by Eric Meyer
They had to keep the wheels turning. If any of the enemies ranged against them managed to force them to stop, it would all be over. Chances were they would kill them. And if it was ISIS, that death would be more than unpleasant. He turned to glance at Rachel, admiring her obvious charms.
She’s the original dusky maiden. A girl who... Another time, Nolan.
His gaze went on to Waverley.
"Have you ever fired a gun?"
He looked startled at the question. "A gun? Why do you ask?"
He stifled a sharp response. "We're in hostile territory, and there're more hostiles than you can shake a stick at. If we run into trouble, we’ll have to shoot our way out."
He shook his head. "I have fired a gun. I shot clays on my uncle’s ranch. I don't know if that qualifies, but in any case I don't intend to do any shooting. This is a State Department mission, and I intend to carry it through without any violence."
"Mr. Waverley, we've already fought off an attack, and we could have all died. Where I come from, they don't call that violence. They call it self-defense."
He shrugged. "I don't care what they call it. My brief is to deliver the cash without starting up trouble." He stared at Nolan, "Don't you think there's enough trouble in this country without adding to it?"
He didn't want to argue. Besides, the more he thought it over, the more he was beginning to wonder if Waverley had an alternative agenda.
Like a secret State Department agenda, or is there something else?
"I can shoot."
He glanced at the dusky Israeli, and he wasn't surprised. "Can you handle a 9mm automatic?"
"No problem."
He still wasn't entirely sure about her, but there was no time to dwell on it. Ryder eased his foot off the gas.
"What is it?"
"It’s time to make up your mind about letting her have that gun. A roadblock up ahead, and it looks to me like the natives are hostile."
They'd dragged concrete blocks across to block the highway, and a dozen armed men were standing over the smoking wreckage of a white Toyota Land Cruiser. A bullet-riddled body with a red bloodstain vivid against the white shirt, and inside the vehicle three bodies lay askew. Men having seen as much action as they had didn't need to work out they were dead.
He said it without thinking. "They thought it was us in that vehicle."
Ryder nodded. "That's the way it looks. Shoot first, and take the money afterward. Stops any arguments."
Waverley leaned forward between the seats, staring through the windshield. His face was pale. "This wasn't part of the plan. What're we going to do?”
Nolan stared at him.
What plan?
"Same as we always do. We fight our way through."
He dragged out the pistol and handed it to the girl. "There's no safety on a Sig."
Her lips twitched in the semblance of a smile. "Yes, I know. Point and shoot, is that it?"
"There's one more thing. We don't have many bullets. Try not to miss."
Her eyes rolled. "I'll do my best."
They approached the checkpoint, and things started to go wrong. The first when a man appeared from behind the wrecked Land Cruiser, and he was aiming an RPG rocket right at them.
“Ryder, swing around, missile two hundred meters ahead.”
“No can do, Boss. Look behind.”
He looked. A truck was coming in behind them, a massive semi-trailer, and there was no turning around to go back. A deep irrigation ditch prevented them from leaving the highway to take evasive action. Nolan grabbed his Mk11 and leaned out the window to put a bullet in the missile shooter before he launched. He didn’t get off a shot as a roaring noise overhead announced the arrival of an AH-64 Apache helicopter spearing down toward the roadblock. The gun opened up and raked it with cannon fire. The hurricane of lead tore into the hostiles, and they went down like wheat before a combine harvester.
The Apache swooped in even lower, and the gunner fired again. No one was left alive. Save one man, and he climbed to his feet, still clutching the launcher. He swung it up to his shoulder, taking aim at the low flying helicopter as it was coming in to land. The missile smoked up into the air to travel the short distance to the slow-moving target. It struck immediately below the cockpit, and they watched in horrified fascination. It wobbled as the pilot fought to correct, but without success. The stricken craft hit the sand with smoke and flames pouring out from the cockpit.
