Cole felt a tremendous sense of relief as a guard waved them through, and into the lobby beyond. Some of the granite wall was obscured by a row of green and yellow flags, each bearing the silhouette of the first letter in “Allah,” which was reaching up to grasp a stylized assault rifle.
Banks of elevators were located to the left and right. And, according to the signage, the high-rise lifts were on the left.
Cole escorted Urabi over to that side. Other people were waiting. There was a loud “ding” as an elevator arrived. Cole waited for Urabi to board and stepped aboard. The button for the 20th floor was already lit.
The car made three stops before arriving on 20, where Cole and Urabi followed a man off. He took a right and disappeared as they approached the counter. “Mr. Urabi is here to meet with Secretary General Haddad,” Cole announced.
The receptionist was male. His eyes shifted to Urabi and back to Cole. “Yes,” he said. “You are right on time. But the Secretary-General is running ten-minutes late. Please have a seat. I will let him know that you’re here.”
The waiting area was furnished with comfortable chairs, a glass-topped coffee table, and lots of Hezbollah literature. Urabi fidgeted, and Cole did her best not to, as fifteen long minutes dragged by. They came to an end when the receptionist stood and came out from behind the counter. “The Secretary-General is free now … Please follow me.”
The receptionist led them along a red carpet, past an open conference room, to the point where two bearded men waited. Bodyguards, Cole thought. Will they search us?
The answer was yes. Both visitors were required to empty their pockets onto a table before being wanded. Then, after passing muster, they were allowed to collect their belongings and enter what turned out to be a large, comfortably furnished room.
Two additional bodyguards were present, both standing against the left wall, but well separated from each other. Secretary General Haddad was seated behind a desk so cluttered that hardly any of the wood surface was visible.
Haddad was momentarily backlit as he heaved his considerable bulk up out of a swivel chair, and waddled over to greet Urabi. “Marhaban bik!” (Welcome.)
“Yashrifuni,” (I am honored) Urabi replied, as they shook hands.
Cole turned to watch, as the receptionist backed out of the room, and closed the double doors behind him. That was good. But the additional guards were a surprise. It’s all about process, Cole thought. You can do this.
“Please have a seat,” Haddad said, as he returned to his chair. “Mustafa and I were in frequent contact. He told me about you, and the plan to form a government.”
Haddad was doing Urabi’s work for him … But Cole’s attention was elsewhere.
Her arms were crossed as she reached under the jacket. The guns were about the size and shape of a Glock 26, but made almost entirely of plastic, and designed to fire custom-made caseless ammo. The bullets were small. Too small in Cole’s opinion. But the fact that each weapon held 18-rounds helped compensate for the lack of punch.
The bodyguard on the left had been staring at Cole, saw the motion, and was reaching for his weapon when the agent drew. The semiauto pistols were so light that it was easy to come up over a target forcing the shooter to pull back down. And the wasted millisecond could mean the difference between life and death.
The left-hand gun produced a gentle cough as Cole shot the left-hand target. The pistol in her right hand went off a second later. A headshot for each guard. Both collapsed.
It was a feat of marksmanship that only a truly ambidextrous person could execute. Cole put an extra bullet into each man before swinging to the right. Secretary General Haddad was staring, his mouth agape, as Cole pointed a pistol at him. “So,” Cole said. “You’re the person who came up with the idea to weaponize the dam. Would you like to know who told us that?”
Haddad nodded.
“The Russians did,” Cole said. She waited for a second, just long enough for Haddad to process the information, and smiled. “Yeah—payback is a bitch.”
Then Cole shot him. Three times. Haddad slumped sideways and fell to the floor. The body landed with a thump.
The left-hand pistol had been on Urabi all along. Cole turned to face him. The warlord was terrified. “You said you wouldn’t kill me.”
“I lied,” Cole replied, and shot him twice.
Urabi’s head jerked and fell back. Four for four, Cole thought. Two to go.
She went to the doors, opened one of them, and spoke to a guard. Her voice was urgent. “The Secretary General needs you! Hurry!”
Both men rushed through the door, and were still moving forward, when Cole shot them. Two between the shoulder blades, followed by two in the head, in case they were wearing armor. They crashed face down on the floor. Cole closed the door. Her cellphone was ready. “The meeting is over. I’m coming out.”
The reply was equally succinct. “Black helmet, red scooter.”
Cole closed the doors behind her, followed the red carpet to the receptionist’s desk, where she paused. “The Secretary General asked me to tell you that he can’t take any calls.” She shrugged. “They told me to take a break. I’ll be back soon.”
The receptionist nodded and Cole got the feeling that private meetings weren’t unusual. “I’ll see you soon,” he said. Never dreaming what he would find within the hour.
The elevator took Cole down to the main floor where she followed two men out onto the street. A red Vespa was waiting at the curb. The driver was wearing a black helmet and had one to her.
Cole climbed on the back, wrapped her arms around the driver’s torso, and placed her high heels on the foot pegs. The scooter sped away. Cole relished the way that Beirut looked and smelled. It felt good to be alive.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Navagio Beach, Zakynthos Island, Greece
Navagio Beach was located in a picturesque cove, on the Greek island of Zakynthos, and accessible only by boat. Tourists flocked to it before the war. But, as Kydd gazed at the azure-blue water, he was one of only six people enjoying the spot. A couple was snorkeling as a family ate a picnic lunch two-hundred feet away.
