“I’ve got another idea,” she said.
Burke turned to her with a suspicious glance. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Angela placed her hands on the shotgun and pulled it out of the case, holding it up as though it perfectly suited her. Her attention then went to the gym bag. “What do you have in there?”
Curious about what she was up to, Burke unzipped the bag and began to dig through it. “Pistol ammo. Tools. Duct tape…”
“Perfect,” Angela said, going right for the tape. With the roll in one hand and the shotgun in the other, she turned back to face Ramsey in the distance.
“You want to fill me in on this little plan of yours yet?” Burke asked.
“Sure,” she said. “We get in there with whatever leverage we can muster. We find my daughters and get out without firing a single round.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Burke shot back. “We’re dealing with ISIS here. They don’t negotiate, and they sure as hell don’t let two Americans walk.”
“I know this can work,” she said with steely conviction in her voice. “As long as everyone plays their part.”
“Our parts, eh?” Burke said, seeming impressed but at the same time mocking her. “I’m not committed one way or the other just yet, but I’d love to hear more,” he said with a touch of sarcasm.
She told him her idea.
Then she walked to the back passenger door and grabbed one of the bulletproof vests, slipping it on as Burke looked up into the early-morning sky with the approach of dawn nearing. He clutched the M240 by its carrying handle, took his M4, and walked away. Angela ran past him holding a shotgun, ready to enact her plan.
From his knees, Ramsey lifted his head as Angela stood in front of him. The sight of her holding the shotgun startled him. “What are you going to do to me?”
“We’re going to use you to get us inside.” She handed the tape to Burke as he approached and set his weapons down. He took the roll with an oddly obedient stance.
“Stand up,” she told Ramsey.
The edges of his bathrobe swayed as he rose with a sigh. She walked behind him, frightening him even more as she pressed the barrel of the shotgun into the back of his neck.
“What are you doing?” he asked, frantic.
“Let’s go ahead and wrap him,” she said to Burke.
He pulled a stretch of tape from the roll and proceeded to wrap it around Ramsey’s neck, much to their frightened captive’s dismay.
“That thing better not be loaded. What is this? Answer me, damn it!”
Angela pushed the shotgun harder just as Burke finished wrapping a third layer around his neck, attaching him to the end of the shotgun barrel. “Keep your voice down,” she demanded. “Listen to me, David. You don’t want to get shot, you do exactly what I say. First you get us in there. Once that happens we need you to keep them at bay. Keep their attention. Tell them that without you, they’re screwed. Tell them that all I want are my daughters. Whatever you have to say. You shout and you scream and you don’t stop until they take me to where Chassity and Lisa are. Got it?”
Ramsey closed his eyes, thinking. His wobbly legs still shook, and he seemed overcome with anxiety. Angela knew that she was asking a lot of him, maybe more than he could handle. But he owed her. And if any of them were going to be alive at the end of the day, she couldn’t think of a better way.
She held out her hand, asking Burke for the M4. He handed it to her, somewhat surprised. “You want the 240 too?”
Angela couldn’t help but expel a nervous laugh. “Just the M4 and shotgun will be fine. She then continued with her instructions. “I need you to cover me. We stay back to back.”
Burke nodded in understanding. “Very well.”
She then examined the crater below and noticed a sloping dirt pathway leading down into the darkness. “Let’s get ready to move out,” she said to both Ramsey and Burke. As Burke raised his monster machine gun, cradling it with both hands, Angela asked him if he was okay with everything. Ramsey remained silent, with dread in his eyes.
“I sure hope your plan works,” Burke said.
“So do I,” Angela replied.
They began their trek to the side of the crater and descended into the unknown, hoping to emerge anew.
12
Counterstrike
From the bottom of the crater, down past several rusted vehicles—many of them stripped of parts—Ramsey led them to a cavernous entrance that ended at a hard steel door. Angela’s heart pounded with anticipation. They reached the entrance to the bunker when Ramsey explained that there were generally two guards at the front and many more once they passed through the underground tunnel that stretched for a quarter mile.
