by W. J. Lundy
The Israeli held his chin in his hands, looking down at the slate floor, then nodded slowly. He pulled a small notebook from his sleeve and scribbled onto the tattered pages. “I can make that happen quickly, but the flyer isn’t the only reason I came here.”
“The girl?”
“Yes, you’ll have to hold her. The city isn’t safe to try to move her, and won’t be for several days.”
Tommy sighed with irritation. “I’m planning to make things a hell of a lot worse.”
“I thought you might be,” Kohen said with resignation. “Would it be a wasted effort for me to ask you to hold off on what you have planned? Maybe to allow me to gather intelligence for you?”
Tommy shook his head. “No can do.”
“In that case, maybe we can provide you assistance, help you end all of this sooner rather than later.”
“And what would you want in return?” Tommy asked.
“I would like a heads up on your next move. It’s embarrassing for a man like me to be surprised by a hotel bombing in the middle of his district. I’m not asking for permission, but a warning would be nice.”
“Anything else?”
Kohen squinted and stroked his beard. “We want Nassir.”
Tommy grimaced and studied Kohen’s face. “You’re serious. Why would you want the Hyena?”
Kohen nodded. “To us, he is just Abdul Nassir, the Butcher. He has a high value. Your sister is the reason you’re here. I can help you find her location, I can provide the backup to secure her release, if you agree to work with us.”
Tommy looked across the space to Elias, who was sitting at the kitchen table. The man shrugged a response. Donovan’s head hung down while he bit at his lower lip. “We know of an outpost near a canal. Is she there?”
“We know of this place; it is the center of Nassir’s operations.”
“Is Sarah there?”
“It is likely. I’ll need some time to confirm it. Give me a couple of days to move assets into place.”
Tommy shook his head and grunted, rising to his feet. “You have hours, not days. I’ll hit the compound in the darkest part of the morning. If you want to join in, have your people here, ready to go.”
22
Fayed held a cigarette in his left hand, the phone to his ear with the other. He paced the room and pulled back the curtain, watching the flashing lights and vehicle convoys racing past. He nodded and spoke into the phone. “Yes, sir, I’m fine. Absolutely fine.”
He shook his head and turned back, hearing a knock at the door behind him. “Mr. Director, I am okay. The blast was directed away from the hotel, the police quickly locked down the area, and everything is under control. Yes, sir, I will be returning to France as soon as possible.”
He clicked the receiver, ending the call, and turned toward the door as it opened. Two men, clean-shaven and wearing tan canvas jackets and black slacks, entered the room. The two could have been twins, with very little to distinguish a difference between them outside of their height. Fayed recognized them immediately as part of Abdul’s personal security guards. They were professionals, not Syrian or Arab. He knew they were Chechens, as Abdul liked to hire Muslim mercenaries from that region—men who would be loyal to the dollar with no sympathies for local conflicts. Even though Fayed had seen the two before, he only knew them by their names and reputation for violence. The Basayez brothers, Aslan and Doku, were wanted in several countries. They were expensive and successful at accomplishing their tasks. Aslan, the eldest and larger of the two, stepped forward and pointed to Fayed.
“Mr. Nassir asked us to escort you to his location. Come now.”
Fayed took a step back, still clutching the phone in his hand. “I’m sorry, but that is impossible; I have been recalled to France. I must depart immediately.”
The big man shook his head, his hard jaw hiding any emotion. He casually opened his jacket, showing the grip of a concealed submachine gun. “Mr. Nassir demands it.”
Fayed reached to grab his small travel bag, but the Chechen spoke again. “Leave it, you won’t need anything. Our people will gather your belongings and have them moved.”
“So, I won’t be returning?” Fayed said, the tenor of his voice rising. Fayed knew that if Abdul had sent the Chechens then he must be in serious danger. If not, he would have sent the routine drivers, or regular body guards. He sent Chechens when he wanted something done, and he had made it personal.