A little more than a month had passed since the confrontation with Kantar, the near annihilation of the terrorist’s battalion, and the subsequent liberation of Aswan City.
General Abdu Ahmar’s Republican Guard unit was brought in soon thereafter, with orders to “… protect the dam against all enemies foreign and domestic, until relieved by the elected representatives of an Egyptian government.”
Even so a twelve-person team of UN observers was dispatched to ensure that Ahmar behaved himself. Plus, if the rumors were true, the general’s wife and children were “guests” of the United States government. All in an effort to prevent the dam from being weaponized again.
Colonel Shin Bo and his men were sent to a POW camp where they would likely spend the balance of the war. Then came the work required to take the Allied troops out. After an evening spent drinking beer with their “Yank” comrades, the Brits piled onto their boats, and pulled out.
The Nile departed the next day. And with the Riverines to protect her, the cruise ship steamed north until arriving in Port Said, where Goolsby and his marines went ashore for the last time. That was followed by a truly raucous Hail and Farewell party in a waterfront hotel.
And, when it came time to part company, Goolsby shook Kydd’s hand. “I have some good news for you Harley … You made commander. The paperwork will catch up with you soon. And you sure as hell deserve it.” High praise indeed, coming from the marine.
All of RIVGRU 6’s boats were loaded on a freighter two days later for transshipment to parts unknown. The chief and his sailors had orders to join other units, return to the states for training courses, or to take leave. Kydd was there to thank each one, and see him or her off. He couldn’t help but think of those who weren’t shipping out. Like the kid named Bower … Like so many others his face was little more than a blur.
Kydd had leave on the books himself. Lots of it. But he didn’t want to go home and face his parents. They meant well, but dad would go on-and-on about the war, and mom would cry. So before returning to duty Kydd decided to treat himself to a vacation on the island of Zakynthos. A decision the officer was quite content with, as he lay on the lounger, and tried to summon the energy required to read a book.
Movement caught his eye. Gentle waves fled from the bow of a Bermuda-rigged sloop as it motored into the bay. A tour boat perhaps, like the one that would return for him that evening, or some rich person’s plaything.
The sailboat was towing a skiff which drifted forward as the owner cut power. Kydd watched the anchor splash and closed his eyes. A nap, he thought. Followed by a swim, lunch, and a cold beer. Life doesn’t get any better than that.
Kydd was floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when he heard a familiar voice. “Hey, sailor … Wake up. We have things to do.”
Kydd’s eyes flew open. There, standing in front of him, was Cassandra Cole! She was wearing shades, a white crop-top and matching shorts. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. He stood. “You disappeared.”
“I had things to do,” Cole explained. “They sent me to the states for my annual sexual harassment training.”
“I don’t believe it.”
Cole shrugged. “Does it matter? I’m here.”
“How did you find me?”
“The CIA knows everything.”
“Do they know I want to kiss you?”
“Yes,” Cole replied. “They do. And I hope you will.”
Kydd took Cole into his arms. They kissed. Her lips were soft and she smelled like soap. The kiss lasted a long time, and felt like a promise of things to come.
“Grab your stuff,” Cole said as the moment ended. “The boat is ours for five days. You know how to sail, right?”
“I do,” Kydd replied. “But I need to drop by the hotel.”
“No,” Cole said, “you don’t. Your duffle bag is on board.”
Kydd chuckled. “You think of everything.”
“I do,” Cole agreed, as she looked up at him. “But it takes me a while sometimes.” He kissed her again.
They loaded the boat. Then, with Kydd at the oars, they got underway. He pulled and Cole smiled. “Put your back into it, sailor … We have a long way to go.”
ABOUT THE WINDS OF WAR SERIES
In RED DRAGON, volume three of the Winds of War series, WWIII rages on as a Chinese hit team targets the Dalai Lama for assassination in an effort to choose his successor, and retain their steely grip on Tibet, which constitutes nearly a quarter of China’s land mass.
In the meantime Green Beret Captain Jon Lee and his team are behind enemy lines in Nepal, and living with a tribe of nomadic hunter-gatherers, who could become valuable assets.
But it isn’t long before Lee, a Chinese American army doctor, and a company of Nepalese Gurkha soldiers, are given orders to find the reincarnated Dalai Lama—and bring him out of enemy held territory.
Meanwhile as the assassins who killed the Dalai Lama continue to search for the baby, the Chinese and the Pakistanis are planning a major push aimed at conquering India.
But moving 10,000 Chinese soldiers through rugged mountains on a narrow highway won’t be easy. Not with Lee, his Green Berets, and a team of Gurkhas doing all that they can to slow the enemy advance—in hopes of giving Allied forces time to prepare.
Never before have the hopes of so many depended on the efforts of so few.
ABOUT WILLIAM C. DIETZ
For more about William C. Dietz and his fiction, please visit williamcdietz.com. You can find Bill on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/williamcdietz and you can follow him on Twitter: William C. Dietz @wcdietz
Red Flood (Winds of War Book 2) Page 29
