Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  “You’ve given up?” Greg asked, “You think he’s beaten us?”

  “I’m saving my energy for when we meet him. We might be able to work something out, but there’s no use wasting our time trying to get out of here. It’s impossible.”

  Greg looked dubious and paced around the room. “I’m thinking,” he said when Stoner threw him an irritated look.

  Archer lay on the floor, watching both men. Like Stoner, he was waiting. Conserving his strength. Until the opportunity came to protect the men he loved, Blum, his handler, and Stoner, his friend. After a couple of hours, two loaves of bread fell through the hole in the roof, followed by a plastic bottle of water. No one appeared, and no one spoke to them. They shared out the food and water, and gave some to Archer. Stoner ate the bread, drank some of the water, and again began to stretch his muscles.

  They’ve given us food and water, so they aren’t about to kill us. A positive sign that suggests Ivan will be along soon. That’ll be the time to work out how to get out of this place.

  They waited through the rest of the day until the tiny patch of sky visible through the hole began to darken. Eventually, they heard the sound of men talking above, and someone pushed a ladder down.

  “Climb up, and be careful not to make any sudden moves.” It was Bukharin’s voice.

  “You go first. I’ll pass up the dog,” Stoner said to Blum.

  Greg nodded, climbed the first few rungs, and then took hold of Archer. It was a difficult balancing act, and Stoner stood behind him to make sure he didn’t topple. When they reached the top, he started up. The same men waited for them, rifles leveled in case they had any ideas about making a run for it. Archer growled, sensing the danger, but Greg quieted him.

  Bukharin stared at them, his eyes chilled. “You will come with me.”

  “We’re going to see Ivan?”

  A pause. “Yes, he said he will see you now, and make a decision about whether he will allow you to leave.”

  “Good of him.”

  The man looked at Stoner. “You may change your mind after you’ve seen him. Many people have regretted trying to locate Ivan.”

  At the side of the clearing was a narrow opening into a cave system, and Bukharin led the way inside. Four guards followed, and each of them looked anxious to test their shiny assault rifles on the prisoners. They threaded through the labyrinth of passages until they were deep inside the rock. They stopped when they came to a steel door. The design and paintwork looked like it was from an old Soviet era aircraft, doubtless one that had crashed. Soviet aircraft crashed with dismal regularity. Bukharin knocked, and a voice shouted, “Come.”

  Stoner was astonished. It was the same man who’d come to Ma Kelly’s, the man who gave him the tip about the grave marker. Slim, smooth, clean shaven, and wearing a crumpled linen suit over a polo neck sweater. On top he sported a thick sheepskin coat. He was sitting behind a carved mahogany desk, almost a copy of the Resolute desk in the White House Oval Office.

  How the hell did they manage to get it to this place?

  Ivan looked up as they entered.

  “Welcome to my home.” The accent was as he remembered. Thick. Russian. Cold.

  “So you’re Ivan the Terrible.”

  He smiled, but only with his lips. The eyes were unchanged, as chilly as a snow-covered mountain peak. “Some call me by that name, yes.” He climbed to his feet and held out his hand, “My name is Ivan Vasilyevich.”

  Stoner slowly held out his hand and shook. “Now I guess you’re gonna tell me why you came to me in Jalalabad with that story about the grave marker.”

  “It was no story, as you have confirmed yourself. I assume you’ve come here to ask for my help to deal with this Mullah, this Khan.”

  “Nope, I deal with my own problems. This is something else.”

  He explained about the missing gold shipment from Lena Stori’s warehouse.

  “She thinks I stole it?”

  “She thinks you’re the only man with the organization and resources to steal it, then transport it out of the country and sell it. She wants it back.”

  Ivan gave him a polite smile. “She sent two men and a dog to recover a shipment of gold from one of the most feared warlords in the region? That sounds naïve. Are you that stupid, Stoner?”

