by W. J. Lundy
Before he could ready his MK23 for a shot, he heard the wisp of the round traveling through the air. With a clack, the back of the man’s head snapped forward. He knew Elias had taken the shot, covering his approach with the sniper rifle. Tommy crawled ahead and grabbed the body, dragging it back into the high grass before moving ahead to the outside wall of the structure. He pressed against it and rose into a squat.
Tommy steeled his mind, ignoring the commotion, and focused on the building. The walls were made of hardened bricks, the windows at least ten feet off the ground. Going to the front would be impossible so he turned toward the rear of the building, looking for a way in. He made his way along the wall and rounded the corner, entering the blind area that he knew Elias wouldn’t be able to cover. Again, he squatted to listen, more shouts of men at the front of the compound.
“Tommy, hold,” he heard Elias say over the radio. “Three are coming out, and headed directly for the Range Rover.”
“A woman?” Tommy asked.
“Impossible to tell, they are moving fast and through the shadows, they just boarded the lead Range Rover— Wait the other man in the dark jacket is back; he’s talking to a group near the entrance.”
“Jamal?”
“Negative, I didn’t see him come out.”
Tommy sat motionless, trying to focus on the radio. He could hear the group of men at the front of the compound. A man was shouting instructions as the others cheered.
“Something is going on, they are cheering. The man in the dark jacket just got into the vehicle with the other three. They are leaving east on the access road.”
Scenarios blasted through Tommy’s mind as he tried to decide on a course of action. If Jamal was still inside, the women would also be there. An answer on what to do came to him in the form of a call from Kohen’s men. “Five-vehicle convoy headed in on the south approach, there is a Black S-class Mercedes with them.”
“What about the other Range Rover?” Tommy asked over the channel.
“They’re nobody—let it go; Abdul is the target. Five-vehicle convoy on the outpost grounds. Confirmation, Abdul Nassir has exited the Mercedes. He is approaching the building entrance; we are a go.”
Before Tommy could speak again, he heard the reports of AK47 rifles from the front of the compound. The attack had started.
24
Fayed sat in the back of the air-conditioned Range Rover. The driver and passenger in the front had changed; he didn’t know these men. They were young and well dressed, but not the Chechens who had driven him to the Villa. Jamal was beside him, the man breathing nasally. The vehicle bounced over a section of rough road as it moved through the bombed-out village. He flinched and grabbed for a handhold above the window next to his seat. He looked down and saw the leather satchel and the suppressed pistol on the seat beside him.
Jamal caught his gaze and shrugged. “It is for the best. Sometimes you have to let merchandise go. It is not good for business to hold onto property that only causes you expenses. This property has cost us a lot, Fayed. It is for the best.”
Fayed shuddered as he listened to the man speak, comparing human life to products on a shelf. The absence of the Chechens helped him relax some. For a bit, he feared he would be buried in the desert along with the women. Still he wasn’t quite sure and wouldn’t be until he was on a flight back to Paris. His mind scrambled for a solution; there had to be another way. “Where will we take them after it is over?”
Jamal shrugged. “That is up to you. I have no other part in this. Once you have completed your task”—the bald man pointed toward the driver—“Samir will take you wherever you wish to go. You dispose of your mistakes however you choose.”
“And what about after?” Fayed said, pointing to the front seats. The men not even moving to acknowledge that he was speaking about them.
“I already said, Samir and Omar will do whatever you need them to. When your task is accomplished. They will return here, they work for you until the job is done.” With the final line, Fayed observed the one named Samir nod his head.
The pair of vehicles turned onto a narrow gravel road then slowed as they crossed into a walled-in set of buildings. They drove past a hastily constructed guard shack and past several machine-gun-mounted trucks before stopping near the grounds of a tall square building. Jamal opened his door and stepped into the low-lit yard. Fayed exited on his side and moved around the front of the vehicle toward the Jailer. Jamal pointed to the front of the brick and stucco structure. “It doesn’t look like much, but this outpost has served us well.”
