed parachute training before going to Vietnam as division surgeon. Later he commanded a 400 bed Evacuation hospital. Retiring he became a professor of surgery, recognized for expertise managing severe head and neck trauma and advanced malignancies. Other activities: completion Air Assault training, Command & General Staff College, taught rock climbing at West Point and earned a pilot's license.

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Copyright © 2022 Ed Krekorian, MD.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means,

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except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents,

organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products

of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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ISBN: 978-1-6657-1942-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-1940-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-1941-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022903608

Archway Publishing rev. date: 03/10/2022

CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

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CHAPTER

ONE

H ammoud al-Addadi began his professional career at age seventeen as a petty thief in North Yemen. He quickly graduated to drug dealer, enforcer and finally ruthless killer. By the time he reached age fortyeight he had risen to titular leadership of an army of spies, saboteurs, blackmailers and murderers. Devoted followers voted him the respected title of Major General. For several years his organization limited terrorism acts to weak African, Middle East and Asian nations. Each attack, publicized in print, television and radio, brought in more recruits, more money and floods of wealthy benefactors who shared al-Addadi’s hatred of the United States. Over the years al-Addadi’s organization recruited like-minded people in the United States supplemented by illegals with language and commercial skills. Surreptitiously slipped into the United States they organized with locals into sleeper cells tasked with accumulating explosives, weapons, rocket propelled grenades and even Stinger ground-to-air missiles. Targets were assigned such as oil refineries, shipping docks, manufacturing facilities, electrical grids, communication centers and shopping malls. At a given time all sleeper cells would to be activated to spread terror, cripple the economy and transform the United States into a third world country. The US Central Intelligence Agency, through agents infiltrated into General al-Addadi’s organization, learned of a notebook in which al-Addadi recorded the name, address, phone number, e-mail and target of every sleeper member in the United States. Wealthy benefactors and moles, assured anonymity, would be surprised to learn their names were in the notebook.

This intelligence was brought to the attention of the President of the United States. On the recommendation of his National Security Advisor the President approved an operation to steal al-Addadi’s notebook whatever the cost. The Central Intelligence Agency, taking advantage of al-Addadi’s lust for publicity, arranged for a well-known news reporter to interview al-Addadi at one of his headquarters somewhere in North Yemen. Thus it was that early one morning twenty six year old Hannah Bergstrom arrived at al-Addadi’s headquarters riding in the rear seat of an ancient Plymouth sedan, a sack over her head. Helped from the sedan by an escort she was told in Arabic, No photographs.

I understand, Hannah replied in Arabic, a language in which she was fluent.

The escort removed the sack, then guided her from the sedan towards an ancient, decaying two story wood and stone building. Hannah, dressed in tight fitting jeans, white cotton blouse and black leather jacket, her blonde hair in a ponytail protruding through a loop in her ball cap, generated a flood of lewd remarks from Yemeni terrorists lounging in the courtyard. The escort steered Hannah into the lobby of the headquarters building to a uniformed, heavily bearded guard sitting behind a small table. A telephone was the only item on the table. An AK-47 with a magazine inserted leaned against the wall beside him. Extending his hand the guard said in English, Your credentials.

Hannah handed him her press pass, passport and letter from General al-Addadi inviting her to interview him. The guard studied each document intensely, gathered them up and returned them to Hannah. He then stood, walked around the end of the table and began searching Hannah. Finding nothing of consequence he opened her handbag. Examining its contents he removed a pen three times the diameter of a regular pen. Holding it up he asked, What is this?

It’s an ink pen, Hannah said.

Why is it so fat?

It has an extra-large ink reservoir. With that kind of pen there’s less chance of running out of ink during an interview.

The guard began to study the pen seriously. Hannah feared he might discover the pen was actually a dart gun loaded with a dart containing a powerful fast-acting sedative. She felt a great sense of relief when the guard dropped the pen back into her handbag. Returning to his desk the guard picked up the telephone, punched a few buttons, spoke some words, then replaced the phone in its cradle.

