Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  "Where the fuck have you been?"

  I guess anyone with commonsense would have prepared for the Dragon Lady, but it's a strange thing; when you've been an inch away from being machine-gunned by a vengeful and savage horde, commonsense flies out the window. You have other things on your mind than pacifying the resident CIA psychopath. I swallowed my retort and tried to be nice, even though Manuel's idea to kill her looked mighty attractive right then.

  "We got a lead, a last minute thing, so we thought we'd check it out."

  "And?"

  Niall stepped forward and explained in the calm, reasoned tones of a priest what had transpired. I understood how much he was affected by the deaths of the fighters. There was an odd note to his voice, betraying the agony he felt at the bloodshed he'd caused; even though they were our enemy, and they were about to kill us. But they were still human beings, and I struggled to imagine what was going on inside his mind after he'd thrown that briefcase. The warrior inside was battling the priest for control of his conscience, and the priest was starting to get on top. Winter didn't seem to notice.

  "Did you get him? Was he there?"

  I shook my head. "There was no sign of him. It looked as if they lured us into a trap."

  "And my truck?"

  No sign of any concern about whether we'd been injured. Just worried about filling in a form for missing Agency property, 'her' truck.

  "Destroyed in the blast."

  She nodded. "You went out without clearing it with me, lost our truck, and missed the target entirely. A total fuck up, or is there something I've missed?"

  I met her gaze. "It was worth a try. That's all I can say," I ended lamely, "By the way, Isra went inside the mosque to scout around, and there's no sign of him."

  "Was he wearing that ridiculous Islamic veil?"

  "Yup, he was in disguise."

  She snorted. "In that case, the little queer will be okay. Not that I give a shit. What's next?"

  How about I break that pretty face? See how it feels to be on the receiving end.

  "I don't know. We're looking into it."

  She stared around at the three of us a few moments, then stalked out and slammed the door. I could have been concerned about where she was going in the early hours of the morning. Aswan could be a dangerous place, especially for a female Westerner. But I wasn't, I was just glad to see her go. We all were. We'd only be concerned when she came back.

  The noise of the door banging shut awoke Turner, and he stared at us as if we were strangers. Without a word, he strode to the bathroom, and we heard water running as he doused his face. When he returned, he was almost fully awake. He looked at me.

  "Anything happen while I was asleep?"

  "Nothing important."

  I gave him a quick rundown on our brief action at the mosque, and he whistled.

  "You were lucky to get away, damned lucky. Where's Winter?"

  "Probably talking to her bosses, plotting our downfall."

  "It sounds like you don't trust her."

  He was a quick learner. "My friend," Manuel responded, "the only thing we trust Winter to do is screw us."

  "Yeah, she's good at that. It sounds to me like you could do with some extra help."

  I looked at him suspiciously. "Go on."

  "You know what I do?"

  "At a rough guess, I'd say you traffic drugs, weapons, and people."

  He nodded slowly. "Well, yeah, that's not too wide of the mark. In my business, I make contacts and meet people who can be useful."

  I glanced at Niall and Manuel. It was true. We'd been lucky tonight, and the next time we may not get away so easily. The problem was, having to trust him.

  "How does that help us? We thought she paid the bills."

  He laughed. "It's my organization that keeps her going, not the other way round. I have a network of people in Cairo, Alexandria, and here in Aswan. Cops, prostitutes, pimps, bartenders, street kids, that kind of thing. I pay them to give me information about when a raid is going down, or when a customer needs something moved. You're right; weapons, drugs, and people. It means I have a lot of ears close to the ground. I can put the word around about this Mullah Mukhtar if you want."

  "Why haven't you done that already?"

  He chuckled. "I was waiting for the right moment, and here, everything is negotiable, and information is a valuable commodity."

  "What do you want?"

  In places like Egypt, and a dozen other shitholes around the Mideast, there's always a price. It was like an underwritten law; nothing gets nothing. He sucked in a breath and dug his hands in his pockets. He looked across at the bottle next to where he'd been sitting but ignored it. Something told me he'd been leading up to this ever since we got to Egypt.