  “Hear me out. There’re others will come after us if we disappear. Maybe you don’t know yet, but Bob Crawford and his boys are guarding her place, keeping an eye on things. If we don’t come back, they’ll know what happened. I wouldn’t upset Black Bob, not if I were you.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Bob Crawford, yes, I know of him. I may consider killing him as well.”

  “You could try, but I wouldn’t advise it. Thing is, Ivan, people like him and me. We have contacts, connections. We guard each other’s backs, in case some conniving, thieving, sumbitch Russian takes it on himself to do something sneaky.”

  “Crawford is watching your back? Why would he do that? I don’t believe you. It’s not the way you people work. He's a moneyman, no more. Like you.”

  Stoner nodded. “You’re right. He isn’t doing it for nothing.”

  Ivan nodded. “Now I believe you. Then again, he doesn’t even know how to find me, so why should I fear him?”

  “He'll find us,” Stoner asserted grimly.

  “Despite the loss of your tracking device?”

  “That won’t stop him.”

  “In that case, it’s fortunate I don’t plan to kill you. As it happens, Mr. Stoner, I have a use for you.”

  “It’s Stoner.”

  “Very well. Stoner, our interests coincide. I have the same aims as you. That’s the reason I wanted you here. However, it’s not Khan that concerns me. The Shia cleric, Mazari, it would suit me if he were to, how can I put it? Disappear.”

  “You want him dead.”

  He gave Stoner a serious look. “Exactly. He and his people are a nuisance to me and my organization, and our paths frequently cross. I can’t do the job myself. The people in the region would soon learn it was me and cause me even more trouble. That’s why I tipped you off. I wanted you to come here and do the job for me. And here you are.”

  “So he’s a business rival, huh?”

  “Something like that."

  "I came here for Khan."

  "Things have changed, my friend. Mullah Khan and I have agreed to resolve our differences. I’m going to release you, Stoner, you and your friend with the dog. Return to Panjab and kill Ali Mazari.”

  “I came for Khan.”

  A sigh. “I told you; things have changed. Besides, the woman in Panjab, Lena Stori, her argument is with Ali Mazari, is it not?”

  “It’s with every religious loony in the city, Mazari, Khan, you name it.”

  “Yet you have agreed to help her. Without your help, they’ll kill her. That means dealing with Mazari, he’s the biggest threat. I’ll even send a couple of my men to help. They have good local knowledge. You’ll find them valuable when you’re planning your attack.”

  “We don’t need any help. He’s just one man.”

  Ivan chuckled. “Yes, he’s one man, backed by an army of fanatical fighters. You've heard of Hezbe Wahdat? They're even worse than Khan's killers. You obviously don’t know much about the setup in Panjab.”

  “No, we don’t. We only just got here, and in that time, we’ve been attacked, shot at, kidnapped, and threatened with death.”

  “Not much of a welcome.”

  “No. Tell me about Mazari.”

  He inclined his head. “Very well. Let me clear up one issue before I start. I did not steal Lena Stori’s gold. I may have been tempted if I’d known about it, but I didn’t. This is all news to me.”

  “If you didn’t steal it, who did?”

  He stared back at Stoner. “I have no idea. You can believe me or not. It makes no difference. I didn’t steal it. I don’t have it, and I have no idea who does.”

  “Okay, let’s say I believe you, for now. What
about Mazari?”

  The Russian gave him a sketch of Imam Mazari's attempts to establish a trans-Afghanistan trafficking organization. The intention was to fund both his political ambitions and his desire for a millionaire lifestyle. "He's in direct competition to Mullah Khan, and that doesn't suit my business model at all. Too many fights, too many killings, too much rivalry, bad for business."

  Stoner nodded. "I get it. Tell me about Khan."

  Ivan took a deep breath and stared into space for a few moments. “Mullah Mahmoud ‘Death March’ Khan, he’s a real piece of work. As a local Taliban commander, he ran the insurgency when America came here and started to drive them from power. When he realized which way the wind was blowing, he turned his attentions to the local Sunni community. The idea was to consolidate his power base by wiping out his rivals. When he started, he was the fourth most powerful Mullah in the region. Now he’s number one.”