Moments later a short, dumpy escort wearing a side arm showed up. Beckoning Hannah to follow him he led up worn wooden stairs to the second floor, down a wide corridor to a thick oak door. Knocking several times without receiving a response, the escort opened the door. Entering the room with Hannah following, the guard led to a straight-back wooden chair in front of large oak desk. He indicated Hannah sit in the chair while waiting for the general. He then left the room leaving the door open. Moments later he returned with a mug of Yemeni coffee. Handing the mug to Hannah he left the room, this time closing the door.

Hannah held the mug with both hands, savoring the coffee’s delicious odor and warmth. Recalling admonitions to avoid drinking local brews that might contain incapacitating drugs, Hannah placed the mug on the desk with considerable regret. Yemeni coffee was selling on the world market at one hundred sixty eight dollars a pound US.

While waiting for General al-Addadi to show Hannah contemplated the heavy oak desk. At her briefing she was told one of its drawers was actually a steel safe. In that safe was the notebook she had been tasked to steal. To unlock the safe required a special key with an imbedded electronic code. Only one such key was known to exists; it hung on a key chain around al-Addadi’s neck. Once she made an effort to get the key there was no turning back. If that effort failed, she would be exposed, arrested, tortured and eventually killed. The Agency issued her a cynical insurance against such a possibility, a cyanide pill and quick death. Hannah had an alternative. She could continue the charade of an interview and leave unmolested.

The door suddenly swung open. A six foot, swarthy, overweight man in his early fifties walked in. Dressed in jungle greens, paratrooper’s boots, sporting a Marine haircut and Wyatt Earp bushy moustache, he seemed a cross between a movie star and New York gangster. Hannah stood, turned to face him and found herself being examined by eyes behind dark glasses.

Hannah Bergstrom, you honor me by agreeing to conduct this interview, General al-Addadi said by way of introduction. Please be seated.

Thank you, sir. You have become quite famous in today’s world. She almost said Notorious. She continued. The world needs to know more about you and your work.

Yes, of course, al Addadi said. Moving behind his desk he sat down heavily in the swivel chair? Now where would you like to begin?

"Sir, many of our readers and TV viewers are curious why you developed such an intense hatred of the United States.

General al Azzasi smiled. I hardly know where to begin. He watched Hannah open her handbag taking from it her note pad and pen. The diameter of the pen caught al-Addadi’s interest. That is a curious looking pen. May I examine it.

Certainly sir. Hannah stood, her arm outstretched, her hand holding the pen as if to pass it to al-Addadi. Hannah then activated the mechanism of the dart gun. There was a flash and Pop almost simultaneously. What the hell, gasped General al-Addadi. Clutching at his chest he fell back into his chair, his head slumped forward on his chest, his dark glasses fell to the floor. Going around the end of the desk Hannah tore apart his jacket and shirt exposing the key chain with key. After lifting the chain over al-Addadi’s head she turned to the desk. Only one drawer had a key lock. Repeated attempts to insert the key failed. Finally, Hannah realized that kin her haste she was holding the key upside down. Rotating the key, it slipped easily into the key lock. The drawer quietly slid open. The only item in the drawer was a five by ten notebook with orange colored cardboard covers. The notebook was encased in a clear plastic bag. Taking the notebook in its plastic bag Hannah shoved them into a special inner pocket of her jacket and zipped the pocket closed.

As she turned to leave came a knock on the door. The door opened. In walked the chubby escort walked in holding a mug of Yemeni coffee for the general. A look of horror crossed his face at the sight of his general slumped in his swivel chair unconscious, Hannah bending over him. Paralyzed momentarily he dropped the mug of Yemeni coffee, shattering the mug in a burst of hot black liquid. He started to turn for the door when Hannah shouted in Arabic, Come quickly, the general is having a heart attack.

The chubby escort hesitated, then went quickly to the general. What can I do?

Hold his head up so he can breathe. If he vomits turn his head to one side so he won’t choke. I will go for help. Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her handbag, ran from the room slamming the door shut. Turning left she headed for the back stairs when three ear-shattering explosions accompanied by blinding flashes rocked the building. Moments later eye-irritating smoke wafted through the building. Coughing and blinded by the smoke, Hannah quickly became disoriented. Unable to find the back stairs she felt a growing panic.

