Ransom

by Belle Ami

  Aryeh stood brushing the dirt from his clothing. “The prisoner exchange was successful, Gideon’s safe and on his way back to Tel Aviv.”

  “Oh, mon ami, that’s wonderful news. You got my text and Mossad has confirmed my information?”

  “Yes, thanks to you they’re in our sights.” He looked at his watch. “We attack tonight. I have a motorcycle outside. We need to leave.”

  She nodded. “Let’s go. This place gives me the creeps.”

  They exited into the cool evening air. “Where’s Mustafa, why did he leave you alone?”

  “He got a call telling him to report to the cannabis farm. He said Nasrallah had decided to see the operation for himself.”

  Aryeh studied her face in the moonlight. “You care for him, don’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Yes, I care for Mustafa, but it won’t prevent me from doing my duty.”

  “Zara, are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  They reached the bike, and he pulled a leather jumpsuit and the extra helmet out for her. She slipped the jumpsuit on and donned the helmet. She winked at him. “You’re a good personal shopper. A perfect fit.”

  He was glad she couldn’t see his face redden. He ignored her comment and pulled a first aid kit out. He broke an ice cold pack and handed it to her. “Hold the ice to your cheek. It’ll bring the swelling down.” He began to clean the cut near his eye.

  “Let me help you.” She cleaned the area with an antiseptic wipe, applied ointment, and sealed the split skin with a suture butterfly band-aid. “Voila. I don’t think you’ll need any stitches. Let’s fly, bébé.”

  »»•««

  Zara followed Aryeh and then suddenly stopped. “Stay here, mon ami. I’ll be right back.” She grabbed a gun from Aryeh’s arsenal.

  “Where are you going? We need to get out of here.” She ignored him and ran back toward the main house.

  She called over her shoulder, “I’ll just be a minute.” Without making a sound, she opened the door and strode to the back offices. Not a floorboard creaked. If there was anyone in the house, they weren’t interested in revealing themselves. She made a beeline to Mustafa’s office. During her earlier visit, she’d noticed a laptop in a briefcase. Just as she remembered, it was still there beside the desk. She grabbed it and retraced her steps out of the house. She ran across the grounds to Aryeh and shoved the briefcase into the storage compartment on the bike. “I think Mustafa’s laptop might come in handy. Elon should be able to break the security code. I bet there’s a bonanza of secret Hezbollah business on it.”

  “A bit risky, mon amour, but you’re right. It could contain valuable information.” He mounted the motorcycle. “Can we go please?”

  She threw her leg up and straddled the bike behind him. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she held tight as he swerved in a tight circle. Aryeh gunned the motorcycle and tore down the road through the gates.

  The motorcycle was a rocket ship, fast and responsive. The late hour and empty roads were a gift. Arye gunned the motorcycle to full speed.

  Zara couldn’t help but wonder what Mustafa would think when he returned and found her gone and bodies everywhere. She probably should send him a text, but then she’d be tipping the team’s hand and risking their success.

  She tried to reason like the man she’d come to know. If Mustafa returned to his vineyard and found the body of Amir and the grotesque stage set he would assume Amir had gone rogue and she was his targeted victim. But wouldn’t he wonder whether Nasrallah had approved the plan? And how had she gotten away? If Nasrallah had okayed her assassination, who was to say that he wouldn’t okay Mustafa’s assassination. She told herself it didn’t matter because Mustafa was still at the missile facility awaiting Nasrallah’s arrival. She resigned herself to the likelihood he would be dead before the night’s end. Aryeh had told her there were to be no survivors. Mustafa would die as he should, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Beqaa Valley, Lebanon

  Cannabis Farm

  Mustafa paced the perimeter of the missile assembly plant. Without an up-close inspection of its fortification, the greenhouse appeared to be benign. He was followed by heavily armed men. He’d been waiting for Nasrallah’s arrival for an hour. His patience was wearing thin.

  For thirty minutes he’d watched the North Korean’s arguing over the loading of the ten-kiloton nuclear bomb into the cone of the missile. The bomb was relatively small in comparison to most nuclear warheads. But in the deployment of an electromagnetic pulse implosion, the size of the bomb was less important than the altitude at which the bomb detonated. An explosion at four-hundred kilometers in altitude would be sufficient to spread the resulting gamma rays far and wide before they hit the Earth’s atmosphere. The result would cripple all of Israel shutting down their ability to wage a responsive attack allowing Hezbollah to realize their dream of driving the Jews into the sea.