“Come,” the man said, stepping aside. Fayed flexed his arms, straightening his body and walked between them, striding quickly as he made his way through the lobby and past the porter, onto the night street. He tried to hide his fear of what was ahead of him. A convoy of black Range Rovers were parked in front of the hotel. A door on the center vehicle opened and Fayed was rushed inside. He sat back in the cool leather interior. The tall Chechen moved in beside him as the other moved to the front passenger seat.
Abdul had money and resources, and when it came to vehicles he spared no expense. The vehicles were top-of-the-line. They were armored and bulletproof, the windows tinted so dark it was impossible to see in from the outside, but clear as glass from within. The tires were heavy and designed to run even when flat. The Range Rovers pulled into traffic, racing away from the city center, following a canal eastward. They stopped at a Russian military checkpoint then to a badly potholed intersection that ran parallel to a canal. Fayed turned in his seat, examining the unfamiliar terrain; he’d rarely left the city. “Where are we?” he asked no one.
The bodyguard beside him grunted. “We are going to the villa that once belonged to an important man. It overlooks a village lost in the early fighting with the extremists.”
“Once belonged?” Fayed asked. “Where is this man now?”
“Yes—this man left at the start of the conflict, when the war was just outside his home’s gates. Nassir rents from him now.” The man laughed. “He finds the price very reasonable.”
Fayed nodded. “I see,” he said, knowing the real owner was probably dead. They turned onto a street, passing through the ruins of a small village with destroyed military vehicles on both sides of the road. A battle had taken place here, a battle ignored as Fayed could clearly see the remains of a Syrian soldier sitting in the passenger seat of a transport truck. The convoy moved out of the village and onto a winding gravel path that traveled up the hill. He watched as large wooden gates were opened, allowing the convoy to enter the walled compound. Through the gate they followed an olive-tree-lined road to the top of the hill. “And Abdul is here?”
The vehicles stopped alongside a lit cobblestone walkway. The man turned in his seat just as Fayed’s door was opened. “Yes, he is waiting for you.”
As Fayed exited the vehicle, his eyes surveyed the property. Unlike other homes in the area that had faded due to a lack of maintenance, this one was well landscaped, with fountains and shrubbery. There was also a large number of guards armed with rifles and submachine guns, walking in roving teams. Fayed had never seen this place or known of its existence, and now that concerned him. He was always careful to not get too close. You have to be worried when you pierce to the center of a known criminal’s life. To know things that they would kill to keep quiet. He was afraid now that this oasis in Abdul’s life may be one of them.
They walked the winding path, which opened into a yard made of fine grasses and a stone patio illuminated by gas lamps. At the end of the patio was a short, stone wall with a view of Albahr expanding out from it. At the face of the wall stood Abdul. He was looking out over the city. The bodyguards moved Fayed closer then stepped away, ushering him forward. Abdul turned, hearing the footsteps behind him.
“Ah, the great Interpol inspector, my eyes and ears to the world against me.”
Fayed shied away from the words, knowing of his recent failures. “Abdul, why did you send for me?”
The man didn’t speak. Instead, he began walking the path toward the front of the large, stone villa. Fayed fell in be
side him, walking slowly. Finally, Abdul said, “I’ve changed my mind about the women.”
“In what way?” Fayed asked.
“You were right about them. I should have listened to you; they are bad for business. I should have stayed well clear of it. Let’s get past these complications and turn a corner. I feel it’s time to take a new direction, to go on the offensive.” Abdul pulled the wanted poster from his pocket and handed it to the young investigator.
Fayed studied it, recognizing the photo of Tommy Donovan he’d sent to Abdul days ago. “I have to caution you—”
“You would be wise to hold your tongue,” Abdul spat, his eyes cold. “My decision has been made.”
Fayed paused and nodded. He was still somewhat confused, not sure what Abdul’s plan was. He took a deep breath. “I see, but a wanted poster may not be enough to solve our problem. It may not be enough to end the attacks.”
Abdul stopped on the path and turned toward the inspector. “You have failed to give me good information, Fayed. Of course this won’t end the attacks; we are beyond that now. Your methods have failed, and I have found a more expedient approach.”