  “I don’t need to ask what happened to the other three.”

  “No, you don’t. Khan used his men to round up anyone who opposed him and marched them to their deaths. Something else about our friendly Mullah, he always surrounds himself with plenty of protection. You go after him, and you need to watch your back. Plenty of people have tried, and they generally find he’s one step ahead of them. However, earlier today I met with Khan, and we agreed to bury the hatchet, so to speak. He's a nasty motherfucker, no question, but he's my motherfucker. We have certain, agreements, shall I say, about those areas where our interests overlap. Forget him for now. Things will change. They always do. Then he's yours."

  Stoner nodded. “I’ll bear it in mind. Maybe one of them took the gold, Khan or the other guy, Imam Mazari. I’ll ask them. Anything else I need to know?”

  He kept his demeanor calm. Inside, he was already working out how to do what he came here to do. Kill Khan, regardless of what this renegade Russian wanted.

  In the meantime, I’ll go along with him. I promised to help Lena, and that means a different priority target. Mazari. Khan will come later.

  “The two guys I’m sending back with you, Jamal al-Jamal and Akram Latif, you can trust them.” He saw Stoner’s skeptical gaze, “No, I mean it. It’s not in my interest for you to screw this one up with Mazari, and I’ll make sure Akram can contact me should you need more help. Jamal, the other guy, is handy with a gun, but he doesn’t talk.”

  “He’s a mute? Poor bastard, this country isn’t big on treating birth defects.”

  “It wasn’t a birth defect. An al Qaeda squad came through a few years back and picked on him for some reason. Probably he looked like a guy they wanted to punish. They ripped out his tongue. He was lucky to survive.”

  “Got it. Ivan, if it’s all the same to you, we need to get back. Time’s a wasting and those bastards are likely to be cooking up more mischief for Lena Stori. While they’re looking at her, the chances are we can hit them before they even know we’re back in town.”

  “Amen to that,” Ivan said, “Believe me, this Ali Mazari is trickier than a barrel of snakes. Watch your back.”

  “Always do.”

  Ivan walked with them to the Wrangler, and two men fell in alongside them. He introduced them as Al-Jamal and Latif. They were as villainous a pair as he’d ever seen, patched and threadbare robes, black turbans, and skin as scarred and damaged as the clothes. Their weapons were also well worn, although they carried the sheen of constant use. The two bandits climbed into the rear of the vehicle, and immediately the interior stank of unwashed bodies and rancid goat meat. Archer poked his nose through the passenger door, whined, and jumped onto the floor by the passenger seat to lay next to Greg. Evidently, he was a dog with certain hygiene standards.

  Ivan went to speak as they were about to leave, and Stoner cracked the window open and waited.

  “You may run into trouble when you get back. More than you can handle.”

  “It’s possible,” he grunted, although he doubted it.

  “In the last resort, go to Hamid’s Auto Spares store in the center of town. He’ll get a message to me if you need my help. He’s a good guy. We go back a long way.”

  “Auto spares, like a headlamp bulb for the Wrangler?”

  “He doesn’t sell auto spares. That was his father. He moved on to dealing used machine parts.”

  “What kind of machine parts?”

  “The kind that fit into assault rifles, pistols, and machine guns. There’s a big market for that kind of stuff.”

  “I can imagine. Okay, if we need anything, we’ll go see Hamid.”

  “His name’s not Hamid. That was the previous owner. He sold the store to another guy. The son runs it now, his name’s Hamed.”

  He missed it at first, and then picked it up. “Hamed, not Hamid. Right.”

  Ivan waved a farewell as they drove away, and Stoner began the long and precarious drive back to Panjab, driving through the Afghan night. It was cold, bitterly cold. They had no choice but to keep the windows lowered in order to escape the stench from the back. Neither of the Afghans spoke during the journey. They were evidently used to the cold. Probably used to others taking precautions against their bodily stench.

  As they crested a rise, the lights of the city came into view. Stoner glanced at Greg.

  “We could go straight in and deal with this character now, before he knows we're around.”

