by Eric Meyer
The contrast between civilians and military was no surprise. Men, women, and children walked past, neither looking to right or left. When they heard an engine behind them, they slid into the shadows, waiting for the vehicle to go past. In case it was military, soldiers, suspicious of everything, and looking to arrest and detain anyone for the slightest reason. No reason, if they happened to be bored and were looking for some amusement.
There were too many soldiers, constant patrols, jeeps, and the occasional armored personnel carrier. Squads of armed and uniformed men were walking the streets, peering suspiciously into every doorway, every window, and every dark space. Twice, they saw them flag down vehicles. One was obviously a merchant, probably a storekeeper. He was driving a small utility, and they made him open the rear doors so they could search inside. They removed several cartons of goods, and the merchant didn’t even murmur a protest.
Bryce glanced at Custer. “I guess that’s the price they have to pay to be allowed to continue on their way.”
“But he didn’t do anything.”
“Since when did that make any difference?”
The second time, they dragged two men out of a battered Volkswagen Beetle, threw them to the ground, and kicked them repeatedly. The men curled into tight balls, trying to protect themselves from the worst of the punishment, but the boots went in; again and again, until they were a bloody mess. They stopped when one soldier had been rifling through the documents inside the VW, and he shouted something to the other men. The kicking stopped. They conferred amongst themselves a few moments, shrugged, and walked on, leaving their victims painfully dragging themselves to their feet. They climbed back into their vehicle and drove off; minus several of their possessions they’d seen the Syrian soldiers remove.
“Mistaken identity,” Zeke Murray said, “I hate to think what they would have done if they hadn’t realized before it was too late.”
“Before they killed them,” Bryce murmured.
“Exactly.”
More troops went past. Always there were soldiers, and sometimes police. All of them driving modern vehicles and carrying modern weapons. Custer was getting a lesson in Islamic politics.
He glanced at Bryce. “This is terrible. These poor bastards don’t stand a chance of any kind of a life.”
“Lt, I assume this is your first real experience of a war zone, Islamic style.”
He nodded absently. “I’ve been in Afghanistan a couple of times, but it was administrative duties. I didn’t ever go outside the gates at Bagram.” He gave him an embarrassed smile, “That’s why I volunteered for the SEALs. I was finding life in the U.S. Navy dull. Not what I signed up for. Since then, all I’ve done is the BUD/S training, Basic Underwater Demolition.”
“Kinda hard, I guess.”
He gave him a rueful grin. “Hard doesn’t cut it. They don’t call it Hell Week for nothing. You know I wasn’t due to lead this mission, but Lieutenant Nolan got himself into trouble, so they gave me the assignment. Even though I wasn’t ready.” He stared at Bryce, “It’s okay. I get it. I have a lot to learn.”
“We’ll do our best to lick you into shape, Lt. Provided you survive, that is. Why did they choose you for this one?”
He closed his eyes for a half second in a weary gesture. “The curse of my name, Master Chief. Everyone thinks I’m a gung-ho, lead from the front kind of officer. I wish I was, but sadly, this mission is beginning to show me my limitations. Why are you suspicious of General Youssef?”
He shrugged. “Instinct, I guess.”
He thought of something else, the locked door in Youssef’s villa, guarded by two soldiers.
It has to be the entrance to a basement, and the question is what secret is the General hiding down there? I have a feeling the answer would explain a lot.
They waited it out through the day, and no one came poking around their hiding place. When it was dark, and before the moon rose to increase the chances of them being spotted, they returned to the villa. Bryce still cursed the idiotic idea of sending them into enemy territory wearing American camos, but it was too late for second-guessing. Each time they heard a vehicle, they melted into the shadows, and there were no pedestrians out on the streets. Probably because of trigger-happy Syrian patrols, but it was a bonus, and they made it back to the villa and shinned over the wall.
The front door was unlocked, and Custer opened it and walked inside. Youssef was sitting in the huge living room with another man in military uniform, a senior officer wearing Colonel’s rank tabs on his tunic. They both looked up in astonishment and not a little fear.
“I thought you’d decided to cancel the mission.”