  "I want a man dead."

  "Who is he?"

  I could see Niall shaking his head. We were killers, which much was true, but we worked for the American military or the CIA. Our kills were approved through the chain of government command. Becoming private hit men was not something any of us would consider. To the contrary, the kind of people we killed were often hit men, of one kind or another. But I waited for Turner to answer.

  "It's a guy who started a rival organization to my own here in Aswan. He's an Afghan, an Al Qaeda operative, but he came to Egypt to help out the Muslim Brotherhood. The story was he wanted to defend the cause of Islam. It was all a crock of shit. He wanted to make money and saw it as a good opportunity. Things got too hot for him when they won the election and the Brotherhood went legit. He deserted them and went into business, similar to what I do. Not that I've anything against competition, except this guy doesn't play by the rules. He's been visiting my customers and threatening to kill them if they continue to deal with my outfit. He's a nasty piece of work, with a very graphic way of murdering his business rivals. He cuts off their heads and displays them on a pole. Kind of a lesson to others to toe the line."

  A shiver ran through me. It all sounded very familiar, too familiar.

  "Ghani Khan." It was Niall who spoke. He murmured the name almost as if it held some evil magic of its own. Maybe he was right. Back in the old days, Khan had beaten us. He was the only man who got away, the one target we'd missed. Not only that, the operation to kill him had resulted in a propaganda victory that Al Qaeda milked for a long time afterward. He was a ghost. Except now, the specter of Ghani Khan had materialized back in the city.

  Turner nodded. "That's the guy. You know him?"

  "We do. You have his whereabouts?"

  He hesitated for a few moments. "Not exactly, but I could locate him if you want to take this on. I'd regard it as a personal favor.”

  We looked at each other again. There wasn’t much to discuss. We had unfinished business with Khan. If we popped him, and it bought us the intel to lead us to Mullah Mukhtar, what could we lose? It would tie up a whole lot of loose ends.

  “If we do this, are you sure you can locate Mullah Mukhtar?”

  He smiled. “For the right money, and if you ask the right questions, you can find out anything in this town. I can get you the location of the Tomb of Mohammed if you want."

  "We'll give that a miss. Why not sell this intel to CIA?”

  He laughed. “What for? I have a good thing going with the Agency, and they pay me well. I let them have a little at a time. It's best for business. Besides, Mukhtar is real bad news. I’d sooner have nothing to do with that guy. He’ll find out sooner or later who’s snooping around after him, and he'll unleash hell when he finds out who it is. I’d sooner not take the risk, but in return for eliminating Ghani Khan, it’s worth it.”

  The crazy politics of Egypt; the Muslim Brotherhood, Al Qaeda, the Army, not to mention Mullah Mukhtar's conspiracy with General Sadat. Then there were the democrats, under Mohamed El-Baradei, as well as Al Qaeda to throw into the mix, along with CIA, the Syrians, and god alone knows who else. And they were all shooting at each other. It was small wonder a once wealthy country was plunging into p
overty and despair.

  When the smoke cleared, there was no doubt it would go back the way it had once been, cruel, primitive, and ruled by an Islamic dictator. There was little doubt about our decision, even Niall understood the consequences if we missed killing Mukhtar. They gave me a slight nod, and I turned back to Turner. “You have a deal. Where do we find Khan?”

  “First, there are a couple of ground rules," he replied, "Winter Moss. Keep her out of this. I'll explain when I think the time is right."

  There was no need for him to explain. Bringing the beautiful CIA operative into the mix was like stirring strychnine into your soup.

  "Agreed. What else?"

  "When you nail him, I want his body displayed in public. You know what this place is like. You have to make a point, this honor crap, that kind of thing. He's pulled a few fast ones on me in the past, so I want people to know what happens if they try to screw with me."

  I thought of the Americans beheaded by Ghani Khan. It was a condition I could live with. "We'll do our best, but it's not always possible to predict what you can and can't do when you're under fire."

