Saber Down

by Harrison Kone

  “Armal,” he replied.

  “Thank you, Armal,” Abby said. “My name is Jessica.” He bought the lie. “Can you tell me what you were up to?”

  Natalie watched on an office monitor as Armal spilled everything to Abby. He shared how his father had gotten him a high-paying job in their home country doing information technology, and he shared that he wasn’t able to quit even though he wanted to. Was any of that true? It really didn’t matter; Armal, regardless of how he came into the service of Al Amiri, would face the punishment for international terrorism. Abby was a good interrogator and was obtaining satisfactory results. Lincoln watched intently as did Shaw. Lincoln had protested Shaw’s presence, but Natalie overruled him. Shaw had done more in a few hours than they had in months, and she owed him for it.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” Lincoln stated. “We need to leave now. We can take him with us.”

  “Just a little longer,” Natalie replied. He sighed and returned his attention to the monitor. He wanted desperately to load everyone into the SUV’s and head for the embassy in Sana’a. He didn’t care if they possessed orders to evacuate or not. He was responsible for every American life in the compound, but months and months of habitually submitting to Natalie’s command caused him pause. A pit formed in his stomach, but he suppressed it. Natalie knew what she was doing.

  The camera positioned in the corner of the room recorded and live streamed the footage. Shaw rubbed his bearded chin just as Abby asked her next question. If Al Amiri was behind the downed helicopters, Shaw wanted to know where he acquired the weapons to carry out the attack.

  Abby held up a photograph of Al Amiri they pulled from Shaw’s video feed. Armal glanced at it and then looked quickly away.

  “Can you tell me who this is?”

  “Isaam Al Amiri,” came his reply. Exhilaration gushed through Natalie, and she almost leaped from her chair. Months and months of grueling intelligence work had finally paid off.

  “Was Al Amiri behind the attacks against the United States Marine Corps helicopters?” Abby asked, continuing her interrogation. Armal whimpered and stared at the ground.

  “Yes,” he managed to say. Shaw’s hand fell from his chin, and his lips flattened together. He and Wyatt had done it, and their brothers could rest easy now. It felt good, but Shaw wasn’t done. The desire to take his vengeance to the next level could not be sated.

  “Ask what weapons were used,” Shaw requested. Natalie relayed the question to Abby’s earpiece.

  “And what weapons were used in the attack?” Abby asked. Armal, his mental resolve completely broken by fear, shrugged.

  “I don’t know. I just run tech,” he answered.

  “Think Armal, or I can’t help you,” Abby pressed. A short sob escaped his lips.

  “Man, she’s got him wrapped around her finger,” Shaw noted. They all couldn’t agree more. Armal’s eyes shot back and forth as he searched his memory.

  “Stingers!” he shouted. Did he mean to shout? The stress bore down on him too hard. “I heard Al Amiri talking about Stingers.” Natalie looked at Shaw whose face tightened.

  “Those are American made,” she said.

  “Ask where they came from,” Shaw replied. Natalie relayed the question.

  “And where did he get them?” Abby asked.

  “Yesterday morning,” Armal started, “a man … a man arrived with them.”

  “Just one man?”

  “No, there were two more with him,” Armal answered, his voice maintained its frightened haste.

  “How many weapons were acquired?” Abby asked.

  “I don’t know, but the cost was more than ten million dollars. And … and the seller promised a demonstration that was planned weeks in advance,” Armal explained. Shaw’s eyes widened, and he took a step toward the monitor. Natalie watched him.

  “Planned weeks in advance?” Shaw repeated quietly to himself. “How?”

  “Ten million buys a lot more than Stingers,” Lincoln said. He was right. That was a high price tag, and Natalie suppressed a stroke of fear as her imagination filled in the gaps.

  “The seller,” Abby inquired, “what was his name?”

  “Francisco Silva,” came the immediate reply.

  “And was it Silva or Al Amiri that knew first about the Marine helicopters?” Abby asked.

  “Silva,” Armal answered. The questions became easier to answer as he told one truth after another.

  “Thank you, Armal, you’re doing really well,” Abby encouraged. “I appreciate what you’ve shared with me so far. Can I get you anything? Water maybe?”