When the question came up about what to do with the guards, Burke offered his quick summation. “I think it’s pretty clear what needs to be done.”
Ramsey suddenly began to shift around in a nervous panic. But like a leash, the tape around his neck made it hard to move. “I can’t do this. You have to let me go. We’re all going to get killed in there. I don’t want to die!”
Angela yanked the shotgun back, pulling him into place. “Everyone just calm down. It’s going to be okay.” She then turned to Burke, apprehensive about what he might do. “We have to be smart about this. You just watch my back and control yourself.”
“Now’s not the time to go soft, Agent Gannon,” Burke said.
Ramsey took one step forward as his shaking hand hovered inches away from a thick red button. “Just know that once I push this button, there’ll be no turning back.”
“Ready when you are,” Burke said, huddled down behind them with his machine gun resting on one knee and aimed at the door.
Angela kept her steely-eyed glare on Burke. “I don’t plan to put my daughters in the middle of a cross fire. Understand?”
“We have to find them first,” Burke said. “Don’t forget that.”
Angela back turned to Ramsey, who had yet to press the button and was looking as though he were prepared to stall for eternity. “Do you know where they’re being held?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, on the verge of tears. “There is a long corridor with rooms. Most of them used for storage. They gutted a few and made them holding cells. Third or fourth door on the right.”
She placed a hand on his shoulder and felt his body shivering. “Okay, then. Let’s move. Go ahead…”
Ramsey closed his eyes and pressed the button. They could hear a faint ring and waited, listening for the slightest sound of movement. And for a moment, nothing happened.
“Do they have any security cameras around here?” Burke asked, looking around.
“They have some inside, but I’m not entirely sure which ones work. The wiring has been on the fritz,” Ramsey answered.
Burke laughed to himself. “This just keeps getting better and better.”
At the center of the door, a rectangular slot slid opened as a pair of piercing gray eyes peered through—suspicious at first but then wide with surprise. “Graves? What are you doing here?” the voice asked.
“I need to speak with Salah.” Ramsey paused. “It-It’s urgent.”
“He’s busy. What is your news?”
“Sorry, Abdul. For his ears only.”
Though Abdul stared back with contempt, it seemed that Ramsey had a fair amount of clout in their organization. To his credit, Angela thought he was doing a good job so far.
A heavy unlocking mechanism sounded, followed by the door being pulled back, and then the silhouette of a man with thick, broad shoulders came into view. Angela did her best to remain concealed by Ramsey, as Burke crouched low and out of sight. All they needed to do was get inside, Angela believed, and everything would fall into place.
Just when she thought they were going to be given passage, the man raised a long silver flashlight and turned it on, blinding Ramsey in the process.
“What happened to your neck?” Abdul asked, examining the duct tape wrapped a
round it.
“Ah. I had a little accident. That’s all.”
Abdul slowly turned away from Ramsey and stood aside, exposing another guard, who watched them from inside the door. “Well,” Abdul said, “go in already. But you may be waiting a while. Asgar is wrapped up as it is.”
“He’s here,” Burke whispered to Angela with excitement.
Angela pushed Ramsey forward, knowing full well that their cover was close to coming to an end. Though Abdul turned and walked inside, completely letting his guard down. Ramsey reluctantly stepped forward as Angela pushed him in with a nudge. The low ceiling and narrow hall ahead appeared as an underground burrow. Two battery-operated Kerosene lamps sat atop a folding table, illuminating the room.
Ramsey walked in with Angela and Burke attached behind him like separate appendages. Burke nudged the door shut with his boot, remaining unnoticed.
Abdul leaned against the wall, bored and tired, while the other guard stood across from him, adjusting a handheld radio. The tunnel beyond the guards was lined with glow sticks. As Ramsey came into full view of the guards, their eyes lit up at the sight of Angela behind him.