  He’d received a text from Nasrallah claiming the secretary general was on his way, but so far the leader of Hezbollah was a no-show. Mustafa’s thoughts strayed to Zara as he waited. The minutes that ticked away brought him closer to what he hoped would be a new lease on life for him. But his impatience to begin the countdown to the missile launch and disappear with Zara had him chomping at the bit. He paced and checked his phone every few minutes. It was more than a man in love could bear. He dialed the guardhouse at his vineyard. The phone rang and rang. A dark premonition crawled up his spine. He suppressed the panic. There were a million logical explanations for them not to answer. It took a supreme effort, but he waited five minutes and dialed again. The outcome remained the same. He listened to the endless ringing of the phone.

  Gruffly, he told his men to remain at the cannabis farm and await Nasrallah’s arrival. Overriding their protests, he took the keys to the Mercedes and left by himself. He had an AR-15 and a pistol, more than enough to defend himself.

  He drove with reckless abandon, barreling over ruts in the road and ignoring the screech of tires as he accelerated through tight turns. His driving grew more erratic as his worst fears seized him.

  The Mercedes bounced over the unpaved road that led to the entrance of the compound. His pulse pounded in his temples when he saw the gates open. He stopped the car and grabbed the AR-15, running to the guardhouse. Seeing the gruesome carnage of his murdered men made the bile rise in his throat like mercury in a thermometer exposed to heat. Unable to control his revulsion, he threw up. He wiped his face and ran toward the main house.

  With his gun raised, he entered. “Zara!” The house echoed back with silence.

  From the second story, he heard the creak of a floorboard. He ran up the stairs, his rifle aimed and ready to shoot. Aisha, his servant girl, stepped out of the shadows with her hands raised and trembling.

  He lowered the muzzle of the AR-15, and she ran to him. Tears ran down her cheeks as she pressed her face into his chest. “Sidi, a man, dressed in a military uniform attacked us. He slaughtered everyone, it—" she broke down sobbing.

  Mustafa rubbed her back. “Thanks be to Allah you are safe. Where is Zara?” His voice broke. Please Allah, let her be safe.

  The girl looked up at him with eyes brimming with tears. “I do not know, Sidi.”

  “Go back to the safe room and stay there until I call you. I need to find the French woman.”

  She ran to her hiding place, and he retraced his steps down the stairs. He walked the perimeter of the house and found another guard’s body. A light burning in the outbuilding where they stored tools and farm implements drew him. He kicked open the door with his foot, holding the assault rifle in the ready position. When he saw the body lying face down on the ground, he lowered the muzzle.

  With his foot, he flipped the body onto its back and stared. Amir. Swiftly he looked around and tried to make sense of what he saw. The bed like bales of hay, the camera, the cut zip-ties, and the blood on the ground baffled hi
m. When it finally dawned what must have occurred his stomach knotted. Zara couldn’t have killed Amir without help.

  He inspected the body more closely and could see the blue, black bruises inflicted by punches and Amir’s broken nose. A bullet had passed through Amir’s chest. He didn’t pretend to care about the ugly brute’s well-deserved fate.

  Her rescuer had to be Mossad, which meant they were here in the Beqaa. But why? Do they know about the missile and the planned EMP implosion?

  His thoughts were running wild. Had Nasrallah ordered the hit? Wait. Was I duped? It was like putting the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle in place. Nasrallah wasn’t coming, he never was. Amir had lured him away so he could get to Zara and Nasrallah had cooperated by texting him and keeping him at the cannabis farm. But who rescued her and what was he doing in the Beqaa Valley? Unless?

  Mustafa ran back to the house and yelled up to Aisha, “Go home to your family. You are safe.” Then he ran from the house and tore down the road to the Mercedes. With his lungs bursting, he spun the car around reversing direction. With tires squealing he headed to the main road, back to the cannabis farm. There wasn’t a minute to waste. Mossad knew about the missile and the planned EMP attack. He had to stop them from destroying everything he’d planned, but mostly he had to find Zara. As much as he hated to admit it, she might have double-crossed him. He prayed he was wrong. The last thing he wanted to do was kill her, but if she betrayed him, he would.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Beqaa Valley

  1 A.M.

  The sound of the Kawasaki’s arrival brought Cyrus and the rest of the team outside. Everyone had been on edge awaiting Aryeh’s return. Their relief was visible when he and Zara pulled in.

