Donovan's War

by W. J. Lundy

  The tall man approached him quickly, speaking in broken English. “Why you here? What you want?”

  Tommy held his hands to his front and put his palms up, letting the man step closer. The two sidekicks seemed embolden by their leader and held close to his sides. Tommy shook his head with a dulled expression, and this time took a strategically placed back step, drawing the trio into the exact position he wanted them.

  Scanning the attackers, he only saw one weapon—a long-bladed knife in the tall man’s belt. The other two pumped their fists and grinned at him, eager for an easy victim. Tommy knew where this inquiry was going; the men were looking for a simple score, an American they could take and sell off to a rival group. Or to make one of their famous propaganda videos.

  Now inside of Tommy’s striking range, the tall man planted his feet and drew the knife. It had a long, curved blade, the cutting edge chipped and rusty. Tommy let his hands shake, seeing the blade.

  “You a reporter, yes? Who, CNN?” the man said, causing the others to laugh. “You come with us,” he ordered, pointing the knife at Tommy. “You come, I take you home.” He held the knife in a butcher’s grip in his right hand, with the blade pointed up. It fit into Tommy’s plan precisely, as he wouldn’t have to turn the man’s wrist to do his work.

  “Ya zabludilsa. Ne podskajete dorogu?” Tommy said, asking for directions in Russian.

  The tall man’s expression quickly changed. He paused and drew his lower lip between his teeth, now thinking Tommy was Russian. The kidnapper’s mind flashed from having an easy score, to something else, something dangerous. Hurting a Russian soldier would be an instant death sentence. The Russians were known to destroy entire neighborhoods in retaliation for a single soldier’s death. The scarfed man plastered a smile on his face, getting an idea, and Tommy already knew what it was. Returning a lost Russian soldier to his post would gain him favor with the local commanders, maybe even access.

  The two henchmen stepped closer as the tall man’s knife hand slacked and his expression softened. Tommy, now taking full advantage of the confusion, stepped in hard across the man’s body. He grabbed the knife hand and guided it up into the leader’s throat. Missing the bone, the blade cut cleanly through the left side of the man’s neck. The tall man released the blade and gripped his carotid artery, which was already spurting blood across the red-and-white scarf.

  Without missing a movement, Tommy released the wrist, gripped the handle of the knife, and drew it back. Ducking and turning away, he twisted and lunged the blade into the chest of the henchman to his right. Two men were now down in the street bleeding. Only one man remained, and he was standing against the alley wall by the tall man, who was now on his knees with both hands clutching his throat.

  The remaining man put up his arms and babbled surrender. Seeing the man had no fight left in him, Tommy took a striking step forward and punched him in the sternum, bending him over. Tommy grabbed the back of the man’s jacket and whispered in his ear in Arabic. “Women were taken in this city. Stolen from a church. I want them released or I will kill every single one of you. Tell this to the man in charge.”

  Without waiting for a response, Tommy shoved the man down into the pile of his bleeding comrades. He stood and straightened his shirt, shaking his head at the drops of blood now staining his shirt sleeve. Rolling his shoulders, he left the alley and turned back onto the bright street as if nothing had happened.

  He felt no remorse or guilt for killing a pair of street thugs. Tommy knew what this part of Syria was all about, the center of a nation destroyed by civil war. Albahr was considered a safe haven to some. Mostly to those on the outer edges of extremist bubbles. Groups that one day could appear loyalist and the next take up arms and fight alongside the extremists. There were also Russians in town, not regular forces but contractors, and that complicated matters. Officially there as a quasi-peacekeeping force, they worked to provide law and order where none really existed.

  With so many players and rifts in the area, it lent to great hardships for the local populations just trying to survive. What looked like safety and security provided by the Russian-backed security forces was really like living in Nazi-occupied France. People were always closely watched, and any mistake could be reason to have you swept away and arrested in the middle of the night. Criminal elements controlled all the businesses, and if your family members were kidnapped, you had little choice but to pay the ransom or never see them again. There was no room for neutrality; you had to take sides or be considered the enemy. Tommy had sent a message that someone new was in town, and he had chosen a side.