“Drop your weapons!” she shouted.
Both men instinctively grabbed their AK-47s and held them up, heightening the tension in the room in one split second.
“Do what she says!” Ramsey shouted in a panicked voice. “Anything happens to me, and you’ll answer to Asgar.”
Abdul and the other guard, who sported a long, scraggly beard and shaved head, looked at each other with fearful uncertainty.
Burke looked out from behind Angela, resting his M240 on the ground. He pulled his silencer pistol out and aimed it directly at the men, still unnoticed.
Angela jerked on the shotgun, urging Ramsey to continue. “Tell them if they drop their weapons, they won’t get hurt!”
Ramsey held his hands up and brought them down slowly, speaking in Arabic. Both men seemed to get the picture but were still hesitant to render themselves defenseless.
Without further hesitation, Burke fired a shot into each man’s arm. Their AK-47s fell as they stumbled back and hit the ground, crying out in pain.
Angela whipped her head around with a scowl in Burke’s direction as the guards cried out in pain.
“They’ll live,” Burke said, rushing forward.
He advanced quickly as both men sat up, holding their bloody arms in pain. He pulled out a long strip of duct tape and went to work, wrapping the men’s arms, legs, and mouths.
Ramsey watched in wonder, still with his hands slightly in the air.
“Any cameras in this room?” Angela asked him.
He looked up and around. “Not that I know of.”
“Are you sure?” she asked with a shove of the barrel.
“Yes!” he said with a shiver. “And please stop doing that.”
In response, Angela simply told him to move.
Burke had just finished subduing the guards as Angela and Ramsey walked past him. “Don’t forget your machine gun,” she said tauntingly but concerned that this was Burke’s small, but second careless misstep. Putting the thought aside, she concentrated on her own balancing act, with a shotgun in one hand and an M4 slung around her shoulders and hanging in front of her chest.
Burke ran back, grabbed the M240, and caught up with them as they continued down the darkened tunnel. Turning around, Burke could see the two guards rolling on the ground, their muffled cries fading.
As they advanced, things went quiet and they didn’t see anyone else. Their early-morning raid seemed to have given them an advantage, but Angela knew that was about to change. She hadn’t slept in days and was running on pure adrenaline. Strangely enough, she felt more alert than ever before.
They soon reached the end of the tunnel and approached a second door. The air was damp and stale and their surroundings barely visible in the low light. Once they breached the second door, she knew that there’d be no room for errors. The slightest mistake would cost them their lives—and the lives of her daughters, she imagined. They were outnumbered. Angela knew that. But numbers weren’t everything. They had to use their heads. Angela’s solitary hope was that the terrorists wanted to avoid a bloodbath every bit as much as she did.
For the first time since their arrival, it dawned on her that an underground compound was not the likeliest of drone targets. Had Burke been lying to her from the beginning? She cast her suspicions aside to concentrate on the mission at hand.
Ramsey took a deep breath and pressed another large red button. A mechanical lock sounded, and a guard, short and stocky, with an ISIS headband and baggy clothes, opened the door and froze when he saw Ramsey, recognizing him but highly confused. Then everything changed in an instant.
Ten feet past the guard, three other men were huddled at a table in casual discussion, passing around a cigarette. Their rifles lay before them, clearly within their grasp. As Ramsey entered the room, they froze and looked at him with deep suspicion.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Ramsey said.
The men noticed that something was off—his appearance, the bathrobe—and immediately grabbed their rifles from the table. Both Angela and Burke were slightly exposed, with Ramsey acting as their human shield. It would be only a matter of time. The short unarmed guard jumped out of Ramsey’s way and backed against the wall, eyes wide in fear.
Angela pushed the shotgun into Ramsey’s neck.
“Don’t shoot!” Ramsey told the men. “It’s okay!”
