Book of the Dead

by Greig Beck

  “Get on the goddamned ground,” Tania hissed. Matt and Andy immediately dropped.

  Berry scurried to a craggy outcrop, and was down on one knee. He had his rifle to his eye and was using the scope to scan the flat plains out to the northwest.

  Abrams spoke softly into his field mic. “Talk to me, Berry.”

  “Movement; two o’clock – staying low now, dug in tight, but they’re there.” The man was cool as ice.

  “Shit,” Abrams whispered. They could win a skirmish against a few militants, but couldn’t afford to get pinned down. When reinforcements came, they wouldn’t be his own. And if there were more than a few dug in; they were in trouble right here, right now.

  Abrams clicked on his mic again. “Kovitz, bring the civs in close. Hartogg, secure the rear.”

  Matt, Andy, Tania belly-crawled to Abrams, and Hartogg stayed a few dozen feet back to turn and focus on the landscape behind them.

  “Clear,” was all the SEAL said.

  Thank God. We aren’t ringed yet, Abrams thought with relief. They had grenades; once Berry confirmed how many and where, they could turn them to dust.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got. Berry, give me a count.” He tried to project cool, but was anything but. He felt as if he had a lit stick of old-style dynamite in his hand, and the wick had just disappeared into the end. Nothing had happened, yet, which meant explosion imminent or nothing at all – either eventuality was possible.

  Abrams swallowed; it hurt, his mouth dust-dry. He felt the rising sun begin to sting the back of his neck. Taking too damn long, he thought.

  “Incoming!” Berry roared the word, and got down low as the RPG fizzed out of the desert, directly at him, and then over him, travelling at about six hundred feet per second.

  “Shit!” Abrams hugged his head. It was never like in the movies, where the rocket seemed to travel slowly – in real life once they kicked from the pipe, they were moving almost as fast as a bullet.

  The rocket-propelled grenade exploded in the desert, just a hundred feet past the SEAL. They all felt the heat and percussive blast wave: the plume was close enough to punish eardrums and sear skin.

  Berry was immediately up, putting rounds back at the launch position. Return fire spat from dozens of concealed positions at two o’clock, just as he had said.

  Another rocket sailed out and past them. They couldn’t shoot these things for shit…And thank God for that, Abrams thought. But they obviously had more weapons than sense, and time was on their side. Eventually they’d hit the bull’s eye.

  A couple of insurgents broke from the earth and sprinted toward Abrams’s position. Berry raised himself up and fired two rounds, both hit dead center and both men were blown backward. Immediately hundreds of rounds were launched toward Berry and their group.

  From behind, Hartogg spoke laconically into Abrams’s ear. “Got another nest, one out at four o’clock and the other making all the noise at two o’clock – reckon there’s about half a dozen shooters in each, not counting those two try-hards that Berry just sent to Hell.”

  “Got it.” Abrams held up his field glasses, and Hartogg spoke again.

  “I also reckon there’ll be more coming soon. Can’t stay here, boss. Just say the word.”

  “Yup.” Abrams exhaled. He knew what the man was asking – an assault – take them head-on now, before they got a lucky shot in, or their numbers grew. Berry and Hartogg would get close, and perhaps take them down. They both had M67 fragmentation grenades, but unlike the sniper’s nests, theirs weren’t rocket propelled – they could throw them a hundred feet, but closer was better for kill-confirm.

  Abrams grimaced, momentary indecision making the gears of his mind spin uselessly. Just then Berry kneeled up and fired again, short bursts to conserve ammunition. This time, total firepower was concentrated on him, and another rocket fizzed out from behind a small outcrop of low rock.

  “Incoming.” Berry threw himself down.

  Abrams also hugged the dirt, and watched as his worst fear was realized – Berry ceased to exist – his position was vaporized by a direct strike.

  Abrams pounded the dirt with his fist. “Fu-uuuck.” His seconds of indecision had meant a good man’s death.

  Bullets came at them like swarms of bees, and another rocket exploded a few feet out from Hartogg. There would be more rockets now, and if they tried to flee, they wouldn’t get a dozen feet.