  “What the hell took you so long?” asked, Cyrus.

  Lithe as a gazelle, Zara dismounted, removed her helmet and shook out her hair. Aryeh cut the engine and swung his leg off the bike. He lowered the kickstand and removed his helmet.

  “I ran into an unexpected problem.”

  Cyrus’s gaze swept from Aryeh to Zara. “Man, that problem must have packed one hell of a punch. Looking at the two of you I’m not sure who was the winner.”

  “Trust me,” said Aryeh, “he ended up in a far worse place. Zara made sure he’ll be dancing with the devil in Hell from here on in.”

  All eyes turned to Zara. “Mon amour, I only did what you’ve done for me a thousand times.”

  Yitzak furrowed his brows. “Who did this?”

  Aryeh turned to Cyrus. “You owe Agent Zayani a debt of gratitude.”

  Cyrus laughed. “Me? It’s your ass she saved.”

  Aryeh nodded, a big grin spreading across his face. “I do, but she avenged someone near and dear to your heart.”

  “Care to enlighten me as to what you’re talking about?”

  “She put a bullet through Amir Haddad, the man who blew up the bus in Tel Aviv, the man who nearly put an end to Layla and Cerise. Yeah, I’d say she’s the one you should be thanking.”

  Cyrus stared at Aryeh and then fixed his gaze on Zara. “You took that son of a bitch out?”

  Zara smiled and curtsied. “It was my pleasure, Cyrus. One less monster is walking the Earth tonight.”

  He would have loved to be the one who pulled the trigger, but it didn’t matter. Aryeh was right. The news of Amir’s death was music to his ears. He took Zara’s hand and held it tight between his. “Thank you. I welcome you to take your place among us as part of the team.”

  She smiled. “So what’s next, boss?”

  He released Zara’s hand, his gaze shifting to each member of the team. “It’s time for us to do what we came here to do.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s wrap this up.”

  Like a gang of outlaws, they rode from the farm, three motorcycles in front of the van and two behind. Inside the van, Elon navigated their course with a GPS system and communicated with them through their earpieces. The night was cool and quiet, but Ash had been spot on with his choices of transport and the alterations he’d made to them. They rode toward the cannabis farm, a small army in virtual silence.

  They’d chosen a hill on the outskirts of the cannabis farm with a commanding view of the facility. The farm, surrounded by a chain-link fence with coiled ribbons of barbed wire at the top would discourage most invaders. However, it presented no problem to Ash and Daniel. With wire cutters, they cut a hole in the fencing giving the team entry.

  Zara’s swollen face had affected her vision. Cyrus decided she’d be most useful guarding Elon and the mobile command center. It would keep her away from what he knew would be active combat. She’d already done more than her part.

  “I’d prefer sticking with Aryeh and the team and heading into the eye of the storm,” she protested.

  “Zara, protecting the mobile center is protecting our flanks. Without Elon communicating with the satellite and Tel Aviv, we’re goners. We both know you’re being here is better for everyone.” Cyrus stopped just short of ordering her to remain, but he’d gotten his point across, and reluctantly she agreed.

  One at a time the team members crawled through the gap in the fence, pushing their loaded backpacks and automatic weapons in front of them. They were all dressed in black and wore face camo to make their faces not look like faces. The warpaint provided a layer of invisibility.

  Moonlight streamed in and out of the cloud cover, but occasionally for what seemed an eternity, it lit the ground causing them to freeze in place.

  Inside the compound, they held to silence. Cyrus motioned his commands with hand signals. The team spread out. Unless it became necessary to talk, they would keep to radio silence. However, each member had a computer watch with which to communicate. The watch also had a tracking system that emitted location, heartbeat, and pulse of the wearer. If activated an alarm would send out signals leading to the wearer’s position. The devices also sent signals to Elon, who could track them in live time. All of this information simultaneously transmitted to Tel Aviv. Cyrus could easily imagine the Ramsad sitting on the edge of his seat, focused like a predator about to pounce on prey, listening to their heartbeats.

