Donovan's War

by W. J. Lundy

  The home was located on a gently sloping hill, one of several houses tightly clustered together. Several of the homes further away were in ruins, with the destroyed hulks of fighting vehicles flanking them. To the north, at the crest of a hill, was a large stone wall. Tommy was sure that was where Abdul fled after the night raid. He’d watched the boat cross the channel and vehicle lights climb the hill soon after.

  He pulled back from the window as he heard the rumbling noise of an approaching convoy. Men, gun trucks, and equipment were moving there—lots of them. If Tommy had to make a guess, it was that the Hyena was pulling everything in and preparing for a long stay. They would no longer be a soft target and easy to get to.

  Tommy retrieved his pack and removed his wet clothes and boots. He found the satellite phone at the bottom of the pack but wasn’t ready to report his failures, so he left it in the waterproof case. He returned to the kitchen and grabbed a water bottle before dropping to the cushions on the floor. Lying back, drinking from the bottle of water and wishing it was vodka, he felt his body burn from the heat of what he knew was a growing infection. He clenched his jaw, biding away the pain. He didn’t have time to be sick, he had work to do.

  29

  A starless sky, the sea as black as crude oil. The Lebanese trawler cut through the water at a steady ten knots, the craft hardly swaying as it moved through the gentle swells of the Mediterranean. Sarah walked slowly across the deck, moving to the bow and grabbing the railing as a breeze blew back her hair. She was refreshed now, having had time in a Beirut hotel to bathe and dress in clean gowns. Still apprehensive at the strange men surrounding her, she was beginning to feel safe, knowing she was finally on her way home.

  Footfalls on the planks behind her caused Sarah to look over her shoulder. Fayed was approaching, carrying two white porcelain cups of coffee. She forced a smile and accepted the cup then she turned back toward the sea. “Thank you,” she said.

  “My pleasure,” he said, joining her at the rail.

  Yellow lights in the distance moved slowly along the horizon. She focused on some, watching them fade as they moved away. Fayed followed her gaze and pointed. “That’s Cyprus on the horizon,” he said and moved his hand to the right pointing at flicking lights in the distance. “We are moving through shipping lanes, those are super tankers and other vessels moving along the coast toward Turkey.”

  She nodded her head and looked down at the mug, sipping the hot coffee. “How long?”

  Fayed smiled and looked at his watch. “Before first light of morning. We have to hold this speed and course to maintain our cover as a trawler; any faster, and military vessels patrolling these waters would grow suspicious.”

  Sarah looked at him anxiously. “Fayed, if you are a policeman and have secured my release, then why hasn’t the military come for me? Why are we sneaking across the ocean in a fishing boat?”

  The investigator laughed and sipped at his own coffee. “I am sorry, madam. Although you have been released from your captors, we are far from safe. There are plenty of dangers here. This arrangement was made directly between your Church and those that took you. Your government was not involved.”

  “How did you come into it?” she asked, turning her eyes back to the lights of Cyprus. “How does a policeman end up in Syria?”

  “I have always been a part of it. I was assigned to your case soon after you were taken. As lead investigator for the Middle East desk, I’ve been looking for you nonstop. When your government failed to acknowledge your existence or negotiate with the kidnappers, I went directly to the Vatican and, with their help, I was able to mediate your release.”

  “I’ll never be able to repay you for your kindness.”

  Fayed nodded and turned away. She grasped the cup with both hands and turned so that her back was against the railing. “How did you do it? I thought I would be killed.”

  Fayed looked at her and frowned. “Outside pressures were put on the group, forcing your release.” He stared at her, focusing on her eyes. “I must ask, do you have any family at all? Anyone I could contact for you when we reach Cyprus?”

  Sarah frowned. “I have a brother, but I don’t even know if he is aware that I’ve been missing. As far as I know, he will be back in Boston.”

  “A brother?”

  “Yes. Thomas,” she said, seeing the curiosity rise in Fayed’s face.