They were still in trouble. The missile shooter was hurriedly taking a spare rocket from his backpack, ready to load. Nolan leaned out the window, took aim with his Mk11, and squeezed off five shots, one after the other. Despite the uneven shooting platform, at least one of his bullets hit the guy with the RPG, and he fell. Nolan watched through the scope. He’d been looking up at the sky when the bullet hit him, as if searching for further aerial targets. The bullet had torn into his mouth and up through his brain. He didn’t need to consider another shot.
Ryder drove toward the stricken helicopter, which was lying partially across the highway. They ran to the cockpit and found the pilot was dead. The gunner was alive, only lightly injured with cuts on his face, and they dragged him out of the burning wreck. He was able to walk, and he dusted off his uniform, the olive uniform of the Israeli Defense Force, with a colonel's rank tabs and a winged insignia. Nolan recognized it immediately.
"Sayeret Matkal."
The officer gave him a faint nod. "That is correct. I am Colonel Nathan Stern.”
He looked as tough as old leather and just as dark. A typical member of an elite force, he was average height, neither slim nor overweight, but with an obvious inner strength which was understated. Nolan had seen the type before, and like him, he knew the guy would be wiry and tough. A toughness that was as much mental as physical. It was in the way he turned his head from side to side, wary, constantly looking for threats, and preparing to respond to them, even though he’d almost lost his life in that helicopter crash. The dominating feature on his face was his nose, a hooked, Semitic nose that gave him a cruel appearance. A product of the Middle East, he could have been anything. Arab or Israeli, but he was a man whose enemies would do well to fear him.
He looked at Nolan. “Thank you for saving my life."
“I’m Lieutenant Nolan. You saved our lives, Colonel. We were goners. I'm sorry about your pilot.
"He is dead?"
"I'm afraid so. There was nothing we could do. What brought you into the area? You're a long way from home."
He nodded. "The IDF keeps a watching brief over what's happening in Syria." He frowned, "We have no choice. We share a border, and at any time the warring factions inside Syria could decide to switch targets and combine over the Golan. We had a drone fly over the roadblock, and it was too tempting a target to miss. They were Hezbollah, by the way, an organization that has vowed to destroy the State of Israel. Our attack was what you would call a pre-emptive strike. Sadly, it cost the life of our pilot. A brave man."
"Sure he was. Colonel, how can we help you?"
"Where are you headed?"
"Aleppo."
He glanced in the direction of the stricken town that lay twenty kilometers to the east. "In that case, I would appreciate a ride. I have a satphone, and I can call my people while we're on the road. We have agents inside Aleppo, and they'll be able to find me a secure place to wait until they can arrange to get me back to Israel."
"Wait a minute."
They looked at Waverley, "This is a confidential State Department mission." He pointed to Rachel; "We're already carrying a passenger too many, even though it’s contrary to State Department policy. What do you plan to do, offer every Israeli who comes along a free ride?"
Ryder had been still, but he took a step toward the State Department courier. Until then, they hadn't noticed he had his knife in one hand, and he was honing the blade with a sharpening stone. Waverley watched in fascination, and his eyes widened. He'd seen that blade embedded in a man's body.
"Mister, like the Lieutenant said, this guy and the pilot saved our lives. If it wasn't for him, your precious mission would have ended several minutes ago, and the vultures would be feeding on your body."
He stared around all of them and saw their hard gazes of contempt. He spun on his heel. "Do what you want, but make it quick. People are depending on me."
Nolan introduced Ryder and Rachel Dayan. He was convinced the Colonel raised his eyebrows a fraction when he saw the girl, but that was to be expected. Pretty girls like this one, your original dusky maiden, weren’t too much in evidence in the middle of such a flyblown, bullet and bomb scarred region.
"Pleased to meet you, Petty Officer Ryder. And you, Ms. Dayan."
"When you've quite finished, I'd like to reach Aleppo before the war ends."
“There’s one thing before we leave. If you’d give me a few minutes more.”