  "You mean Mazari."

  "No, Khan."

  "Ivan won't like that," Akram snarled.

  "Fuck Ivan."

  “He’ll kill you.” The Afghan sounded relaxed about their deaths.

  Greg intervened. “First we need to go to Lena's place. Who knows what’s happened since we left early this morning. Besides, we need to make sure Bob and his men are okay.”

  He finally nodded. “Lena’s place it is.”

  From the back, Akram murmured, “Forget Khan. You kill him, you die.”

  Stoner didn’t reply. He drove past the town, and it looked quiet. Two kilometers outside, they neared the transport company compound. The lights of the house were blazing, as well as the security lights in the transport yard. He checked the time on the dashboard clock. Zero one thirty. It could only mean trouble. They were expecting an attack.

  “Now we know,” Greg murmured, "They've got trouble." Archer growled in agreement.

  A hail of machine-gun bullets whistled past the hood, and Stoner jerked on the wheel to swerve away from the line of travel. At the same time, he stamped down on the gas pedal, and the vehicle reared up on two wheels. They passed the shadowy figure of a man crouched at the roadside with something long and narrow on his shoulder. A missile.

  “They’re under siege.” He shouted to the men in the rear, "Jamal, Akram, our men don’t know who you are. Stay close to us. As soon as we’re through the gate, we’ll jump out of the vehicle and get undercover fast. You understand? And watch out for RPGs.”

  “We understand,” Akram replied. His accent was thick, almost as thick as his stench, “We know RPGs from the war, and we know what they can do.”

  Jamal gurgled, “Ugg.”

  They drove through the gate and slewed to a stop in the shelter of the high wall surrounding the yard. It wouldn’t stop an RPG, but at least they were out of sight of the enemy. He grabbed his M4 A1 and dived through the door, shouting, “Out, out!”

  They’d done it before, and Greg was already running, with the two Afghans close behind. Someone shouted from nearby, “Over here, over here. For chrissakes get inside. These guys are serious.”

  In the glare of the lights, Stoner saw Black Bob’s face appear in an open first floor window and then disappear. He charged toward it and dived through, the other three men and the dog were close behind.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Bastards came in force. They were all over us. I guess revenge for you killing those men. We’re surrounded.”

  “We got in,” he protested.

  “Sure you did. That’s what they wanted. You’ll find getting
out is something else. We’re trapped, Stoner. We’re sitting here waiting to die.”

  Chapter Five

  Khan ended the call and called for Imam Mazari to join him. “We have the mercenaries trapped inside the compound, but my men do not have sufficient forces to defeat them. Your Hezbe Wahdat fighters should go directly there to link up with my men. They need support, and they need it now.”

  The Imam nodded. “They are due to arrive here from Kabul any moment, but nothing can be done until I’ve spoken to them.”

  “Spoken to them about what?” Khan gazed at him with suspicion.

  “It’s complicated.”

  Mazari knew his reply was lame, but he couldn’t tell him about the nature of the arrangement he’d made with the Hezbe Wahdat fighters. His Shiite devotees were weak in most parts of Afghanistan. The plan was for Mahmoud Khan’s Sunni fighters, most of them former Taliban, to bear the brunt of the fighting. They would also bear the brunt of the casualties.

  When Mazari had gained the resources of Stori Transport, they would at last be in a dominant position in Panjab. With many of Khan's fighters dead, his position would be weakened, which meant he’d be vulnerable. It would be simple for the Shiites to finally smash the Sunni blasphemers and distribute their wealth amongst themselves.

  It also meant Mazari’s debt to the Kabul-based Hezbe Wahdat would be settled. The Imam shuddered as he recalled his last conversation with the hard-faced commanders in Kabul. In return for sending men to Panjab, they wanted success. Guaranteed. They wanted a national and international conduit for transporting the valuable shipments of opium. Guaranteed. He’d given them those guarantees. There was only one price for failure, death. A very bloody and gory death. Yet he was nearly there, almost in reach of giving them what he’d promised.