by Camden Mays
The Lion’s Prey
Camden Mays
The Lion’s Prey
© 2019 Camden Mays
All rights reserved.
Cover designed by James T. Egan of Bookfly Design
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Also by Camden Mays
Shattered Shield
For my wife.
To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.
—Friedrich Nietzsche
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
About the Author
Acknowledgments
A special thanks to those who read and offered feedback on the first book in the series, Shattered Shield. It made the second installment better than it ever would have been without your input. I especially want to thank Chris Anderson, Lola Layne, Cindy Sanders, and my wife Debbie for providing feedback on the development of this book and Christi Martin for editing.
Chapter 1
Al Mukalla, Yemen
Ascrawny boy, maybe eleven or twelve years old, adjusted the strap of the AK-47 over his shoulder. He stopped to stuff his cheek full of khat, the mild plant stimulant of the region.
An all too common sight in Yemen, Cole Cameron thought.
The boy looked directly at him from across the narrow street. Cole instinctively moved his hand behind his back to the handle of his Glock 22. He drew a deep breath.
Keep walking, kid.
Looking over the top of his sunglasses, he locked eyes with the boy. The youngster hesitated, then he smiled and waved.
Cole acknowledged him with a grin and a nod as the boy moved on. He relaxed and leaned against the wall of the half-leveled building, continuing to watch the medical clinic. A steady flow of sick and injured people came and went from the clinic. He knew he was exposed and grew impatient waiting for Salim al-Samarrai to exit.
“What the hell is taking so long in there?” The gravelly voice of Darryl Capps came over the comm. He stood a few buildings down the street from Cole and on the opposite side of the clinic’s entrance. Across the street from the large, athletic African American was a billboard that read “Women, cover yourselves from the eyes that pry.” It brought to Cole’s remembrance the BBC news story of a woman accused of adultery in Al Mukalla when it was under the firm grasp of al-Qaeda. They buried her in the sand with only her head exposed and threw rocks at her until she was dead.
“Sit tight, Razorback Two. The asset will contact us when the target is leaving.” Sara Wang worked the comms and cameras from the nest—the makeshift ops room the team had set up nearly two weeks earlier in a small warehouse near the city’s port. Cole imagined the operations specialist pacing the floor with a headset over her long black hair that was secured in a tight ponytail. She would likely be jotting notes on a clipboard as she looked over the four monitors. Steve Sinha would be sitting at the table in front of Wang toggling the views of the camera feed.
“Why do I have to be number Two? And when are we going to use the Rebel call sign?” Capps questioned, obviously wanting to change his train of thought. “And speaking of number two, this street reeks. Smells like the bathroom at the nest.”
“Dude, you’re just gross,” Bridgette Robinson responded over the comm as she waited in a small beat-up car a few blocks away.
“Knock it off,” Cole said into his comm, even though he was weary of the wait as well. The foul stench that Capps referenced had not escaped his senses either. Al Mukalla’s neglected sanitation infrastructure was in dire need of repair from damage caused by air strikes against the Houthis, a Zaidi Shia rebel group. Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates coalition had blasted the place to restore Yemen’s internationally recognized government. Now, three years later, the city and its sewage lines were still in disrepair, producing waves of cholera cases that spread to thousands.
From the port, the whitewashed buildings and mosques appeared enchanting against the backdrop of the mountains and sea. But once in the city, the charming façade yielded to the unappealing sight of run-down, winding roads littered with burned-out cars and debris. Many buildings stood empty and bombed out with evidently no attempt to remove the debris. The only show of recovery was near the port. That’s where the locals focused their efforts to bring an appearance of stability to the city in an attempt to draw international business. But there was only feeble interest as the world took more of a wait-and-see approach to the security issues in the Yemen port city.
Al Mukalla was still a dangerous place. Cole had reminded the team that it had not been that long ago that two men suspected of being Saudi spies were crucified by the Houthis. Several relief organizations struggled to get access to the growing number of acutely malnourished children. The UN estimated that nearly two-thirds of the Yemenis were food insecure. It was the sad reality of a nation torn by war.
Cole, like Capps and the rest of the team, was ready to get back to the States. Over the last four months, they had trekked across the globe eliminating one Arden Islamic Jihad Brotherhood (AIJB) group after another. It reminded him of the Whac-A-Mole game he and Jess played when he took her to the arcade when she was young. Whenever his team eliminated one cell or leader, another seemed to emerge.
Following the death of Aakif Muhamad Hasni, the AIJB was led by a mystery person hiding behind an avatar image. All of the online rhetoric and calls for vengeance were propagated by the jihadist followers of an internet caricature—’asadu eadn, which meant “Lion of Aden.”