Colonel Stern went to the downed still smoking helicopter. He went inside the cockpit, beating back the smoke, and leaned over the blackened body of the dead pilot. He bent over a panel set into the control panel, moved to switch, and climbed back out, coughing and breathing heavily to clear the effect of the smoke that had entered his lungs. Waverley was already seated inside the Land Cruiser with the window wound down. They joined him, with Colonel Nathan Stern next to him in the center, and Rachel squeezed in on the other side.
Ryder started the engine, edged past the wrecked checkpoint, bumping over broken chunks of concrete and at least one dead body, and they continue their journey. Thirty seconds later, there was a huge explosion behind them, and they looked back. What had been a burning helicopter was now a heap of scrap metal. Stern gave an apologetic shrug.
“Standing orders, I couldn’t let the wreckage fall into enemy hands. There are certain things inside the helicopter we wouldn’t want them to see. And besides, these Islamic crazies would like nothing more than to hack the body of the pilot into little pieces. He deserved better than that, much better.”
Nolan nodded. “Amen to that, Sir.”
Rachel muttered something as well, but it was almost inaudible. They drove on in silence, thinking about what they’d left in their wake. A heap of bodies, the bodies of those men who’d tried to kill them. And one brave man who’d saved them. The Colonel punched in a number on the speed dial of his satphone and talked at length. He made no attempt to hide what he was saying, and why would there be? He spoke in Hebrew, the language of Israel. He could have spoken in fluent Martian for all the difference it would have made.
He ended the call and tapped Nolan on the shoulder.
“I’m afraid things are more difficult than I realized. The situation in Aleppo is fluid, and the Syrian Army has overrun the safe house I would have used. They made a counterattack, and although the PKK fighters are counterattacking and trying to kick them out, there’s no way of knowing how things will go. They’ll send in a helicopter to pick me up somewhere remote, but while the battle is raging, it’s too risky. There’s a good chance we could lose a second aircraft, and right now we can’t afford to spare a single machine. Did you have accommodation arranged in Aleppo?”
Waverley answered, and his voice was surly. “Colonel, as much as I appreciate what you did for us back there, when we reach the city, we’ll be handing over a certain item and getting out immediately.”
“So you won’t be staying overnight? I was hoping to thank you for the ride by offering to buy everyone dinner. My understanding is there’s still a good hotel with restaurant that is undamaged. There’s no way I could persuade you to change your mind?”
“Like I said, we’ll be leaving as soon as our business is concluded.”
He nodded. “That’s a pity. The place I have in mind is famous for the quality of its cuisine.” He chuckled, “It’s famous for another reason. They have a brothel on the top floor. For some reason, ISIS never destroyed it, and I can only assume it was for the obvious reason. They found it better to make use of it, despite their mediaeval Islamic notions of morality.”
He glanced at Rachel. “At least, as far as women are concerned.”
“A brothel, you said?”
“It’s luxurious, and they cater for every need. The restaurant deserves the most attention. They brought in the chef from…”
“A decent meal would be more than welcome.” He smiled at Stern, “Did you say anything about the wine list?”
“I didn’t, but I can assure you it’s exquisite.”
He smiled. “What can I say, Colonel? We accept. Now about the top floor…”
If he noticed the look of scorn Rachel gave him, he didn’t comment. He looked like a man with other things on his mind.
“The top floor, yes, but a word of warning. ISIS is still in the city, and they’ve been lobbing mortar shells at it for the past eighteen months. I wouldn’t worry. So far, they’ve missed.” A pause, “Perhaps another time.”
Chapter Five
Custer looked at Youssef. “General, where’s the rear entrance? We have to get out of here now.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. There’s no rear entrance. For security reasons they built this place with a single entrance which would be easy to guard.”
“And impossible to escape from when they come through the front,” Bryce snapped, “We’ll have to hide inside the villa. Is there somewhere they’re not likely to check?”