  Abrams ground his teeth. Trying to wait them out was not an option – nightfall would spell their death, as then they’d also have to deal with the belly-crawlers coming at them over the dark sand.

  He looked back over his shoulder. Four sets of eyes looked to him, waiting for his next instruction – he had nothing.

  Can’t stay here, Hartogg had said. Take em head-on, now or never. He felt down for his grenades. This is gonna hurt, he thought, as he steeled himself for the suicidal assault.

  He looked up briefly to check the sniper’s position, and saw momentarily a rooster tail of sand and debris shooting up about half a mile out. It stopped, and he blinked, trying to determine what it had been. Maybe more reinforcements for their attackers, he thought with dismay. Abrams had surprise on his side for only a few more minutes.

  He opened his mic. “Hartogg, going in, on my word – looping assault, I’ll come in from the right flank, you the left on the four o’clock nest. Kovitz, prepare to give us cover from your position. Okay, people, let’s blow them back to hell.”

  “HUA,” Hartogg returned aggressively, sounding eager to avenge his SEAL buddy.

  Abrams sucked in a huge breath, and looked down at the ground for a second. He said a silent prayer, and then counted down.

  “Three, two, one…go.”

  He burst from his position, sprinting out in a loop, zigzagging as he came. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the huge form of Hartogg doing the same, the man moving at a speed beyond his own to take on the southern nest.

  The hundred yards seemed to take forever, but as he approached his target, there were no rockets or gunfire. When Abrams was within thirty feet of their enemies’ position, he saw someone dressed in dark fatigues, guns strapped down on his groin in a V-shape for fast draw, and a slim black blade in each hand.

  The figure – not a big guy, but wiry as heck, and faster than any human Abrams had ever seen in action – danced, spun, and kicked, slashing and stabbing at the snipers who one after the other fell around him. The desert fighters leaped at the lone figure, or raised guns, but the soldier was too quick for all of them, and soon they had all been cut down like wheat.

  Abrams slowed to a stop, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Hartogg joined him, his gun still at the ready.

  “Boss, southern nest is dead – all six.” He motioned to the dead snipers before them. “And now, so is this one. Who the fuck is this one-man hurricane?” He still had his gun up.

  “Don’t know yet, but I’m done with taking chances.” Abrams held his pistol in a two-handed grip. “Soldier, lower your weapons.”

  The black covered figure was barely breathing hard. Dark eyes were the only feature showing in the keffiyeh headdress.

  “Put…your weapons…on…the ground.” Abrams spoke through his teeth.

  The twin pools of dark stared for a moment, assessing Abrams and Hartogg, and then the guy leaned forward to wipe his bloody blades on the clothing of one of the dead.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake.” Abrams felt his patience burning away.

  “Boss, maybe he doesn’t speak English,” Hartogg added.

  Abrams shouted, “This is your last warning: put your hands in the air, or I will be forced to disarm you.” He felt Hartogg glance at him from the corner of his eyes. He didn’t want to shoot – just wanted the asshole to comply. What’s his problem? he wondered. “Drop…the…”

  The lone figure spun the blades and then slipped them back into hidden sheaths. He then held his hands out, palms open.

  “Don’t move.” Abra
ms advanced, followed by Hartogg from a slightly different angle. Abrams could still see little other than a pair of velvet-dark eyes. The assassin raised his arms, and stayed stock still, legs slightly apart. His eyes never left him for a second.

  Abrams came in close and reached out to pull the head-covering away.

  “Boss.” Hartogg’s voice carried a warning – too late.

  The figure exploded into action, grabbing Abrams’s wrist and gun, spinning him around, finger and thumb on each side of his windpipe, and using his body as a shield from Hartogg. One minute Abrams had felt in control, and then next he was disarmed, and now a hostage.

  The SEAL screamed instructions, gun up, but obviously knew that he didn’t have a shot.

  Abrams cursed. Idiot, amateur! he thought. He’d just witnessed this person take out two snipers’ nests by himself as easily as if he were ordering a burger and beer. And a minute later he was underestimating the guy.

  “Be still.”