“They are inside?” Fayed asked, his voice low and steady.
Jamal looked at the inspector and saw that Fayed now had the pistol tucked in his waistband. He turned back to the Range Rover and could see the satchel still on the bench seat. He grinned, having thought it would take more to convince Fayed to carry out his responsibilities. But now the young man’s face had turned hard, and there was determination in his eyes. “Yes, they are inside.”
“Then let’s get this over with,” Fayed said, signaling for the bald man to lead the way.
Jamal obliged, stepping across the dirt path and up a set of cast stone steps. They entered a tall lobby; the room was musty and stank of smoke and gun oil. Every open space was occupied by men gathered in circles conversing over sets of stacked weapons. As the party wended through the large room, Fayed looked back and could see that Samir and Omar were following close behind them. They turned into a narrow hallway and an old woman adorned with a silver scarf greeted them warmly.
She smiled and exchanged words with Jamal before handing him a key. She then pointed to a barred door at the end of the long hallway. Jamal turned to Fayed with a smile. “It is just this way,” he said, pointing to the door.
Fayed stood in the corridor, taking in the structure. To his right he saw another small room. There was no door, but the room was filled with women in black gowns; they turned away when he looked inside. The silver-scarfed woman caught the movements and rushed into the room, shouting insults at them. Jamal again laughed and motioned for Fayed to join him at the door. The Jailer turned to the guards and asked them to wait in the hall.
He then looked back to Fayed before saying, “Are you ready?”
“Yes, let’s go. I have a flight to catch,” he said impatiently.
Jamal dipped his chin and placed a key in the lock then unbarred the door, leaving the key in the mechanism. He led the way into the room and once Fayed was inside, he closed the door behind them. The room was small and dark, lit by a single bulb hanging from a wire in the center of the ceiling. The woman to the right was sitting, her head turning toward the sounds of the door. The second woman was lying motionless on the floor to his left. Dark hoods covered their heads. Jamal stepped to the side then turned to Fayed and waved toward the women with his open hand.
The young inspector pulled the pistol from his waist and pulled back on the slide, confirming a round was chambered. He looked down at the two figures on the floor, the end of the barrel switching between the two of them before finally settling on the lying figure. He pulled the trigger twice. The gun bucked in his hand. Even though suppressed, the gunshot was loud in the tight space. He felt Jamal jump beside him, and he heard the remaining woman begin to sob. He squeezed the pistol in his grip and turned to face the final woman.
Something clicked in his head. Something deep. It was nothing heroic or any sort of morality issue. It was purely a sense of self-preservation, something telling him that the woman was his only way out. If he killed her, he might as well be putting a bullet in his own head. Why else would they make him do it? Why would Abdul say he would be joining them at the outpost? Why was Jamal here? Surely the plan was to kill him as well.
His mind was always running twelve steps ahead. It was his intellect and instinct that he thought kept him safe and above his peers. Something was talking to him now, a plan rapidly developing in his subconscious. His finger caressed the trigge
r as he focused the sights on the woman’s hood. He couldn’t kill her, she was his way home. Without thinking, almost involuntarily, he spun and directed the pistol at Jamal’s face. The man began to speak, a startled look in his eyes.
Before Fayed could talk himself out of it, the bald man lay dead at his feet. The remaining woman trembled on the floor, not speaking. He reached down and grabbed her by the back of her shirt. Changing his voice and speaking roughly, he addressed her in English. “If you want to live, you will stand and keep your mouth shut.”
Surprisingly, the woman complied and with his help, rose to unsteady legs. Fayed kept her hooded and moved her to the right of the door then reached for the latch. As he pulled the door open, it pressed against Jamal’s body. Fayed strained and pulled hard, sliding the dead man closer to the wall. He pushed the hooded woman out ahead of him into the hallway. He closed the door behind him and placed the pistol back into his waistband.