  He walked slowly down the sidewalk, passing closed shops, and stopped in front of the café. A frail man in traditional Arab garments looked Tommy up and down as he moved past the entrance and took a seat at an open table. He sat with his back to the wall and looking down the street the way he’d come. The old man approached and spoke to him softly in a concerned tone. He waved an open hand and muttered words that Tommy knew meant that he wasn’t welcome there. Tommy ignored the warning and smiled, placing several folded bills on the table. He looked back down the road, in the direction of the SUV, and watched as Ali made a three-point turn and vanished in a cloud of dust. Only then did he acknowledge the man and order a plate of bread and tea.

  The man shot him a worried expression, not so much a look of concern for Tommy, but with eyes that betrayed the old man’s fear. He looked at Tommy again and shook his head before returning to the inside of the café. Soon after, a bearded man dressed in dark-blue garments walked to the table and sat heavily across from Tommy, carelessly dropping a plate of wood-fired pita bread and filling the already placed cups with tea. “What the hell are you doing here, Tommy?” the man asked.

  Tommy held back the smile, warmed at seeing his old friend. His face was tanned, thick crow’s feet had formed at the corners of his eyes, and his beard had grown gray, but he was the same man Tommy remembered. Strong and confident, he looked ready to wrestle a bear if the moment presented itself. The man broke off a bit of the bread and washed it down with the tea.

  “It’s good to see you, Papa,” Tommy said. “I never pictured you working a kitchen.”

  Elias Beda shook his head and scowled. “Don’t call me that; I’m no one’s Papa anymore.” The man looked up and down the street with concern. “We need to go inside. You have no idea how dangerous this is.” The man stood and returned to the café without looking back. Tommy grabbed a handful of the bread and followed Elias inside, hearing his friend say, “Just your blue eyes alone put a bounty on you with the local Jihadist.”

  “So the travel brochure about the peace-loving people of Albahr was misleading?”

  “Fuck you, Tommy. Come on, we can’t meet here.”

  He was led through an empty dining room filled with the scent of a wood fire and roasting meat. Elias moved into a narrow hallway before climbing stairs to a small bedroom. Elias waited for Tommy to enter and closed the door behind them; he then went to the window and looked left and right before ducking back inside and closing the curtains. “Where is the rest of your team?”

  “I’m alone,” Tommy said, stepping to the center of the bedroom, searching for a chair. Not finding any other furniture but a small hutch, he sat at the foot of the bed. With as much confidence as Tommy had, being back in the presence of his mentor again, he suddenly felt like a young soldier looking for guidance. “I need your help, Papa.”

  “Alone?” Papa shook his head and turned to face him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I told you, I need your help.”

  “You stupid bastard. You shouldn’t have come.”

  Elias rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, wiping away sweat. He frowned and looked at Tommy. “Don’t you see what is going on? There is a war here. How can I help you? Tell them I am out of the service, I’m retired.”

  “You’re not listening. I’m not working for anyone, and I’m not leaving.”

&nbs
p; Elias paced through the room and stopped near the wall, leaning back against it. He looked down at Tommy’s stone expression. “Why are you here?”

  Tommy let his eyes drop to the floor. “You’re the only one I could come to for help.” He paused and looked up into the eyes of his old friend. “They have my sister.”

  His jaw dropped. “Who has her?”

  “I don’t know. She was taken from the Christian church in Albahr nearly a week ago. I have nothing else to go on; nobody is talking, and our government isn’t lifting a finger to help.”

  “You’re telling the truth, aren’t you?” Elias said, moving away from the wall. “You really came alone. Have you lost your damned mind? Do you know how dangerous this is?”