Salim al-Samarrai was the last remaining lieutenant from Hasni’s original network structure, and the hope was that al-Samarrai was the Lion of Aden. With his elimination would also perish the last remnant of the Hasni’s vindictive plot and personal plans against the counterterrorism intelligence community and Cole’s family in particular.
The missions had taken their toll on Cole in many ways, but the most languishing pain was the harm to his relationship with Hannah. He was convinced there was no other way to ensure the safety of his loved ones than the destructive path he was on, but he was leaving a wake of death and bitterness and growing a cold soul. As he waited on word about his target’s movement from Wang, he closed his eyes and thought of Hannah. He missed the warmth she brought to his life, her smile, her touch, and her smell. He tried hard to replace the foul stench around him with the memory of her fragrance.
Three more weeks. Thanksgiving. I’m coming home, babe, he thought.
✽✽✽
Inside the clinic’s waiting room, Pearl Fahimi sat in a blue plastic chair clothed and veiled in her niqab, waiting to confirm the target. She was one of the CIA’s most valu
able assets in Yemen. She repeatedly had put herself in harm’s way to gather intel on the AIJB.
Two months earlier, she had contacted her handler with the whereabouts of al-Samarrai, having spotted him leaving a pharmacy. But by the time Cole’s team had arrived in Al Mukalla, the young CIA asset had lost him. Pearl had put herself at significant risk by engendering the help of the female assistant at the pharmacy to learn about al-Samarrai’s prescription and the doctor of record. She stalked both the pharmacy and the medical clinic where the terrorist’s doctor worked until she spotted him going in. This time the team was ready and on the scene within minutes.
Al-Samarrai was met by two of his masked followers as he came to the clerk’s desk to check out. Pearl stealthily sent a message to Wang.
Target leaving. Two guards.
Then she made the most regrettable mistake. She made eye contact with one of the guards.
“What are you looking at?” he shouted in Arabic.
“Apologies, sir. I am sorry. I did not mean anything,” Pearl pleaded. She bowed her head in deference.
“What is the problem here, Faraj?” al-Samarrai asked the guard.
“It was the way she was looking at you, Salim. This woman was here before we arrived. She is still here waiting, and I’m sure she has a phone.”
Al-Samarrai approached Pearl and calmly extended his hand. “Give me the phone.”
Pearl did nothing but kept her head down.
The terrorist punched her in the side of the head. “Give me the phone,” he demanded again.
The clerk at the desk remained silent. Pearl remembered all too well the similar painful scenes when al-Qaeda controlled the city. While all had suffered, it was especially true of women. Vivid memories of prior abuse danced in Pearl’s reeling mind as other women in the waiting room cried and moaned, begging al-Samarrai and his men to show mercy.
The two guards grabbed Pearl by the arms and stood her up, forcing her to release the phone clenched in her right hand. Faraj handed the phone to al-Samarrai and grabbed Pearl’s hand, pushing her thumb onto the device and opening the home screen. Al-Samarrai swiped over to the text app and opened it to reveal the last message sent. His eyes widened and he raced over to the door, stood to the side, and peeked through the windowpane to see if he could spot his predators.
Al-Samarrai spotted the American spy across the street, three buildings over. The feared hunter of the AIJB. An open green windbreaker flapped in the wind, revealing a black shirt and khaki cargo pants. Al-Samarrai knew that behind the disguise and sunglasses was the dreaded AIJB killer, Cole Cameron.
“We need to go out the back. Bring her with us. Call Ahmed have him meet us at the market.” Salim al-Samarrai backed away from the window and headed to the back door of the clinic, ignoring the women in the waiting room who were wailing and begging for him to leave Pearl.
✽✽✽
Sara Wang sent a text to Pearl. What’s the status?
“Base, what’s going on? Where are they?” Cole asked.
“Stand by,” Wang said.
A few seconds later the reply came. Called back to the doctor. Have to wait.
“Razorback One, looks like we’re back to waiting. Doc called him back in,” Sara Wang relayed.
“Doesn’t feel right,” Cole said. “You still have a visual on the rear of the building?”
Wang glanced at the feed from remote cameras the team had planted around the clinic for their stakeout.
“Affirmative,” Wang responded, seeing the feed with the view of the back door. “Wait, shit! They’re exiting the back door, and they have our asset. Heading west.”
“Dammit!” Cole shouted over the comm. Wang leaned over Sinha as they watched him sprint toward the clinic. “Three,” he barked, “you circle around in the car to the north and keep your eyes peeled and head down.”
“Copy that,” Robinson replied.
The screens revealed Capps and Cole bursting through the door to the clinic, and they were lost to sight as they rushed through the waiting room to the rear exit.
“Be advised,” Wang said, “we no longer have visual. Targets are out of the camera perimeter. Sending the bird up now for an overview.” She took over at the desk as Sinha jumped up, running to the roof to send off the small aerial reconnaissance drone. When Sinha raced back down to the nest, he assumed the flight controls from Wang.