A strong hand gripped her wrist. This way Hannah, a voice said. Hannah recognized the voice of the desk guard. He led to the back stair well, placed her hand on its banister and said, Descend slowly. The stairs are not in the best shape. There’s a door at the bottom of the stairs. It opens to a parking lot where you will find a red and white motorcycle, the key in the ignition. I hope you know how to ride.

I do. I have a motorcycle at home.

Good. This one has a tracking device. It will be activated after you’ve driven ten miles. Two helicopters will receive the satellite signals. They will fly to the origin of the signals and pick you up. Did you get the notebook?

In my jacket pocket.

Good girl.

What were those explosions?

Distractions. Three flash bang grenades and four smoke grenades. I considered using red, white and blue smoke. Decided that would have been a bit much. I settled on grey.

Hannah couldn’t suppress a smile.

I’ll leave you now. Semper Fi. Then he was gone.

Hannah followed the voice’s admonition. The stairs were indeed in bad shape, some rocked, a few started to break with her weight. Finally reaching the door she stepped out into the parking lot and fresh air. The motorcycle was parked a few yards away by some trash cans. A helmet with visor was on the seat, key in the ignition. She recognized the motorcycle as a Ducati Scrambler Desert Sled. Taking off her ball cap she stuffed it in an outer pocket of her jacket. Mounting the motorcycle, she adjusted the helmet to a good fit, then turned the ignition key. The seventyfive horsepower engine responded immediately with a steady, quiet purr. Hannah raced the engine several times, shoved the Ducati off its kick stand, looked right, left, then took off, the motorcycle’s front wheel in the air.

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CHAPTER

TWO

H annah’s instructions were to head northeast for the border with Saudi Arabia without concern for destination. The tracking device would enable her to be located wherever she was. Roads leading north from General al-Addadi’s headquarter were few, poorly marked but well paved. Using the position of early morning sun as a rough compass she was able to maintain a northerly direction. The Ducati responded immediately to her demands. It was a beautiful machine. She wondered what she might get for a trade-in when she was home.

With little traffic on the road Hannah pushed the Ducati to sixty five miles an hour. Repeated glances at the Ducati’s rearview mirrors showed no vehicle following. However good things never last. The paved road transitioned to dirt road. Soon it narrowed to an animal trail and finally no trail. Only desert was seen as far as the horizon interrupted by an occasional prominent sand hill. Hannah prudently reduced speed to a safe thirtyfive miles an hour. After another ten miles a dark indistinct object appeared in both rearview mirrors. Gradually the object took the form of an armored vehicle.

Fear of capture, torture and death now took hold of Hannah. The knowledge she had an out, a poison pill, gave her some measure of comfort but not much. In any event she could not permit the notebook to fall back into the hands of the terrorists. Yet she had few options. Either burn the notebook or bury it and hope it might be recovered someday soon.

Hannah decided she would bury the notebook if she could find a suitable place with some sort of landmark nearby that might help others find the burial site. She would also need an opportunity to bury the notebook out of sight of those pursuing her. Failing that she would destroy the notebook and take the poison pill. Increasing her speed risked loosing control of the Ducati in the sand and an incapacitating injury. But she had little choice. The armored vehicle was gaining.

Looming ahead was a giant sand hill thirty feet tall, twenty feet wide and over five hundred feet long. When she reached its end she turned sharply to its forward slope, temporarily out of sight of her pursuers. The desert in front of the sand hill was littered with rocks of various sizes and shapes. As Hannah drove among the rocks she spotted an oval-shaped humped rock resembling a turtle shell. Stopping near the rock she worked the motorcycle up on its stand. Dismounting she picked up a rock the size of a watermelon and placed it on one end of turtle rock for the turtle’s head. Although aesthetically too large the rock would have to do for the turtle’s head. There was no time for a tail.

Taking the notebook from her jacket inner pocket Hannah dropped it beside turtle rock intending to kick it under the rock. Then came the challenge. Turtle rock weighed at least one hundred fifty pounds. Hannah was confident she could lift at least one end of the rock. During her training at the Farm she carried classmates who weighed two hundred twenty-five pounds a hundred yards. Using legs, back and available adrenalin she succeeded in raising an end of the rock eight inches enabling her to kick the notebook under the rock. Dropping the rock she mounted the motorcycle taking note of a cylindrical rock six inches in diameter and three feet tall. She considered it the turtle’s reproductive organ albeit remote. In her mind it was labeled Phallic Rock.