  “Water,” he pleaded. His tongue lay parched in his mouth.

  “Sure,” she responded.

  “Wait!” he cried. She turned, keeping her cool, though he had startled her considerably. Despite everything he told her, he was still a terrorist, and if a terrorist, then capable of killing her. She found comfort that Sotelo stood just outside. “Where am I?”

  “You don’t know?” she asked. He shook his head, sending his long and wavy black hair dancing about his face.

  “Tell him,” came Natalie’s reply in her ear. “I want to see how he reacts.”

  “You’re being held in a clandestine CIA outpost here in the city,” she told him. He immediately began to panic.

  “No, no, no!” he screamed. He fought against his restraints and struggled to stand.

  “Sotelo, get in there,” Natalie ordered. Sotelo burst through the door, and at the sight of the contractor dressed in his full battle gear, Armal’s panic reduced to a whimper.

  “We’re all going to die,” he groaned.

  “What are you talking about?” Abby said. Armal didn’t answer but sobbed in his seat. Urine trickled onto the floor as fear took absolute control over his body. Sotelo gripped Armal’s jaw and squeezed tightly.

  “Speak!” he shouted. Armal inhaled heavily and wailed through his exhale. “I said, speak!”

  “There’s … there’s … ”

  “There’s what!” Sotelo hissed. Armal looked up at him, complete despair clouded his brown eyes.

  “A missile.”

  • • •

  USS Abraham Lincoln, 5th Fleet, Gulf of Aden

  Captain Griffin C. Yates stood on the bridge of the USS Abraham Lincoln, a Nimitz-class aircraft carrier. He relished the view of the dark sky and tranquil sea. He often made it a habit to visit the bridge each morning before the rising sun. This was the ship’s last deployment as the flagship for Carrier Strike Group Nine. Next May, the ship would deploy as the flagship for Carrier Strike Group Twelve. It probably wouldn’t change much of anything. The strike group would still deploy from Norfolk to the Middle East like it had for the last decade. They would host a new Carrier Air Wing, but Yates, a former Naval Aviator, had not learned of the specific wing the ship was to host; however, he was confident it contained good sailors and aviators.

  “Captain!” the sailor next to him cried, “We’ve picked up a missile launched from the mountains south of Aden.”

  “Trajectory?” Yates requested, alarmed.

  “East, bearing: one zero three,” the young seaman responded.

  “Sound General Quarters,” he ordered. It most certainly appeared to be coming their way. He was a man who refused to gamble with the lives under his command.

  “Aye, Captain,” the seaman responded. “General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands man your battle stations. The route of travel is forward and up to starboard, down and aft to port. Set material condition ‘Zebra’ throughout the ship. Reason for General Quarters: Hostile Surface Contact.”

  The alarm echoed through the carrier and the rest of the fleet as sailors readied themselves as ordered. Men and women scurried throughout the ship and assumed their positions.

  “Update,” Yates ordered. The seaman listened into his headset for the requested information.

  “We have a confirmed nonnuclear detonation in Aden,” he answered. The Captain exhaled, reliev
ed.

  “Maintain General Quarters,” he ordered.

  “Aye, Sir.”

  19

  Dust hung in the air like a dense fog and silence wove through what remained of the building. The lights in the main room flickered, and the workstations lay in charred heaps. Fire ate at the wooden furniture and feasted on the walls. The French doors, which swung outward to the main floor, had both buckled into the office, their glass panes blown out. The large monitor on the wall swung from side to side before breaking from its mount and crashing to the ground, its screen and plastic components melted and fused together.

  Shaw groaned and pushed himself up from the ground. He shook his head and looked at Natalie who lay beneath him. He had done his best to reach her just as the missile thudded into the roof. He checked quickly for a pulse and exhaled in relief when he found it. Blood dripped from a shallow cut along her eyebrow and trickled into her hair. He glanced to his right, and Lincoln blinked rapidly as he came to.

  “You alright?” Shaw shouted.

  “I think so,” he shouted back. The Ranger rubbed his eyes and gave his head a quick shake. Natalie coughed beneath Shaw and opened her eyes blearily.

  “What happened?” she asked. She placed a hand on Shaw’s arm, still unsure of her surroundings.