He looked as if he was about to suggest something, but a shadow passed in front of his eyes. “No.”
Bryce saw that look, and he knew he’d just lied to them, but there wasn’t time to worry about the reason. He took a swift glance around the courtyard, at the sprawling villa, and up to the roof.
The roof!
“Up on the roof. It’s our only chance.”
Merano and Murray raced to the nearest downpipe and shinned up it to climb onto the roof shingles. Custer stared at him. “The roof? You think they won’t check it?”
“Maybe, maybe not. But right now, it’s all we’ve got, unless you have a better idea. Lt, get up there now.”
Bryce followed him up. They climbed over and flattened themselves on the other side. He edged back up to the apex and peeked over the top. The jeep rolled through the front gates, followed by a truck packed with infantry. The moment the vehicles came to a stop, men tumbled out, and Youssef went to meet the officer in charge. He saw them talking, Youssef’s angry gestures, and the officer shouting an order. His men stomped into the villa. Beneath them, they could hear the shouted orders, furniture being overturned, and if they’d been in any doubt before the soldiers were serious, now they knew.
“How come they knew we were here?” Bryce murmured to Custer, “Unless there’s a leak.”
The Lieutenant shrugged. “You’d think the Minister of Defense would know how to keep a secret. No, I think is most likely we were spotted when we came in, someone who noticed…”
He stopped, and Bryce suppressed a smile. He meant someone who spotted their foreign military uniforms. “Whatever happened, we need to get clear of this place as soon as possible. If they don’t find us, the moment they’ve gone we’ll get out of here and find a place to hole up.”
“Agreed.”
They waited an hour while the search continued, but they found nothing and didn’t think to check the roof. The trucks drove away, and they shinned down to the ground at the rear of the villa, climbed the perimeter wall, and began jogging through the streets. It was still night, with almost an hour of darkness left. Bryce led the way, following the darkest, dingiest streets and alleyways, always alert for the sound of an engine, a military patrol. Twice they flattened into doorways as jeeps came slowly past.
“They’re searching for us,” he murmured, “They know we’re here. The question is, do they know why?”
“If they do, the mission is a bust.”
He looked at Custer. “There’s always another possibility. The mission was a bust before we started.”
“Excus
e me? What’re you saying?”
“I don’t know, Lt. Just that I smell something wrong, and I can’t work it out, not yet. I’m not convinced Youssef is on the level.”
Custer looked confused. “I don’t understand. The guy is trying to prevent the deployment of nuclear weapons inside Syria. That seems to me an honorable intention. I can’t find any fault with him.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I guess we’ll know sooner or later. But in the meantime, we should keep our eyes open for dirty tricks. I can’t shake this feeling.”
Custer smiled. “I’m convinced you’re wrong. This mission is righteous, from start to finish, and General Youssef is a decent man doing his best for his country.”
“Yeah, right.”
He forced the pace, and shortly before dawn found a place to lie up. Whole blocks of Damascus had been reduced to rubble by the constant shelling, and they found what had once been an office block of several stories, reduced to two stories, and partly hidden beneath a heap of rubble. They sneaked inside, climbed the remains of a staircase to the second floor, and cleared some of the rubble from the floor space. Merano pulled away broken concrete blocks from a window. He left a space of a few inches square, enough for them to see out and watch for hostiles.
They settled down to wait through the long day. The place was in worse condition than they’d realized, with leaks from unrepaired broken pipes, so that in places deep puddles of water had formed. There was also an unpleasant stink, and each man recognized it from past experience. Apart from the general stench of decay and rotting there was the sickly overlay of unburied human bodies. How many lay hidden in the rubble beneath them on the first floor was impossible to work out, but there were enough to remind them where they were. In an Islamic country, torn apart by civil war, a place where combatants on both sides showed little or no compassion for the innocent. For civilians, women, children, the sick, and the elderly. The victims of war, trampled into the dust and filth of the broken buildings as the men with the guns pursued their own agendas.