  “I don’t have anyone else. You and Sarah are the only family I have left. Everyone else is gone.”

  The older man moved to the bed and sat beside him. “Who has her?”

  “I told you I don’t know. The group made a ransom demand to the Church then went quiet. I thought that maybe—”

  “I don’t know what you think I can do for you, Tommy. I told you I’m retired; I’m out of it.” Elias sighed and turned back to the window, watching the breeze sway the curtains. He hesitated before dropping his head and exhaling loudly. “I know it doesn’t seem like much, but this place—and my father—are all I’ve got. I’ve been walking a fine line to keep us above ground.”

  Tommy stared down his old friend and slowly shook his head side to side, calling his bluff. “I’ve known you too long, Papa. I know why you came here and it wasn’t to fry bread. I know you came here to fight, or you would have already taken your father and left.”

  Elias clenched his fists and pumped a frustrated arm. He closed his eyes tight then slowly opened them. “Tell me something; promise me that you aren’t here to feed the fire in your stomach, you aren’t here just to get yourself killed. I was there after James died. I watched you snap, and I saw how long it took to get you back. Tell me this isn’t you trying to bring yourself back to some dark place.”

  “Papa, I told you they have my sister and nobody else is going to help.”

  “Then give me something to work with.”

  “I told you what I know—she was taken north of here. I don’t have all of the details, but it was a planned attack, and whoever was responsible had the connections to pass communications to the Church and the State Department without making noise.”

  “Why was she here? Is she with the company? And don’t lie to me.”

  Tommy shook his head. “No, Sarah was doing aid work, delivering medical supplies, when they were attacked. All of the women were taken away to be sold, I imagine. They asked for a ransom, but nobody is acknowledging her existence, and whoever has her isn’t publicizing it.”

  Elias pressed knuckles against his lips. He shook his head and tried to conceal his knowing expression. “Albahr is a bad place, officially under government control, with security guaranteed by the Russians. But it’s on the fringe of several rebel groups. Some of them more familiar than others.”

  “Red-and-white scarves?” Tommy asked.

  “Yeah, one of the worst. I try to keep them off my street, but they always find their way back. They are the lowest of the low, and they are connected.”

  “When you say connected, do you mean the former Special Services, the Badawi? The thugs we met in Iraq? I heard they are operating here. I know that high-stakes kidnapping used to be their game.”

  “The Badawi we knew is history—it isn’t a thing anymore, not the way it used to be. They broke up and scattered like rats all over this region. You can still find pieces here and there, but the group has been dissolved. What’s left is something worse.” Elias paused and looked away.

  “You know more. Tell me about the church attack, your eyes betray you.”

  Elias sighed again and dipped his chin. “I never was good at poker. I know about the attack you mentioned, the one against the church. There have been several in recent weeks, all in the same area, all about the same time. Many women have been taken.”

  “Then you know who is responsible?” Tommy asked.

  Elias shook his head, pondering a response. “Whoever did this made a hell of a storm. A lot of people went missing. I know some local families paid the ransom and a few women were released, mostly those in political positions. The ones who didn’t, or the families that couldn’t afford it… rumors are the women went into the underground market.”

  “If there is a market, there has to be a way to get inside.”

  The older man stood and walked back to the window. “There is a way, but it will take some time, and it could get very messy.”

  “I don’t mind messy,” Tommy said. “Just get me a thread hold, any loose end that I can grab onto.”

  “I’ve seen this look in your eyes before, Tommy. You are a time bomb waiting to explode. You should step back and let the government handle this.”

  Tommy’s face hardened. “I can’t do nothing. I’d rather die than sit by while this happens to her.”

  “This isn’t you, Tommy. You’re a professional; you don’t go out and do things like this. Jack didn’t train you to be a renegade, to go off the reservation without a plan.”