Fayed swallowed hard, misunderstanding Abdul’s words. “This is not what I do, I can’t help you track this man down here, not in this city. I’ve helped you plenty in recent years, but fighting a war on the ground, I cannot help you with.”
Abdul reached out and cupped Fayed’s cheek, silencing him. “Yes, I understand. I don’t need you for fighting.”
“Then why am I here? What do you need me to do?”
“Walk with me.” Abdul grinned, continuing on the stone path leading back to the front of the house. “A vehicle will arrive soon; take it to the outpost across the canal. The two remaining women are being held there. I want you to kill them.”
Fayed’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t sure what to say, and he could see by Abdul’s expression that he was serious—and also testing him. If he answered incorrectly he would die here on this stone path. Instead of speaking, Fayed dipped his chin. From behind Abdul he watched two men approach with Jamal, the jailer. The Jailer held a leather pouch and a suppressed pistol. Abdul stepped aside and put a hand on the Jailer’s shoulder.
“Now, this is a loyal soldier, Fayed. You should watch Jamal and follow his lead.”
Fayed stared at the bald man absently as he was passed the leather pouch. He opened it, finding a crucifix, a pair of wallets with local currency, and two passports—one American, the other French.
“What is this?” Fayed asked.
“These were the things taken from the women’s rooms. When you are done, leave them with the bodies so they may be identified,” Abdul said, giving instructions as if they were a recipe to baking a cake.
Fayed stared into the satchel. “This is your solution?” he asked.
“With the women dead, what will there be for them to fight for?” Abdul replied.
Lights shone on the path as a pair of vehicles stopped and men exited the lead and tail Range Rovers. Jamal grinned and handed Fayed the suppressed pistol.
“What is about to happen?” Fayed asked.
The Jailer laughed, looking to Abdul with a sadistic grin before turning back to smile, showing his stained teeth to Fayed. Abdul put a hand on Fayed’s shoulder. “You will enter the vehicle and Jamal will take you to the women.”
Fayed clenched his teeth, swallowing his fear, his hands shaking as he gripped the pistol. “There must be a better way,” he said in a low voice.
Not flinching, Abdul grinned. “As I said, that is something you must do. Once this issue with the women is resolved, we will decide how to deal with the brother.” Abdul waved a hand toward the vehicle. “Now you must leave.”
“And where will you be?” Fayed asked, gripping the pistol, his eyes fixed on it.
“I will join you at the outpost shortly, but first I must see how to deal with this nuisance in my city. The mayor is not happy with us.” Abdul turned away. He walked back toward the villa, leaving Fayed alone with Jamal on the cobblestone path looking at the Range Rover.
23
With no moon, the sky was coal black and the canal smelled like a monkey’s ass in a hot zoo. The small boat drifted along the current-free water, sliding along the bank covered in high grass. Tommy was dressed in black with Ivan body armor covering his chest and night vision goggles pulled down over his eyes. The goggles were stolen from Iraqi troops and then purchased in the black market by Elias’s people. They were old and not what he was used to but Tommy was thankful to have them. Elias was in the bow of the boat, lying on his stomach, guiding them to the shoreline.
The two men slid from the small boat in unison and dropped, without a sound, into the cool water of the canal. Elias shoved the boat toward the center of the channel, allowing the breeze to carry it away. Tommy fell to his belly, feeling the pain in his side from the still tender wound, stitched up only hours earlier. He pushed the pain aside and directed it to the enemy to his front. He crawled up the bank then took a position in the high, reed grass at the top. Elias moved farther to the right and covered his flank.
The outpost in front of them was poorly lit, he could hear a generator humming from the other side of the building. There were many approaches with almost no cover. It was an oddly conceived position with several avenues of attack. The building was once a cultural center, a large structure with an open gallery in the front, hallways and small offices in the back. Kohen had provided the intel on the layout, and as Tommy surveyed the structures, he could see that Kohen’s briefing lined up true with what he was seeing. It was a nice spot for a library or museum but horrible for a fort.