  “We got hit by something,” Shaw answered. Natalie’s eyes tried to focus. What was he talking about? Why was he atop her?

  Her memory came flooding back, and Shaw slowly rose to his feet. He extended a hand, which she gripped tightly.

  “Easy,” he said.

  “I’m fine,” she stated. Pain pulsed over her left eye, but she ignored it. Natalie pushed against one of the French doors, and it fell from its hinges. As she tried to exit, she stumbled against the wall, but Shaw grabbed her before she fell to the ground. “I’m fine,” she insisted. She steadied her feet and pushed him away. He honored her wish and strode from the office onto the main floor. His eyes fell on a young woman, her lower half missing and her eyes dull. He tried recalling her name. Was it Rachel? Unable to bear the sight any longer, he looked away.

  “Natalie,” a man stammered. She rushed to his side, and Shaw quickly followed. Bryon Tyler shook violently and uncontrollably. “I can’t see!” he screamed. “I can’t see!” Charred, black skin clung to his face, and his plastic glasses had melted into his flesh. He sat against the wall. He couldn’t feel his legs. He didn’t know it, but they were missing above the knee. His arms rested at his sides as charred, bloody stumps. Shaw knew right away that he wasn’t going to make it.

  “I’m here, Bryon,” she said tenderly. “I’m right here.”

  “Where? I can’t see … I can’t see you … I can’t … ” He couldn’t move, and his voice faded as his breathing stopped. Natalie fell back onto her rear and shook her head in anguish. How could this have happened? Her stare grew blank, and her head tilted as she fell inward.

  “Hale,” Shaw said. She didn’t respond. “Hale,” he urged more firmly. She still didn’t respond. “Natalie,” he said tenderly. She looked at him. “You got to get up.” She nodded but remained where she sat and glanced around the room. Several members of her team lay motionless on the ground, mangled with the burned furniture. The night, distorted by the rising smoke, flooded in through the gaping hole in the roof, spanning twenty feet or more. Natalie noticed the missile’s impact point.

  “Abby!” she screamed. The second-floor room, directly above them, in which Abby and Sotelo had interrogated Armal had vanished, like it had been sucked into a void taking the three people with it.

  “Shaw!” came a shout from the courtyard. The door was missing, blown outward off its hinges. Wyatt sprinted through the opening and froze when he beheld the carnage.

  “I’m here, John,” Shaw replied. Speechless, Wyatt didn’t respond. Natalie exhaled swiftly and rose to her feet. Something burned in her chest, a boiling sensation that spread throughout her extremities. Her entire team had been in that room, save for Abby, but that hadn’t saved her. She looked over the faces of the dead, and immediate remorse seized her heart.

  “We should leave,” Shaw stated.

  “Shaw’s right,” Lincoln started, “we need to leave.” Wyatt’s eyes met Shaw’s, and Shaw responded with a sigh. Wyatt inclined his head in agreement and turned to leave. Lincoln followed him out, and Natalie, taking one last glance over the massacre, traced his steps outside.

  Shaw was the last to leave, and as he stepped over the threshold, he met Reeves’ gaze with a firm nod, which the large man returned.

  “Headcount,” Lincoln ordered.

  “We’re all here, save Adara,” Reeves began. Blood trickled from several scrapes on his exposed arm. “Whatever hit us got him. Where’s Sotelo?” Lincoln’s expression confirmed Reeves’ fears. He glanced down at the dirt before looking back up at Shaw. “Can you get us out?” he asked. Shaw breathed deeply, noting Reeves’s desperate tone, and looked at Natalie.

  “Can you?” she echoed.

  “Let’s get those SUV’s loaded up,” he said.

  • • •

  The three Range Rovers remained intact from the missile attack. Shaw and Wyatt outfitted Kathryn with an armored vest and ushered her into one of the vehicles. Wyatt handed her a set of electronic ear protection just in case, and she quickly set them over her ears. The electronic amplification would provide normal auditory clarity but would deafen the sounds of gunshots and explosions. Wyatt returned to her the pistol he had stored in the seatback on the ride in.