Back on the motorcycle Hannah pulled out from behind the sand hill onto her original course. When she looked in the rear view mirrors she was shocked and frightened. The armored vehicle was not more than fifty yards behind her. The occupants obviously had seen she had been behind the sandhill and would surmise she buried the note book. Fear gave way to recklessness. Hanna increased her speed to forty, then fifty miles an hour. At that speed the desert sand became a hypnotic blur. Hannah failed to see a remnant wire fence with one rusted wire still intact.

The wire struck Hannah mid-neck, slicing through skin, muscle, nerves, blood vessels and connective tissue but stopped at the vertebra. Had she been going a bit faster the wire would have fractured the vertebra or sliced through the intervertebral space decapitating her. The wire, stretched by the Hannah’s momentum, jerked her violently backwards from the motorcycle much like a slingshot. Dropping to the desert sand she lay, unconscious, her life’s blood soaking the sand around her. Blood drained into her lungs through a severed windpipe adding to severe respiratory obstruction leading to convulsive efforts to breath.

In less than a minute the armored vehicle stopped twenty feet from where Hannah lay. Three men jumped out, guns drawn. Rushing to Hanna a man with a full beard asked of his leader, Shall I try to control the bleeding?

No. Put the bitch out of her misery with a bullet in the head, than search her.

She’s going to die anyway. Why not just search her for the notebook and let nature take its course.

I want to tell the general she was dead when we left her. Go ahead and shoot her.

My religion prohibits killing a dying person, the bearded one said.

A true warrior does not hesitate to kill, the leader admonished. Stand aside.

When the leader started to kneel intent on shooting Hannah the bearded terrorist shot him dead. Quickly turning he shot the remaining terrorist. The bearded man dragged the two bodies a dozen feet from Hannah. Returning he kneeled beside Hannah. Pressing down hard on her neck with his hands he tried to control the pulsating hemorrhage. Blood seeped through his fingers. For a moment he looked up at the cloudless blue sky and cursed. God damn helicopters, never on time.

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CHAPTER

THREE

T wo Black Hawk helicopters, one a gunship with eleven US Navy SEALs, the other a medevac with two SEAL corpsmen, dropped quietly from the sky, engines muffled and idled. Both helicopters simultaneously touched the desert sand softly in perfectly executed auto-rotations. The two corpsmen jumped out, turned to the helicopter for their packs. Slipping into the packs they began jogging towards where Hannah lay bleeding and struggling for air. They were joined by two heavily armed SEALS. Nearing Hannah they saw the disturbing sight of a dirty, heavily bearded terrorist, his hands on her neck. Nearby lay two dead bodies. Both SEALs leveled their weapons at the bearded terrorist. A SEAL shouted, Get away from her you slime ball before I waste you.

The response came swiftly. Watch your dirty mouth, swabbee. You’re talking to a captain, US Marine Corps.

That’s bullshit. You better move, mister or you’re dead.

Like most sailors you’re not very swift, the bearded one said. If I take my hands away massive bleeding will recur. Get your commander here now. That’s an order in case you didn’t recognize it as such.

Go bring Commander Bendini, the SEAL told his buddy. I’ll watch this character.

The two SEAL medical corpsman were now at Hannah’s side. One, Tim Fowler, a twenty two year old on his first mission, removed a large sterile blanket from one of the packs. Spreading the blanket out on the sand a few feet from Hannah he dumped the contents of both packs on it. The other corpsman, twentyksix year old Ben Jordan, often called Doc even by officers, had seven missions behind him. Slipping on sterile gloves Doc kneeled beside Hannah. Placing his hands on her neck he told the bearded terrorist, You can take your hands away now. Thanks for the help.

Bleeding from a mid-neck horizontal laceration was reduced to a trickle. The wire-cut extending four fifths the neck’s circumference. Using gloved fingers Doc opened the incision wide. He managed a quick view of extensive injuries before massive bleeding recurred. Jamming his hands back on Hannah’s neck he called to Tim Fowler for Quik Clot. (Quick Clot is a hemostatic gauze, three inches wide, twelve feet long, Z-Folded in a sterile package) Doc managed to pack six feet of the gauze into the wound. In less than a minute bleeding began to diminish. Doc resumed his examination.