  He nodded, so it seemed we had a deal. But there was another problem. Niall Quinn was biting his lip with anxiety, and I understood what he was thinking, those guys outside the mosque. I stared at him.

  "Anything I can do?"

  "This isn't what I signed on for. I'd like to see him dead as much as any of us, but when does the killing stop? Those people outside the mosque, now Ghani Khan; sure, they're the enemy, but I'm a priest. I don't know if I can keep going..."

  Turner's head whipped around. "You're not serious?"

  He didn't answer, so I explained. "He's very serious. He took on this gig to help his buddies and raise some cash to stop his church being condemned."

  The pilot shook his head in disbelief. "If that don't beat all! The killer priest."

  Niall glared at him. His face drained of blood, and I hurried to calm the situation.

  "Look, it's just a means to an end. The end result is to get Mukhtar. It's what we signed up for."

  "It's not what I understood. I've forfeited my immortal soul, Schaeffer, in return for what? A few timbers and roofing tiles!"

  "There's also the matter of justice for Brad Olsen," Manuel reminded him quietly, "or didn't he mean anything to you?"

  "That's not fair. We were buddies. We went through a lot together."

  As they were talking, I thought about just what I'd signed up for. Justice for Brad, sure, but it was more than that. There was also the little matter of a murder charge hanging over my head. On top of that, my life had been in a tailspin. I still wasn't sure what I wanted for the future, but I knew a little old-fashioned justice oiled the wheels. It was a feel-good factor, no question it had been good for me. My drinking habits had returned to sane levels, and for the first time in a long time, my head felt clear. If we pulled this off, it would be a win-win.

  I thought about what Smith had said, something to do with rehabilitation. Maybe they could put assassination on the agenda at the rehab clinics. But Niall was different. I looked at his agonized, guilt stricken expression and felt sympathy.

  "Manuel and I can handle this," I offered, "Why don't you sit it out? You can stay here and collate the intel from Turner while we pop this Khan guy. Then we go after our friend the Mad Mullah, finish him, and go home."

  He was already shaking his head. "That won't work. I've never sat out an operation in my life, and I'm not starting now. I just wish…" he shrugged.

  Manuel and I looked at each other. Sometimes there was no need for words. We all just wished for something, and we rarely got it. It was like wishing for an end to world poverty and hunger. Noble as hell, but it didn't put loaves of bread on the table.

  It took Major Turner twenty-four hours to confirm the current whereabouts of Ghani Khan. He was on his way to a business meeting outside Luxor. Currently, he was traveling the long highway that followed the path of the River Nile from Aswan to the city of Luxor. Formerly the city of Thebes, it had a reputation as the greatest open-air museum in the world. The whole place was littered with antiquities, which was the reason Khan was making his base of operations in Luxor.

  "One of his sidelines is smuggling artifacts, and he's made a fortune," Turner explained, "He owns a big spread somewhere outside the city. The word is it has a big house and a private airstrip, everything the enterprising trafficker could need. His business is growing fast, especially with this trouble that's hit Egypt. It's a golden opportunity to make money. If he isn't stopped soon, he'll be too powerful to reach."

  "You know where it is, this place he owns?"

  "No, but he heads east when he reaches Luxor, so I reckon it may be possible to take him on the road. Following him would be impossible. It's flat, open desert."

  We all remembered Ghani Khan and his peculiar brand of butchery. If we met up with him, we'd make certain his expansion plans would end. It was a pleasant prospect, and some justice for the soldiers he'd murdered.

  We cleaned and oiled our weapons while we talked about the coming action against Khan. It was a loose end from the old days we were anxious to tie up. I was worried about Isra. After the trouble at the mosque, there'd been no sign of him. He finally turned up at in the evening, still clad in his robe and veil, and the very image of an Egyptian Muslim woman. As he stripped off the black garments, he was hissing and swearing.