He found the hallway the way they’d left it—the two guards standing at the far end and the old woman nowhere in sight. He pressed the hostage toward the two guards, who eyed him suspiciously. Samir looked at Fayed and turned up his brow, looking at the hooded woman. Before he could speak Fayed ordered, “Take her to my vehicle. I will be out shortly.”
The driver looked at him, confused, and his eyes drifted over Fayed’s shoulder, back to the barred door. Again, Fayed spoke first. “Don’t worry, that one is taken care of, but Jamal is having his fun first.”
“Ahh.” Samir scowled, his face showing he understood. He looked to Omar, who reached out and grabbed the prisoner. Together they turned and led her back to the Range Rover. Once they were out of sight, Fayed ran back to the door and barred it. He turned the already placed key in the lock until he felt the bolt clunk, and then he broke the key off in the mechanism. Turning back, he saw the old woman standing beside him. She looked up at him.
“It is done,” he said.
The old woman nodded and turned away, returning to the second room filled with women. Fayed took in a deep breath and forced himself to walk, his hands shaking, consciously fighting the urge to run toward the waiting Range Rover. He made his way through the gallery filled with fighters, sure that at any moment, one would figure him out and shoot him dead. When he left the building and stepped outside, he came face-to-face with three armed men. They looked at him suspiciously; with his dark sport coat, he did not belong there.
Not knowing what else to say, Fayed smiled brightly and slapped the tallest of the three on the shoulder. “Make ready, Abdul himself will be joining us shortly. There will be a celebration tonight. A victory celebration!”
The fighters were taken aback, their expressions unchanged at first, before the tall man returned his smile and the others began to cheer. Men rushed inside, repeating the announcement that Abdul, their leader, would be visiting them. Fayed swiftly moved past the now cheering and jovial men, finding his way to the Range Rover. He saw the guards had done as ordered. The woman was positioned in the back seat, the hood still covering her head.
Taking another deep breath, he opened the door and dropped into the seat beside her. Fayed leaned forward and spoke to Samir in Arabic, telling him to take them east toward the city. The driver followed the instructions and sped away from the outpost. As they left the gate, Fayed spied a cloud of dust and several vehicles approaching on the road from the south. He wasn’t completely lying; Abdul was on his way to the outpost, but the victory was all Fayed’s.
25
With the fighting started, Tommy knew his time was precious; he had to find a way inside before some anxious guard decided to start killing hostages. At the back, he found a plank-wood door secured with a bit of chain but no lock attached. He stood at the edge, the air now filled with the staccato bursts of gunfire coming from the front of the compound. Tommy holstered his pistol and swung the 9A-91 forward, allowing it to lead the way as he cut into the musty building.
He stumbled into a room filled with huddling women. An old woman with a silver head scarf stood over them. She looked up at Tommy and screamed, then charged at him with a large knife. Tommy sidestepped and crushed her in the jaw with the butt of the carbine assault rifle. He felt her teeth crack as her screams were silenced. The rest of the women cowered, hiding their heads. There was a commotion in the hall and a man burst in, holding an AK47 across his chest. Tommy fired a burst, the report of the weapon deafening in the confined space of the room. The armed man fell back, his chest stitched with holes.
A shout from the hallway was followed by stomping feet. Tommy moved to the right wall, shielding himself as the women moved away from him, crowding into the opposite corner. He knew he had to act before they could close on him. Another shout and a Russian RGD-5 grenade flew into the room, bouncing off a wall and rolling toward the cowering women. Tommy acted quickly. Scrambling, he kicked the grenade with the toe of his boot, launching it back into the hallway.
Already moving forward, he dove to the brick-and-mortar wall. The blast from the hallway shook the structure, knocking out the lights and filling the room with clouds of choking dust. Tommy dropped his night vision goggles over his eyes and stepped forward. He fired at downed, yet still moving, targets on the floor. He peppered them with security shots, hitting the bodies with two- and three-round bursts, changing the box magazine as the weapon emptied.