Navy Commander Josh Bendini, a well built, tanned, thirty six year old Naval Academy graduate and commander of the operation to rescue Hannah, took note of the two bodies, the heavily bearded terrorist, now hands behind his head, fingers entwined, and the SEAL with his weapon trained on the bearded one. He rightly asked, What the hell is going on, Denkins?

Sir, that creep claims he’s a Marine Corps captain.

Oh? And how did you learn that. Does he speak English?

Yes sir, without an accent.

He could be telling the truth, you know, Bendini said. There are some Marine captains who can actually speak English. Bendini walked to the bearded terrorist. After staring into his face for several moments he said, Hello Sammy. Glancing at the two dead bodies he added, Still reaping death and destruction, I see.

That’s what Marines do, Josh. Where the hell were you when we needed you?

We ran into brutal head winds. We almost had to set down.

The SEAL holding a weapon on the captain slung his weapon. After telling Captain Rawlings he could take his hands down he apologized for his abusive language.

Forget it, Denkins. I scare myself every time I look in a mirror.

Why the two bodies? Commander Bendini asked.

I didn’t have much choice, Josh. The fat one was going to shoot Hannah in the head. His buddy was going to shoot me."

I have orders for you to accompany us to Bagram. You report to the CIA station chief for debriefing, delousing, haircut, shave and shower not necessarily in that order. You will be issued new ID, dog tags, given a physical and dental exam, then stateside to Quantico for uniforms and so on.

You seem to know a lot about me, Josh. Do you happen to know my next assignment?

Actually I do. You are scheduled for the Army’s Command and General Staff College at Leavenworth, Kansas starting in September. Until then you will be assigned to the commissary at Quantico to inventory canned goods.

The look on Sammy’s face was one of disbelief. The hell you say.

Just kidding. Actually you will be on non-chargeable leave until C and GS. Sometime during the next month you will be promoted to major.

What about after C & GS?

You will be assigned to the FBI Counter-Terrorism team in the DC area.

Josh, I feel as if I’m drinking from a fire hose.

"You deserve it, Sammy. Six months undercover in al-Addadi’s outfit is about as stressfull as it can get. What did you do during your six month’s ‘TDY’ with General al-Addadi?

For a couple months I taught marksmanship. I made certain my students couldn’t hit a barn door by the time they completed my course. Later al-Addadi made me sort of a receptionist at his main headquarters. It was a cushy job but the pay was lousy and there were no health benefits. I logged in everybody who visited al-Addadi. Selected visitors had their fingerprints and photographs taken surreptitiously. One day I hope to see handcuffs on some of those traitorous bastards. They will be surprised when the FBI comes calling.

Let’s go see about Hannah, Bendini said.

Both walked to where Hannah lay. Kneeling opposite Doc, Commander Bendini asked, What have you found so far, Doc?

I didn’t get much of a look before bleeding recurred. The larynx (voice box) is fractured, the trachea (wind pipe) is severed. The bottom part is retracted into the thoracic inlet. There is a huge artery lying over it. In order to get her an airway before she suffocates I’ve got to somehow pull that trachea up into the lower neck. The big artery will come with it. If I injure the artery the bleeding will be uncontrollable. She will die. The esophagus was cut in two. Dealing with it, except for infection, can wait until she gets to a surgeon. I can’t determine how much brain damage she sustained from blood loss and anoxia. There is also possible spinal cord damage, even a broken neck. Sir, I’m way out of my league. I’ve never seen anything like this. Few people have.

Doc, Bendini said, I can only imagine your anguish over this young woman. As your commander I can’t advise you other than do what you think is best. I will back you whatever the outcome, even if it means my Navy career.

The SEAL corpsman stared at his commander for a long moment. Thanks sir.

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Forty minutes later the trachea was fixed in the lower neck with four heavy sutures. The end of the transected trachea facing out resembled the end of a cut garden hose. Barely visible deep in the thoracic inlet the pulsating innominate artery crossed in