  Natalie strapped the same style body armor around her torso, holstered a Glock 19 on her hip, and exited the security building. She cast one last glance toward the main building before climbing into the driver’s seat of the first Range Rover. Shaw emerged from the security building with all his gear. He witnessed Natalie take the driver’s seat in Wyatt and Kathryn’s SUV. He watched Barone and Hogan enter the last SUV and crank the engine. He returned his attention to Natalie.

  “Mind if I ride shotgun?” he asked.

  “Whatever suits you,” she replied bleakly. Shaw took his seat and checked his carbine. Lincoln, Reeves, Quinn, and Becker climbed into the second SUV and started the engine. Natalie pulled forward and turned the wheel toward the gate. She pressed the gate control remote clipped to the sun visor, and, as the steel doors groaned open, Natalie hit the throttle.

  A man armed with an AKM, obviously surprised by the gate opening, looked inside the compound. Natalie floored the pedal and ran the man over. Kathryn yelped as the vehicle bounced over the insurgent’s broken body, but she quickly regained control.

  “It’s even easier the third time,” Wyatt remarked. She didn’t respond, but he was right. It barely fazed her that Natalie had just run over that man. She knew she had cried out in surprise more than fear. Kathryn glanced down at the pistol in her hand, and she found it gave her confidence. How much had changed since yesterday morning, she thought.

  The following SUVs bounced over the body and followed closely behind Natalie. Gunfire erupted around them, and the copper-jacketed bullets thudded against the armored vehicles with no effect. Kathryn shrieked and ducked her head instinctively.

  Natalie accelerated through the gauntlet and turned onto the main road that led north down the mountain, leaving Al Amiri’s forces scrambling and confused. Shaw’s hand shot to the handle on the ceiling to steady himself as the SUV bounced over another insurgent.

  “We’re headed to the beach just south of Flint Island. You know where that is?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she snapped. “They better be there when we arrive!” Adrenaline coursed through her veins after taking the lives of two men. Honestly, it had felt good to release all her pent-up anger. She tossed her head and brushed a strand of loose hair from her face. She remembered her cut as her fingers brushed across the tender flesh.

  The bullet-ridden convoy passed into the residential neighborhood that rested between their outpost and the center of the city. Leaving Al Amiri’s force
behind, their route would take them directly north before turning west onto Maalla Main Street. She would follow that through the large roundabout then the beach would appear on her right.

  The convoy pressed on as the night yielded to the morning’s faint glow. The streets were mostly clear, although they usually were, given the state of the war-torn city. The peninsula, however, seemed to have been spared the worst. They passed a hospital and Kathryn noticed a white van that had wrecked just outside the entrance.

  “We’re nearly there. They should be waiting for us up here on the right,” Natalie said. The convoy roared through a wide roundabout and passed a large white mosque with twin spires that rose into the orange sky. Natalie turned right, and the road paralleled the bay.

  “Look out!” Kathryn cried, but it was too late.

  A truck smashed into the side of their SUV, lifting the vehicle onto its passenger-side wheels and forcing it through the guardrail. The Range Rover tumbled off the road and rolled down the embankment toward the sea. Gunfire bellowed from the heavy machine gun mounted on the truck’s bed. The rounds thudded into Becker’s SUV, and he swerved to avoid the gunfire. He didn’t know how much punishment the armor would take. The former Delta operator veered into the opposite lane.

  Hogan watched Becker’s maneuver, glanced at Barone, and witnessed the firm resolve splashed across his face. He immediately gripped the handle and braced himself. The SUV surged forward as Barone floored the accelerator. The vehicle smashed into the truck, jostling its passengers. The gunner flew through the air, bounced on the ground several times, and skidded to a stop on the pavement leaving a grotesque blood trail.

  Reeves, glancing out the rearview mirror and seeing the ordeal, tossed his machine gun behind the back seat before following it over. The large man struggled, but he finally gripped his weapon and slapped the button controlling the back door. The SEAL steadied himself and trained his weapon out the rear of the vehicle as the automated rear door slowly opened. Becker, viewing Reeves’ activity through the rearview mirror, stomped the brakes and jerked hard on the wheel. The tires screeched as the SUV spun out. Reeves, with his feet spread and bracing himself within the vehicle, opened fire as the truck fell into his line of sight.