Disregarding him, all three men grabbed their AK-47s and raised them, shouting in Arabic.
Angela spoke in Ramsey’s ear with urgency. “You’ll have to do better than that.”
Ramsey held out both his arms, urging restraint. “Listen to me, you fools! If anything happens to me, you’ll pay a great price. Let us through, or we will all die!”
The men kept their weapons pointed at the intruders, not prepared to relinquish them so easily. Burke shifted position behind Angela, trying to get a good look at his potential targets. The M240 weighed heavily in his hands, and he was more prepared to use it than ever.
“Who are these people?” one of the men in the circle shouted. He had dark, widened eyes and a scraggly beard that hid his neck. “Who have you brought here?”
“Last chance!” Ramsey said, voice trembling. “All they want are the girls. Let us pass, and this will all be over.”
Angela pushed him forward as he continued pleading desperately with the men to lay down their weapons. Further past them, she saw a long corridor with several closed doors on both sides. As if alerted somehow to their presence, several armed men charged out into the corridor, rushing from the shadows like a barreling locomotive. With a plan already in mind, and not taking any chances, the men hastily dispersed and took separate positions behind a series of crates.
Ramsey inched closer toward the huddled men at the table as they reluctantly lowered their weapons. “Put them at your feet and keep your hands up!” he shouted.
As they passed the initial guards, Burke kept a careful eye on them, with his machine gun raised.
Looking forward over Ramsay’s shoulder, Angela could see the armed men awaiting them down the darkened corridor—ten or so ISIS fighters in defensive positions.
“We are going to the girls’ room now,” Ramsey shouted out as a warning. “Open the door and let us take them.”
“Have you lost your mind?” one of the men shouted from behind a crate not ten feet ahead of them. “Asgar will kill you for this!”
“If you fail to do what they want, they will kill me and as many of you that they can. We have no choice!” Ramsey said.
“Treacherous dog!” a voice shouted from the darkness.
Ramsey continued forward nervously, afraid of being in the middle of a potential shootout. “Please, listen to me. All they want are the children.”
“Unlock the door before we light this place up!” Angela added, hoping the threat, if anything, would bewil
der the ISIS fighters into compliance. She was, after all, painfully outnumbered.
“There’s more of us,” she continued, pushing Ramsey along as his trembling hands remained in the air. “Tell them!”
“That’s right,” Ramsey said. “An entire team of…”
“Bounty hunters,” she said in his ear.
“Bounty hunters, yes! Twenty of them, ready to storm in here and get these girls by force if need be.”
“Bullshit!” another man shouted from behind a crate.
Angela stopped Ramsey at the third door on their left, a few feet from where the hiding fighters awaited them, weapons drawn atop crates and their fingers on the triggers.
“Is this the room?” she asked.
Ramsey paused, trying to remember. “Yes. I think. That is, if they haven’t moved them.”
“Is it the room or not!” she shouted, with another shove of the barrel.
“I need the key!” Ramsey called out. “Someone give me the key, or this crazy woman is going to shoot us all!” No one moved. Ramsey’s legs shook as he grabbed the door handle—white knuckled—and pulled. The thick door wouldn’t budge, and Ramsey’s temper exploded.
“The key, damn it,” he shouted as sweat poured down his face. “If I die, Asgar’s London connection goes with me. And that’s for starters!” He paused, staring in desperation into the darkness.
From the end of the corridor, an old man in a white robe halfway approached, holding a ring of keys. “I have the keys here. What do you want?”
“I need you to open the door,” Ramsey said.
One of young fighters with a thin goatee and black bandana around his head suddenly stood up from behind the crate and blocked the man. “What are you doing? Where do you think you’re going?”
The old man stared back, showing no signs of intimidation. “I’m on watch tonight, and if Mr. Graves wants to get in there, I’m required to oblige.”
“Where is Salah?” Ramsey said. His tone indicated it as more of a query than hope that he would actually run into the man.
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