“That’s not the way it works,” Bryce grumbled to the man, “We don’t work the way you do.” The more he thought about him, the more he disliked him, and he found it impossible to completely conceal feelings. Custer quickly intervened.
“General, what’s the situation? And who is this man?”
He gave him a quick glance. “Colonel Hussain, Military Intelligence. We were discussing… certain matters.”
Bryce frowned.
I bet you were.
“Do you have an update on al-Assad’s movements?”
“That’s what we were discussing. As you are aware, there’s been a security scare, hence the search of my villa, and we’re attempting to find out if the Present’s schedule has altered. Our latest information confirms he has put off his journey for twenty-four hours.” He gave him a smile that didn’t make it past his lips. Like a bazaar merchant trying to pass off a cheap trinket as a genuine antiquity, “However, now they have gone, you’re welcome to make yourselves comfortable inside the villa.”
He shouted for a servant, and an elderly man shuffled into the room.
“Yes, Master?”
“Show these men back to the guest accommodation, and make sure they have everything they need.”
“Yes, Master.”
He gestured to them, and they started to follow, until Youssef shouted them to wait.
“There is one thing. Although the search didn’t produce anything suspicious, there are troops surrounding my villa. Some are loyal to me, and some to the President. But it means you cannot leave this place for the time being, not until you leave for the target site, and we’ll have to find a way to get past them. Until then, relax, enjoy yourselves.”
Custer smiled his thanks. Bryce was thinking the last thing they were here for was to enjoy themselves, and the priority was finding out what was going on. They were chatting about their next move, when they heard the sound of engines inside the courtyard. Merano went to the window and glanced out.
“It’s Youssef. He’s driving somewhere in his limo with an escort of soldiers following in an SUV.”
“In that case, this could be as good a time as any to look around. If we’re lucky, he’ll have taken the two men guarding that door with him, and we’ll have a chance to look inside. Zeke, do you have your lock picks?”
“Never go anywhere without them.”
They sneaked out of the guest room and silently walked through the villa. Despite the absence of General Youssef, it wasn’t deserted. He heard female voices from several rooms away, arguing. It had to be Youssef’s daughters, and Bryce grinned. “Like sisters everywhere, they don’t get on.”
“With me, it was my brothers,” he grimaced, “I had three, and we were always squabbling. Leaving home to join the Navy was like a breath of fresh air.”
The Master Chief held up a hand for him to be silent. He’d heard something. Further along the passage a door was partly open, and they could hear voices speaking Arabic, and the rattle of plates and cutlery.
“The kitchens. It wasn’t this far, but when I saw it, there were a couple of soldiers outside. Wait, it could be this one. The lock looks newer, like they’re trying to hide something.”
He tried the door and unsurprisingly it was locked. He nodded to Zeke, who knelt at the keyhole and drew out his picks.
“It’s
new, a Yale high security lock, so I guess you’re right. They’re anxious to protect something.”
“Can you open it?”
He didn’t turn as he answered. “Is the Pope a Catholic?”
He left him to it. The new mechanism was a bitch, and by the time the lock opened, fifteen minutes had elapsed.
The door opened into the car of a substantial elevator. They glanced at each other, and Bryce shrugged. “There’s only one way to find out.”
They entered the car, closed the door, and he pressed the lower of two buttons. The elevator started to descend, and it seemed like it went down a long way. He guessed they were fifty meters below ground when it lurched to a stop. They walked out into a basement room, handguns held ready, but there was no need, it was empty. There were two heavy steel doors inside the room. One was fastened shut with two heavy bolts on the outside. They slid them aside and opened the door. Inside was an empty room, with no windows, no vents, nothing, just a bare concrete floor and walls. They left the room and tried the second door. It was similarly constructed of heavy steel, but there were no bolts. Just two high security locks, and Zeke again went to work with his picks.
His experience of opening the lock upstairs had prepared him, and inside of twenty minutes both locks were open. They went into the room to see what General Youssef was so anxious to protect. The room was also empty. Except for four wooden cradles in the center, and on each cradle, the unmistakable shape of a warhead.