Turning the corner, he entered a large gallery. Men were on the wall opposite him, returning fire at Elias’s men out front. Rounds cut through windows, hitting the walls around him, pelting the clay bricks and showering him with debris. Tommy opened fire, cutting down two of the men before the others took notice and directed their fire on him. He dove for cover, landing hard on the tile floor and crawling back into the hallway. A heavy machine gun somewhere outside joined the fight. The walls at the building’s front were now being chewed to pieces by heavy-caliber rounds. There was another explosion and Tommy was pressed back, forced to find cover.
Tommy scooted back, realizing he was in a bad position, caught in the crossfire between two opposing forces. For now, the machine gun fire prevented the men inside from pursuing him. He reached for his shirt collar and returned the audio piece to his ear. Shouts in Arabic and English filled the channel. Elias was shouting instructions to his men to flank around the side of the building. Kohen’s men were moving in from the west. The men on the approach road were shouting warnings of a Russian armored convoy on the move.
Time was running out. He crawled his way back to the rear room filled with women. He snatched one by the back of the neck and stood her up against the wall. “Where is the American woman?”
She cowered away, her dead weight hard for Tommy to hold with one hand. He straightened his arm and let her fall back into the pile of women. He saw that all of them were lashed together by a long, single length of chain that looped through leg shackles and then fastened to the wall. He realized they were prisoners, the same as Sarah. All except the silver scarfed woman who attacked him. Where did she go? Tommy turned to find her, but instead felt a sharp pain in his back. He lunged forward and saw the handle of the knife sticking from his shoulder. The old woman was trying to retrieve it, to stab him again but it was wedged into the Kevlar fabric of his body armor. He spun hard, tossing her from his back. He reached with his left arm and pulled away the blade, already feeling the blood pouring from the knife wound.
He turned to find her struggling back to her feet. Locking eyes with him, she snarled and charged at him again. This time he was ready and threw a straight right punch that hit her square in the face, knocking her back. The other women pulled away, leaving her alone in a corner. She put her hands in front of still bleeding teeth. Tommy reached down and snatched her by the neck, lifting and slamming her small frame against a wall. “Where is the American?” he screamed at her.
She shook her head and spit blood in his face. Tommy ignored the warm liquid that oozed down his jaw and yanked her by the neck, shoving her into the hallway. The
sound of the firefight was deafening. The rounds ricocheted, bits of plaster exploding with the impacts. The old woman tried to duck down, but Tommy grabbed her again and forced her upright, now pressing the 9A-91 against her already bruising jaw. “Where is the American?” he yelled again in Arabic.
The silver scarfed woman sneered at him with bloody teeth and pointed to a barred door at the end of the hallway. Tommy tossed her into the gallery, ignoring her screams as the gunfire intensified in the front of the building. He barely spared a glance as the old woman was cut down in the cross fire. He moved quickly toward the barred door, letting the 9A-91 hang from the sling as he drew the MK23. He put two rounds into the lock bar, destroying the hasp. He grabbed the handle and kicked the door in so hard it ripped from the hinges.
Inside on the floor he found the Jailer, the back of his bald head split by two exit wounds. What he saw on the bare floor to his front made him drop to his knees—a woman’s body, her head covered in a black hood, a pool of blood formed to her shoulders. Tommy’s jaw dropped and his head shook side to side, he leaned forward. "It can't be…" he choked out, reaching for the hood. Tears ran down his face as he savagely attacked the knot securing the hood to her neck, desperate in his attempt to free her. Suddenly rounds cracked over his head. He was hit in the back of his body armor, the shot knocking him to his chest and into her still-warm blood. He felt its stickiness on the side of his face as more rounds impacted the room around him.
Rage flooded his system, pushing away the despair. He clenched his fist and rolled to his back, raising his carbine. He screamed into the smoke-filled hallway, firing blind into the space to his front. He turned around and leaned back against the wall. Smoke was filling the building; the gallery was on fire. He watched a man move in a crouch around the corner, blood covering the fighter’s arm and shoulder. The man was coughing as he tried to escape the flames.