  The voice in Abrams’s ear was muffled, but not deep. He calmed himself and they stood for a few seconds, Abrams held as a shield, and Hartogg neutralized. In another moment, the assassin loosened his grip on Abrams’s throat, and let his gun slip back into his hand. Abrams was pushed away, but the point was clearly made – I could have killed you, but I let you live.

  Hartogg had his gun up, rock steady. “Got a shot – say the word, Boss.”

  Abrams waved him down, breathing in gulps from a pinched neck.

  The figure started to unwrap the covering over his head, ignoring them both now. The eyes stayed fixed on Abrams.

  “What…?” Hartogg’s mouth fell open.

  Long dark hair fell loose around a face that could have been beautiful but for an edge of brutality that urged caution, not trust. She wasn’t smiling, though there was no anger in her countenance. She was calm and totally relaxed.

  For a woman she was tall, Abrams guessed about five ten at least. She looked around and then her eyes came back to him.

  “Not a good time or place for a stroll,” she said without a trace of mirth.

  Abrams blinked. “No, no indeed, and we should be driving but ran into a little unexpected IED trouble.”

  “Here IED is not unexpected, but always expected – a child’s mistake.” Her eyes were hard.

  Hartogg snorted, and the woman looked at him, and then to Berry’s smoldering remains. “You make mistakes out here and people die, hmm?”

  “Fuck you.” The veins in Hartogg’s neck bulged.

  “At ease.” Abrams cleared his throat, feeling like they, he, had been admonished enough. “Major Joshua Abrams; you mind if I ask who I might be addressing?”

  “Joshua?” Her brows went up. “That is an old Hebrew name. It means the salvation of Jehovah. A good, strong name.” She nodded. “Captain Adira Senesh; I got your callout.”

  “Israeli army?” Abrams asked.

  Senesh ignored the question and instead looked around at the landscape, the sky and then back to Abrams. “Major, you are a long way from home…and not in a good place. What are you doing here?”

  Abrams half smiled. The woman didn’t answer his question directly, but the obvious evasion was answer enough: she was a Mossad agent – Kidon or Metsada, he bet – and, by the way she took down all of the insurgents, a damned good one.

  “What we’re doing here is classified,” said Tania Kovitz, joining them, followed by Andy and Matt, still several dozen feet back.

  Adira looked Tania up and down. “You have about an hour before a squad of terrorists arrive. Good luck.” She began to walk away.

  “Adira.” Matt jogged closer.

  She spun at his voice, squinting. Like a door swinging open to briefly show warm light, her face softened momentarily, before it swung shut once again. She shook her head. “Professor Matthew Kearns…we live in interesting times.” She suddenly looked around, her eyes wide. “Is he here?”

  “No, no, he isn’t,” Matt said, knowing immediately who she was looking for – Alex Hunter.

  Her expression dropped. “Of course not. If he were here, those sniper nests would have been obliterated long ago.” She sighed.

  Abrams brow creased. “You two know each other?”

  Matt grinned. “Yeah, kinda…we met on a mountaintop…in the Appalachians. She gets around.” He stepped closer to the Metsada woman, and turned to Abrams. “And we need her if we’re going to get out of here alive.”

  Captain Tania Kovitz kept staring at Adira, but Hartogg lowered his rifle, and nodded to the woman – wary, but more at ease now. Abrams knew the SEAL recognized a fellow Spec Forces warrior…and he agreed with Kearns that she was one they needed.

  Abrams grunted. “I agree.” Tania started to object, but he just took his voice up a level. “Adira –”

  “Captain Senesh,” Adira said.

  “Captain, we need your help. We lost our truck and need to get to the Turkish border.”

  “Why?” She stared evenly.

  “Because –” Matt began.

  “Professor Kearns.” Abrams’s voice carried a warning.

  “She can help.” Matt turned back to Adira. “We need to get to Alexandria, in Egypt, and Turkey is the closest friendly place.”

  “Where were you hoping to cross, exactly?”

  “Reyhanlı, Hatay Province,” Abrams responded.

  She nodded. “I know it – on the border – stupid choice. Your information is out of date – it’s now a bombsite. They distrust everyone, and you would be arrested on suspicion of being a spy. This is the Middle East, Major. Nowhere is safe for Americans.”