  Cyrus ran in a crouched position to the main gate of the compound. His infrared heat sensing goggles registered two guards in the gatehouse. His attention shifted back and forth to his watch as each member of the team’s position, condition, and their communications began to scroll in. Nira and Daniel, working from opposite sides of the building where the scientists, engineers, and Hezbollah soldiers slept, were planting plastic explosives. When the action started, the building would consume itself in a fiery inferno.

  His attention shifted, a car was barreling up the road toward the gatehouse. He texted, Speeding green Mercedes approaching guardhouse. Zara answered. Mustafa! He went to vineyard. Knows Amir is dead. Knows I’m gone. Knows Mossad is here. Operation about to be blown!

  »»•««

  Mustafa hit the brakes and stopped within an inch of the gate. One of the guards ran from the gatehouse and seeing him nodded to the guard inside; the gate swung open. “Sound the alarm for high alert,” Mustafa yelled. In an instant lights came on throughout the compound. The wheels of the Mercedes screeched as he pushed the gas pedal to the floor and raced toward the greenhouse where the missile waited ready for launch.

  He jumped out of the car and raised the AR-15 scope to his eye turning in a circle surveilling the area. He froze thinking he saw movement on the ground, but it was just a rabbit hopping in a frenzy to get away from the commotion.

  Determined to see his plan through, he ran past the armed guards at the greenhouse. “No one gets in here,” he shouted. He opened the steel doors and locked them behind him. The North Korean’s had finally loaded the payload earlier in the evening, and the missile was armed and ready. He’d been briefed on launching procedure and felt confident he could launch the missile. He was launching without coordination or confirmation from Nasrallah and the Mullahs in Iran. In all likelihood, Iran would scrub their attack agains
t the United States because of retaliation from the superpower. Mustafa had never believed Iran would follow through anyway. It would be easy for the Mullahs to deny culpability with Hezbollah and let their surrogates do the dirty work. But Mustafa wasn’t interested in Iran or what they would or wouldn’t do. He was focused on only one thing, launching the missile and finding Zara. Without hesitating, he entered the codes to enable the launch.

  He heard a huge explosion from outside. Mossad.

  He activated the control panel, and it lit up indicating all systems were a go. He pressed the button opening the electric roof above the missile. It was like standing over a pot and waiting for the water to come to boil, it seemed to be moving in slow motion. Ignoring the amplification of gunfire outside, his finger hovered over the launch button. Finally the roof was open. He looked up into the night sky and for a moment hesitated. Was he unleashing Armageddon or freeing the Muslim world from its greatest threat, Israel? Taking a deep breath, he pressed down and felt the Earth tremble as the boosters fired.

  »»•««

  Cyrus ran after the Mercedes that sped toward the greenhouse. He made it about a hundred yards when the dormitory building exploded. Concrete, brick, and debris rained down forcing him to take cover. With the explosion, the team’s silence ended. He could hear Aryeh calmly ordering everyone to check in. Nira shouted above a barrage of gunfire. “Daniel and I have taken cover fifty yards east of what was the dormitories behind some tractors. In a gun battle with about thirty combatants. We could use back up.”

  “Roger. Yitzak, Ben, and Ash, did you hear? Over.”

  “Read you clear,” Ash answered. “We’re on our way. Roger.”

  That left him and Aryeh. “Aryeh meet me at the greenhouse. Mustafa is on his way there. We have to stop him before he launches that damn missile. Over.”

  “Roger. On my way. Over.”

  Cyrus shook off the dirt from the explosion that had settled on him and began running to the farthest building out, the greenhouse. His heart pounded in his chest and adrenaline surged through his veins as he zigzagged avoiding bullets that hit the dirt around him with a dull thud. He ran returning fire. Huffing and puffing he made it to within fifty feet of the heavy steel doors of the greenhouse when he began to take heavy fire. He rolled in the dirt avoiding a steady barrage of bullets that kicked the dirt up around him. Before he could return fire he saw the two men firing at him drop. Aryeh. Getting up he ran and threw his weight against the doors, but they didn’t budge. Taking a quick glance around he saw Aryeh barreling toward him.