  "Those bastards," he ranted, "You know what they made me do? After the explosion, they herded the women out, and we were taken to shelter in a school nearby, actually a Madrassa. All through the morning, the fighters drifted in. They were pretty shaken up after that bomb exploded and killed so many of them. They needed the women to patch up their wounds, and they made it clear they needed something to calm their nerves. Because we were in the same room as the men, we couldn't remove our veils, so they made us give them a hand job instead." He shuddered as he thought about it, "It was horrible."

  We were surprised at his anger. After all, Isra worked as a prostitute, masquerading as a woman, and servicing men with certain preferences.

  "What was the problem?" I asked him, "I mean; it's not as if you don't… you know."

  He whirled on me in fury, stamping his booted foot and pushing a stray lock of hair back in place. "There's a big difference! The fuckers didn't pay me! What do they think I am, some kind of cheap whore?"

  I fought to keep my face straight. "No, of course not. It must've been terrible."

  He glared at me in suspicion. "It was. Now I need a bath, and fix my hair and make up."

  "Go ahead, the bathroom is free."

  He emerged after half an hour, looking more presentable. Turner had been back to retrieve some documents from his aircraft, and he returned with an update on Khan, including his ETA at Luxor. Isra overheard and petulantly insisted on coming with us.

  "I know Luxor. My boyfriend took me there when we first came to Egypt. I can do a lot to help you."

  I thought rapidly. Without doubt, a veiled woman could be useful. They drifted in and out of places almost like a fixture, unnoticed and unvalued. Intelligence is everything, so I agreed.

  "Okay, you're in. When we finish this job, we'll cut you in for a share."

  Niall and Manuel looked up, and they both shrugged and smiled. Isra caught the meaning. He was no fool. In work of this nature, there was the real possibility of not being around to collect your pay packet.

  We had to work out how to lose Winter Moss, but it was easier said than done. She turned up while we were discussing the operation with Turner and overheard enough to know what we planned. She ranted and raved, cursed and threatened us with everything, from withholding our pay up to, and including, a very nasty death. In the end, she accepted the deal we'd made, but with one condition.

  "I'm coming with you, Schaeffer. Don't try and stop me. I want to keep an eye on you bastards."

  I felt like the Pied Piper. First Isra and now Winter; they all wanted a slice
of the action, so we had to take them in tow. Her beautiful, pretty face was screwed up in anger and determination. She almost looked ugly. Almost. I looked at Manuel and Niall, and they both bowed to the inevitable. As did Turner, who'd been watching her foulmouthed diatribe with a calm expression that suggested he'd seen it all before. Isra flounced into the bathroom to do yet another job on his make up. To say he didn't like Winter was an understatement. I was certain he kept a Winter Moss doll in his kit to stick pins into. It brought my mind back to the job in hand. We still had a major problem to get over.

  "Luxor is several hundred miles from Aswan. If he's only there for a meeting, he could have been and gone by the time we arrive."

  Turner shook his head. "There's an airport at Luxor. I keep an operational base there. We'll fly down and get there first. We can be waiting for him when he arrives."

  I looked at him. "Not the Antonov again?"

  He looked hurt. "She's a damned good aircraft. She's done so many miles in her lifetime I've almost lost count, and even after a crash, she's always back in the air in no time."

  "That's what worries me."

  * * *

  Aswan International Airport, Egypt

  We held our breath as the Russian built museum piece clawed its way into the air. It was a short journey to Luxor, and we arrived in the early hours, just before dawn. As the Antonov smacked down on the tarmac, we could see the airport buildings lit up by the overhead security lights. Turner taxied to a stand outside a new prefabricated hangar. The doors were open, and inside there was a single-engine high wing monoplane. He saw the direction of my gaze.

  "She's a beauty, isn't she? A real classic, a Cessna 190. She carries four passengers or a useful amount of cargo, so it comes in handy for certain kinds of work."

  He meant carrying drugs or antiquities across the border, when it could fly at treetop height without being picked up on Egyptian radar. Back in the US, it would have been a prized vintage aircraft used for leisure purposes. In this country, it was the valued tool of a smuggler.