  “Jack is dead. I’m nobody now. Besides, you don’t know shit about me, Elias. I’m not the same man anymore.” Tommy clenched his teeth and looked away. “All my friends are gone—” He stopped and let his head hang, his eyes focusing on the floor. “Even in this shit hole, you’ve got it better than me. I don’t have anyone—no family. The only time I see my friends is in my dreams, and I spend my days alone, drinking. I drink until I pass out so I don’t dream about them at night.”

  Elias shook his head. “Fuck you, Tommy. It can’t be that bad.”

  “I’m gone, I’m all used up. But not Sarah. She’s a good person, and if I can give up what’s left of me to help her, then I’ll do it.”

  Elias frowned and moved toward the wall, pulling out an old wooden stool. He sat heavily then looked across at his friend. “I can help you—I will help you—but I’m not looking to get myself or any of my friends or family killed. I’m not signing on to be part of your suicide mission. If we do this, then we do it right.”

  Tommy pursed his lips and nodded.

  “No fucking around, Tommy. You’ve got to let me do my thing, and I’ll make this work. I’ll reach out and find out what I can.” He stopped and looked at Tommy again, shaking his head.

  “Clean yourself up and get some rest. I’ll wake you when it’s time to move.”

  12

  “And you’re certain it was him?”

  Fayed held the phone receiver in his hand, already nervous about transmitting such important information over an open phone line. He now grew angry, having to explain himself to someone he considered of lesser intellect. He was taking too many risks, and who knew how many people could be listening? “The man’s description matches who we are looking for. How many blue-eyed men cross at remote stations then kill the guards on the other side?” he said with sarcasm oozing from every word.

  Not entirely alone, he stood on the street corner under a lamppost, looking out over the wet cobblestone. He spoke in hushed Arabic and was cautious to make sure no eavesdroppers were within range of his voice. Couples passed by, walking hand in hand, taking in what they considered romantic venues. This was a popular street, connecting many different attractions favorited by tourists. He’d chosen the spot intentionally, in case his phone was triangulated. If it was, it would be better to be picked up in an area with heavy phone traffic. The city was always subject to surveillance, and even with taking the added precaution of disposable phones, open-air communications was a risk.

  “So the attacker was white. How do we know this is our man? You said he was in Turkey. How the hell did he get to Jordan?”

  “Obviously, we were misinformed,” Fayed said with a sigh. “And it’s not only that, our informants say that after he killed th
e guards, he burned the bodies and the evidence then continued on into Syria. Why would he take time to cover his tracks? Also, there were no attempts made to stop him. He entered the country untouched and on no flight manifest. Someone bribed the Jordanians and allowed him to pass into Syria without inspection.”

  “What are you saying?” Abdul asked.

  “He is not working alone. This is no rogue operator; he has to have been assisted by the government. This has to be part of a larger operation.”

  Abdul grunted, “Nonsense, you know how they work these days. If there was an operation, you would know. I pay you to tell me these things in advance. Not days later. Now go back to your people and get me the information I need to have this man removed.” The line went dead as Abdul slammed the receiver.

  Fayed closed the burner phone and dropped it into a trashcan as he walked past. The Paris streets were dark and he was in a well-off part of the city. Tourists walked sidewalks and peddlers tried to sell them knock-off purses and watches. He scowled and turned the corner as he headed back to his apartment. Abdul was right, of course. He was paid to predict these situations. He was normally a confident man, but when he got word that the brother was spotted on the Syrian border, something awoke a fear deep inside him.

  Maybe he’d played the game too long, enjoyed it all just a little too much. He pondered the situation. If this man had so easily moved without Fayed noticing, then what else could he do? No, it was impossible; the brother didn’t know anything. It probably wasn’t even him; just another ruse like the trip to Turkey, something from the American CIA, used to smoke them out. Of course it was a trick. He stopped momentarily, feeling a shiver in the cold air. It was his paranoia. He’d always been careful, but for some reason this operation was going all wrong. He looked ahead into the shadows to where his building was lit brightly from the front doors.