  “Thomas. Tell me about him. There was very little mention of any family in your file.”

  She frowned. “There wouldn’t be. I was an orphan, raised in a boarding school until I was of the age of emancipation. After school, I went to the convent to continue my studies.”

  He nodded. “And this brother of yours… Thomas. You were close?”

  Sarah shook her head and looked at the horizon, searching for the proper words. “No, maybe at one time but not recently. Thomas sort of lost himself as we grew older and apart. I think he found himself once, but in recent years he has been a very lonely man.”

  “I see.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not that he doesn’t care. I think it would be the exact opposite, actually. He is just lost without a mission. When we were children he found his purpose in shielding and protecting me, but as I grew older and independent, he lost that. Then later he joined the military and found his purpose again—”

  “But?” Fayed asked.

  “He was badly wounded overseas.”

  “In the war?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Thomas was never the same after that. He never talked about it, choosing to lock himself away in his own mind.” Sarah looked back to Fayed and smiled. “It’s a blessing really that he didn’t know of my capture.”

  Fayed turned his brow up curiously. “Oh? And why is that?”

  Sarah bit at her lower lip and looked down at her now empty cup. “My brother isn’t your average sibling. Thomas could be a dangerous man if put to it. If he knew what happened to me, he would leave a path of destruction a mile wide. He wouldn’t stop until I was safe or he himself was dead.”

  Fayed’s lips tightened as if containing a smirk. “I doubt such a man exists.”

  This time it was Sarah who smiled. “Yes, I’m sure it is just a little girl’s fantasy clouding the image of her big brother. Do you think it would be possible to find him, to have him flown to meet me?” she asked.

  Fayed grimaced and looked over the railing before nodding. “Our timeline is short, but as soon as we reach Cyprus, I will make the necessary phone calls.”

  30

  The vehicles were readied, the men loaded. Two days after losing the outpost, he would make the meeting with the city mayor and repair his relationship with those in charge. Most of what had occurred was already being erased in the official records. There was no evidence against him, and Abdul knew the short memories of those in Washington would ensure that his funds were quickly restored. Even they knew how important it was that he return to assisting the moderate rebels in waging war against the radicals. Even if he had no intention of doing that, it was the thought that counted. He felt no guilt for keeping the funds intended for the arming and training of moderate groups to fight the extremists. Abdul was, after all, himself a humble servant.

  Smiling, he walked across the cobblestone path surrounded by the well-manicured lawns and trees of his estate. The West was under perverse illusions; farmers with rifles didn’t hold back the wolf. He was what held back the extremists from the region, not the Russians or the Iranians, who just motivated more of them to join the war. It was his Badawi Brigade that truly kept them away, so why shouldn’t he prosper? Why shouldn’t the Badawi Brigade profit from the war? His people never asked for this Arab Winter, promoted and pushed by Western politicians. The West may have started it, but it was his people who had lost more than anyone else. Yes, it was blood money, but why shouldn’t it be his blood money?

  There had been no word from Fayed or Jamal. Both of them were presumed dead in the battle at the outpost. Abdul was oka
y with that; it was less he had to clean up, less of a connection to the troubles he was looking to bury. The women were all dead as well, and there had been no more attacks after the assault on the outpost. The Chechens had reached out to local security forces, and there was nothing to be heard. The American operations against his forces had ceased and vanished.

  Abdul would have preferred vengeance and victory over a cease fire, but he had to admit that the Americans had hurt his business greatly in a short period. Ending it the way he had gave him time to cover his losses, and once he resumed his weapons trade he would have the necessary funds to rebuild. Losing Fayed would be an inconvenience, but he would soon find a replacement and easily reestablish contacts. He would be able to get more “resistance” money from the West, and that would go even further toward rebuilding his forces.