“Thank God,” she said, giving him the joystick. “Steve, I almost crashed it into a building. Those controls are too sensitive.”
“No, they’re just right. You just have to know what you’re doing,” Sinha said as sweat dripped from his forehead.
“Sorry, I didn’t spend my adolescence playing video games.”
Cole appeared in Wang’s camera feed outside the rear door as he and Capps followed the target west down the narrow alley, stopping as they came to the first cross street.
“Talk to me, people,” Cole said over the comms.
“This is Three. No joy here, but I’m driving around.”
“Bird is in the air. Be over your position in three minutes,” Wang said.
After a brief pause at the next cross street, they heard Cole. “We’ve got to get to her soon, or she’s dead.” Cole punched his comm again. “This is One. I’m continuing west, and Two is heading north of the clinic off of the first intersection.”
Wang didn’t like that the team was split up now, but they had no choice. They needed to get to Pearl.
“Copy that.”
Wang and Sinha scanned the feed as he guided the drone over the dense city.
“I think I see them,” Robinson said. Her car’s brakes screeched over the comm as she was blocked by a vendor accepting delivery. “About four or five streets north of the clinic.” Street names were impossible in this place.
Sinha toggled the joystick and flew the drone toward Robinson’s location. Capps and Cole would be heading that direction, though Cole was likely west of the situation.
Wang squinted at the images of the streets the drone recorded as it flew over. She spotted Capps running up the edge of the road, then three blocks further north, Robinson’s boxed-in car came into view. “OK, Three. We’re over you. Where’s the target?” Wang asked.
“Maybe fifty to sixty meters west of my location. The target, plus one, has asset by the arm, but they’re just standing there. I don’t have a visual on the other guard,” Robinson conveyed.
Sinha delicately maneuvered the drone over the target’s position and brought the images into focus.
“That’s affirmative on the target. We have him in sight,” Wang reported.
“We’ve got to find the other guard. Watch your six,” Cole warned.
Sinha zoomed the lens back out for a broader view. A man was walking down the middle of the road behind Robinson’s car. “Sara,” he said, pointing to the monitor.
Wang jumped on the comm. “Three, you have a hostile on your six.” In the drone’s feed, Capps changed his course, running behind buildings to his teammate’s aid.
✽✽✽
Robinson adjusted the rearview but didn’t see anything. She glanced in her side mirror and caught a blur as the window came smashing in. Faraj threw open the driver’s door and pulled her out of the seat, slamming her against the hood of the car and choking her. She kicked and scratched at his arms, but Faraj’s strength was too much. Just as her eyes rolled back in her head, she heard a dissonant bang. Faraj’s head snapped back and he fell to the ground. Robinson rolled over, gasping, to see that Capps had fired a headshot from twenty yards out.
When he reached her, he gathered her in his arms, knelt down, and leaned her forward to help her catch her breath. As she was recovering, they looked together down the narrow street to the corner where al-Samarrai and his other guard had held Pearl. They were gone.
“Base, Three is secure. Do you have visual on the target?” Capps asked between breaths while holding Robinson.
“We’re looking.”
✽✽✽
Cole had zigzagged his way toward the others and turned the corner a few blocks west of Capps’s position. He realized the team had run right into one of the areas considered unsafe by the local authorities because of its people’s hard separatist leanings and antagonistic opposition against the current government. The whole city was deemed dangerous, but this was one of the areas that you did not want to be in without armored vehicles.
An open-market area was directly ahead of him, and Cole stood for a moment watching the people moving around and the vendors soliciting. He spotted his prey, two men, looking very pissed off and nervous, shoving a woman around by the arm. “I’ve got ’em. They’re heading into the open market,” he said over the comm.
“Wait for us,” Capps said. “It’s a red zone.”
Cole remembered the map of the city with red-shaded areas indicating no entry.
“Let’s go get that son of a bitch,” Robinson gritted.
“We’ll lose ’em. I’m going in,” Cole said.
The drone flew over his position, and Cole knew Wang and Sinha had a bird’s eye view of the open market and the surrounding danger. Cole worked his way past the merchants.
“Team be advised,” Wang said. “At the north end of the market we have a stopped car. It’s holding up traffic. Hold on. One, you have two additional armed tangos with AKs. They just got out of the vehicle about seventy meters to the north.” A shout of protest echoed behind Cole.
“Razorback One, you have two additional tangos coming from the south. Two and Three, do you have them in sight?”
“We see ’em.”
Cole turned to see Capps and Robinson, at the south end of the market, draw their weapons. A frenzy of hysteria and wailing broke out as merchants and customers alike ducked for cover. The commotion caused al-Samarrai and his guard to hasten to their getaway car. Two armed men exited the vehicle to deal with the foreigner.