  “Or Israelis,” Abrams pointed out.

  She snorted. “But we are used to it, and here, we expect nothing but treachery. Keep in mind that for every single supporter you encounter, there will be a hundred more killers or informants who would sell you out in a second.”

  Abrams breathed evenly for a moment, and tried hard to keep his frustration in check. “Well, do you have a better suggestion?”

  “Of course. For a start, you must stay away from populated areas. Get to Samandag. It’s in the same province but is less populated and still mostly untouched by the war. It’s also on the coast,” Adira said evenly.

  “Then what?” Abrams asked.

  “Then, if we’re still all friends, I can have someone meet us. Get you to Israel.”

  “We don’t want to get to Israel. We need to get to Egypt, and fast.”

  “Oh yes, Alexandria. And you think the Turkish military is going to help you get there? The Turks and Egyptians don’t even talk any more. And you think they will do more than simply detain you, as diplomatic communiqué go back and forth between your countries for weeks.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I think you do not have passports, or a cover story, or even a lot of money to buy safe passage.”

  Abrams folded his arms.

  Her head tilted. “Did I mention how popular Americans are out here?” She relented. “Major, we can provide you with cover, documentation and everything else you need.” She shrugged. “One step back, two steps forward. Think smart, Major, the door is closing.”

  Abrams bristled, and he knew he was grinding his teeth. The damned woman had him over a barrel.

  Matt Kearns came and stood in front of him, his back to the woman. “Major, that’ll work. We can trust her.” He shrugged. “There’s no one else to trust.”

  Abrams looked past Matt to Adira. “And what’s the price?”

  She smiled. “No price, Major. All I need to know is what I’m getting into. What is so important in Alexandria that you would come all the way to Syria, and then cross the desert to find it?”

  “You don’t need to know that, and it’s not relevant to you. Besides, I’m not sure at this stage that we should be teaming up with Mossad. However, guide us to Samandag, and then we can see if our plans need updating.”

  Adira grinned. “Ah, the warrior who won’t take advice.”

  Matt tilted his head
. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

  Her eyes flicked to Matt. “You are using up all of your lives too quickly, Matthew Kearns. Sooner or later there won’t be someone to save you, and you’ll find your head will become separated from your body.”

  “Probably true.” He smiled sadly. “Adira, this is important. We think it might give us answers to the sinkholes and disappearances.”

  “Kearns!” Abrams’s voice was sharp, but Matt held up a hand and continued.

  “We know they’re also happening in Israel. The Major might even put in a good word for you with the right people in the States.”

  She stared for a few moments, and then grunted softly. “Then perhaps we do have a shared goal. This is what I was sent into the desert to ascertain – whether the sinkholes had a military cause…and, if they did, to eradicate it.”

  Suddenly, from behind them, Hartogg roared a warning. Adira dived and rolled, and Abrams and the others followed quickly.

  Abrams lifted his head. “What have you got, soldier?”

  Hartogg was like a statue, gun up and pointed out at the desert. “Movement in sniper nest one.”

  “Impossible,” Adira said and got up on one knee, a handgun pointed at the place where she had demolished the six fighters earlier. “They are dead.”

  Abrams waited another few seconds, licking dry lips. “Hartogg, low and easy, come in from your right flank. Captain Senesh and I will –”

  Before he could finish, Adira was up and sprinting in a zigzag to the nest. She leaped in.

  Andy nudged Matt. “Bit of a risk taker, huh?”

  “Goddamnit.” Abrams got to his feet, sprinting. Hartogg came in fast from the right.

  They arrived at the same time, with Matt, Andy and Tania in fast behind them. They stood looking down into the small depression. Adira walked around the next, kicking over some scraps of clothing, weapons, ammunition, and a dusty pair of field glasses.

  “Nothing.” She looked hard at the SEAL.

  “What did you see, Hartogg?” Abrams said, frowning.

  “Corner-eye movement.” He shrugged. “Bit like…a lump, or something. Thought it was…” He stopped, and then shook his head. “Where are they, then?”