  The Russian security services may try to block him from staying in Albahr after the recent troubles, but they were more concerned with stability than what small groups did in the shadows. He could resume his trade business and bring back peace to the streets. Or at least control to the streets. Abdul stood by the front of the vehicle, waiting for his guards to open the door. He slid into the back of the Mercedes, letting the cold air conditioning soothe his thoughts. He put his head back against the leather headrest and spoke to the man next to him. “Has the meeting been confirmed?” he asked.

  The Chechen flipped over the screen of a smart phone and scrolled to a table filled with numbers. He pointed at the screen, turning it so Abdul could see, and said, “The funds for the donation, were transferred in the last hour. The mayor is eager to meet with you.”

  Abdul grinned and nodded, money always earned him access. “And the attacks, what are the reports, from in the city?” he asked.

  The Chechen dipped his chin. “We’ve heard nothing. The local fighters have all pulled back. Our men have reported no contacts with any resistance groups. We have leads, and tracking them is something we can discuss with the local authorities. But as for now, it looks as if the stability is holding.”

  Abdul sighed, rubbing the back of his wrist against his temple. “So much trouble for a few women. It’ll take us years to recover from this mess.”

  The Chechen nodded and laughed saying, “War was so much easier in the old days.”

  31

  A long, winding road led away from the fortress. It sloped down a gentle approach past palm trees and olive groves. The terrain was once a sign of pride for the previous owners, but now the property outside the gates of the hilltop estate was nothing more than overgrown scenery for the current occupant. The grasses were grown high and unkempt, making for excellent hiding places. Tommy lay in wait at the bottom of the road in a cluster of palm trees. Although the curving road with wide bends around the landscaping was designed for aesthetic appeal, it served double-duty as prime terrain for an ambush.

  He was dug into the uphill slope, overlooking a sharp bend in the road that crossed a narrow bridge. A perfect choke point, where vehicles would have to slow before passing over a bone-dry irrigation stream. Two concave shaped charges, just slightly larger than dinner plates, were dug into the ground a little more than fifty feet apart. On the low side of the road, opposite the shaped charges, were the small PMN-2 anti-personnel blast mines. Russian made, they were small and easy to conceal, designed to maim rather than kill.

  Farther up the winding road, closer to the walled fort, was his final surprise—an improvised explosive device—a five-gallon jerry can filled with fuel, resting atop a large ball of RDX. A steel plate sandwiched between them was buried in the road and then connected to his mobile phone. He hoped to be gone before that one was detonated, but it was still there as insurance in case he needed more time to escape.

  The remnants of the armored battle field intermixed with the abandoned village had been a goldmine for someone who knew where to look and how to use the items there. Weapons were everywhere, but most important was a wooden crate of landmines. The PMN-2 mines were banned by most international agreements. But the Syrians must have made an exception, as Tommy found a trailer full of them. One of the better things about the mine, other than its ability to remove limbs, is once the cover was removed they were filled with RDX, which was a perfect ingredient for making shaped charge devices. Knowing that the Hyena traveled in armored convoys, shaped charges would be essential in stopping them.

  He looked through the binoculars and watched the three-vehicle convoy approach with two black Range Rovers and the armored Mercedes in the center. This had to be what he’d been waiting for; with all the traffic in and out of the villa, this was the first time he’d seen the Mercedes. He watched them wind down the path and pass the spot where he’d buried the fuel can late the night before. He clenched his teeth and fought the temptation to trigger the IED and vaporize the Mercedes as it drove over the mark.

  Destroying the convoy wasn’t good enough. Incinerating the man wasn’t even close to enough; he wanted to confirm that the Hyena was dead this time. He needed to see it and watch it with his own eyes. The convoy wound down the road, throwing a trail of dust behind it. He watched the lead vehicle round the final bend on the approach to his kill zone, near where the road narrowed to pass over the bridge. His heart raced and he felt the sweat roll down his forehead and into his eyes. It was almost time, and he would only have one shot to get it right.