The outpost was located on a point of land where the canal made a wide U, giving the men inside the false sense of being protected by the waters covering them on three sides. Tommy had already counted at least ten guards at the front of the outpost, most positioned in and around lazily constructed fighting positions and offset barriers. The main approach was fortified with a low, crumbling, ancient wall. There was an open gate where a road entered the outpost and formed a large circle driveway. The drive itself was lined with several vehicles sporting mounted machine guns. More men patrolled along the road in pairs, and other guards stood static to the front of a small guardhouse placed halfway between the gate and the main structure.
He let his eyes scan the guard posts and immediately noticed the lack of binoculars and night vision devices. These men were comfortable here, they considered themselves the top of the pyramid. And for the most part they were right, with any opposing forces being tied up with the Russians and Syrian security forces. Tonight, though they would be tested.
Tommy flinched with the static pop in his earpiece. “Vehicles on the move from the south approach.”
Kohen had men of his own positioned on the approach roads to the outpost, identifying vehicles on the east and southern approaches. Elias had local fighters in a ravine, a hundred meters away, all of them ready to move in when he gave the word to attack. Although working together, the teams had separate motivations. Tommy wanted Sarah, Kohen wanted the Hyena, and the local fighters wanted to kill as many of the criminals as possible.
Shifting his position, Tommy moved his optics to the gate and watched a convoy of two high-priced Range Rovers enter the outpost, the vehicles clouding the trail in dust. They pulled beyond the guardhouse and stopped close to the entrance of the structure. Doors opened and armed men moved into the light as others left the building, gathering around the arriving vehicles.
“Fuck, how many are invited to this party?” Elias whispered, looking through the optics of a spotting scope.
“Is it him?” Tommy whispered.
Elias shook his head. “Can’t confirm, but that man to the right is our friend, Jamal.”
Tommy pushed up on his elbows and pulled the optics of the suppressed SVS rifle closer to his eye. To the front of the Range Rover was the fat, bald man speaking to another man still concealed in the shad
ows. He let the reticle rest at the top of the Jailer’s shoulders then glided it left, examining visible faces. “I don’t see him,” he whispered into the open radio channel.
“We don’t go unless you confirm the target,” came a response from Kohen on the radio.
Tommy shook his head in frustration and put the crosshairs back on the Jailer. He pulled the throat mic away from his neck and looked to Elias with his finger caressing the trigger. “What if I just pop this cat’s grape?” he whispered. “Do the world a favor.”
“Slow down, Tommy,” Elias said, sliding closer. He leaned in and whispered, “This is a roundup; they are planning something. Nassir has to be close. We need to back off, wait.”
“Repeat. It’s a no-go if you cannot confirm.”
Tommy kept the cross hairs on the Jailer and watched the man turn and walk away with a second man in a dark dress jacket. Together the two men approached the structure’s main entrance and the door closed behind them. He shook his head in response to the radio call. “A lot of help these guys have been.” He rolled to his side and pulled a pair of pain pills from his pocket and chewed them. “Elias, take the rifle. I’m moving up. Give me five minutes to get close then cause a distraction. I’m going inside.”
“Tommy, listen—if she’s in there and we attack, she’s dead. We’d need a company of Rangers to take this place out.”
“This isn’t the Army. We don’t have a company, Papa. There aren’t any Black Hawks full of grunts inbound, and I won’t let her spend another day in there if I can stop it.”
“We don’t even know this is where she’s at.”
Tommy grimaced, drawing the MK23 and screwing on the suppressor. “I’ll find out if she’s here or not—” He paused and looked his friend in the eye. “If I don’t come back, don’t come looking for me.”
“Tommy, wait,” he heard his friend whisper as he leopard crawled through the high grass into the perimeter of the compound. Tommy knew the guards were undisciplined; their attention would be to the crowd at the front, not watching the canal behind them. He froze when he heard the crunching of grass ahead of him. Tilting his head up, he spotted the back of a man grinding his feet in the high grass.