  Tommy leaned over the sights of a salvaged PK machine gun and focused on the front of the Mercedes. The weapon’s barrel was rusted, and the brass of the 7.62 linked ammo tarnished, but Tommy knew it would still do the job it was designed for. Even from the distance, he could tell that he’d done his math correctly. The spacing of the shaped charges embedded in the rocks on the high side of the road were perfectly positioned to take out the lead and following vehicle simultaneously, while still sparing the Mercedes from the brunt of the blasts.

  He panned left and focused on the scratched gravel. He’d placed the leaf of a palm tree over the top of the first shaped charge and he waited for the lead vehicle to cross its path. Watching the Range Rover’s bumper intersect with his imaginary line, he touched a red wire to the positive post of a car battery, sending twelve volts down the line to a pair of electrically triggered detonators. In a white flash, the high explosives packed around the concave copper discs instantly converted the metal into molten, explosively formed penetrators that tore through the engine compartment of the lead Range Rover. Built up gasses blew out the windows of the vehicle.

  At the same time, the second shaped charge ripped through the driver’s door of the tail vehicle, killing the occupants instantly. The driver of the Mercedes reacted sharply, as a trained man should. The Mercedes cut hard right for open terrain, and the engine roared. Tommy was impressed for a moment, watching as the man cut the wheel, hardly slowing, attempting to race out of the kill zone, into the low ground of the dry creek bed.

  The driver’s moves were futile; he was blocked in by the burning vehicles to the front and rear. Tommy was ready and let loose with the salvaged, Russian-made PK machine gun, sending 7.62 rounds into the front tire of the Mercedes at six hundred rounds per minute, shredding the run-flat tire and incapacitating the steel wheel. The vehicle stalled in its forward movement. The tires spun and the damaged front rim dug into the soft gravel. Tommy shifted his point of aim to the driver’s armored door and window, firing into the shielded glass until it was shattered beyond recognition.

  He knew what would come next. Tommy had been the invoker of enough ambushes to know how the victims would respond. Although there were several variables, most ends came together the same. Most trained men reacted in similar ways when under fire, and Tommy was prepared for it. He knew some would flee and others would fight. He was ready when the doors on the far side of the vehicle flung open. Tommy rolled away from the machine gun and into a dry gulch moments before the return fire pockmarked his previous position, now easily identified by the blue smoke of the machine gun.

  He
moved through a shallow gulch winding among the palms, smiling, knowing what would happen next without having to watch it. The men of the ambush would continue the suppressing fire onto his previous position, as others fled with their VIP for the safety and cover of the low ground. The blast of an anti-personnel mine sealed his prediction. A lone man screamed in agony, probably having lost part of a leg.

  Tommy ignored the chaos and crawled through the low ditch and into a second prepared flanking position, where he’d stashed an AK47 rifle. He cautiously lifted it into place and eased in behind it, zeroing in on the ambush scene below. Both Range Rovers were now fully engulfed in flames, black smoke roiling into the air.

  A guard leaned over the hood of the Mercedes, now emboldened by the lack of return fire, possibly thinking he’d taken down the lone machine gunner. A thick man in a combat vest filled with magazines and armed with an M70 assault rifle stood upright and swept the terrain, searching.

  Behind the Mercedes and in the low ground of the creek, he saw the fat man he knew as the Hyena surrounded by two more bodyguards in identical vests. Ahead of them, a fourth guard screamed on the ground, writhing, with a bloody stump below his left knee. Tommy shifted his sights back to the man at the Mercedes standing watch over the others.

  Focusing, Tommy placed a shot in the man’s head, the body falling back as the weapon slapped off the hood of the vehicle. Tommy turned back to the men in the low ground huddling under the low shoulder of the road. Their ears ringing from the explosive ambush, they couldn’t pinpoint the shot and wrongly thought they now had cover hiding from the machine gun position in the palms, not knowing Tommy had already flanked them and now had them zeroed in the creek bed.