The lettering on the steel cases was Cyrillic, which made them Russian. He looked at Zeke. “Why the hell would Youssef store bombs in his basement? He’s the Minister of Defense, he must have access to thousands of bombs.”
Murray was looking closely at the casings, trying without success to decipher the lettering. A moment later he’d worked something out, and he grimaced. “I’ve got a bad feeling about these things. There’s a way I can check.”
He nodded. “Go ahead.”
He took out his pocket Geiger counter, switched it on, and a second later it began to click. Not a slow click, background radiation that was normal, but a fast click, so fast it could only mean one thing.
“You know what these are?”
Bryce was certain, but he didn’t want to say it. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong. These bombs they told us al-Assad was negotiating for with the Russians; that’s what these are. Dirty bombs. A combination of high explosive and a mix of plutonium, and every other nasty nuclear substance they can think of. When these detonate, the blast wave will carry the radiation over a wide radius. In a populated area, that means tens of thousands of people will die. Not right away, but terrible deaths over a period of a few days. The unlucky ones could take even longer. Will, I thought we were here to prevent al-Assad bringing these into the country. Yet here they are in Youssef’s basement. I don’t get it.”
He nodded. “I’m beginning to get an idea, but first, we need to leave before they come back. Relock the door, and we’ll join the others. I think we have a few things to discuss.”
“Why did they build this place?”
He’d already worked it out. “When the war started, wealthy Syrians would have built deep bomb shelters to protect themselves and their families. That’s what this is.”
It took him less than a minute to fasten the door closed, leaving no evidence they’d been there. Before they re-entered the elevator car, Zeke checked the portable Geiger counter and frowned. “Will, there’s something you need to know.”
“Not now, save it until we’re back inside the guest room.”
They sneaked back through the villa and made their way to the guest rooms. They were empty. There was no one there. They backed out into the corridor, and Colonel Hussain was standing there, with another soldier, a sergeant. He was carrying an assault rifle in his hands, like he was the Colonel’s bodyguard.
“Gentlemen, your friends are in the main room. If you come with me, you can join them for some refreshments.”
The Colonel led the way, and they followed. The sergeant with the rifle fell in step behind them, and Will felt his shoulders tense.
So far, I’m not certain who’s friendly and who’s hostile in this shithole of a country. And until I’m one hundred percent sure, the last thing I want is a guy with a rifle pointed at my back.
They reached the main room, and the others were sitting on a large sofa. Custer and Vince Merano weren’t wearing sidearms, and he noticed something else. More soldiers with assault rifles, and they were definitely hostile, the muzzles pointing at the SEALs. The soldier behind them relieved them of their sidearms and shoved them toward the other SEALs.
Youssef was standing in the center of the room, and he smiled when they appeared.
“You seem to have found it impossible to control your curiosity. Poking your nose into matters that don’t concern you.”
Custer looked puzzled, but Bryce wasn’t puzzled. For the first time, things were starting to become clear, and he fixed his gaze on the Syrian General.
“Mister, I’d say it’s exactly what concerns us. What’s the deal, storing nuclear ordnance in your basement? I mean; it’s not normal. Plenty of guys have model railway layouts or a well-equipped workshop. But I don’t figure you’ve stored that stuff to experiment with. It wasn’t al-Assad bringing it into the country, was it?”
He gave a soft chuckle and slowly clapped his hands. “You’ve done well, very well. Now you know about the bombs, I imagine you’ve worked out the rest.”
“If it was you bringing in the nukes from Russia, I’m prepared to bet al-Assad doesn’t know anything about them.”
He smiled and nodded. “Go on.”
“Which means you brought us here to bump him off for a different reason. If he dies, who gets the top spot? Does he have a deputy?”
“He does. In normal circumstances, she would take over. She’s a woman by the way, which not everyone in my country is happy about. However, these are not normal circumstances. The country is at war, and under an emergency decree, if the post of President falls vacant for any reason, the Minister of Defense will take over.”
“You.”
The smile broadened. “Me, that is correct.”
“And you brought us in to make it all happen for you. I guess the idea was to blame America for killing him, to take the heat off you.”
He nodded. “Very clever, Master Sergeant. Sadly, I will have to change my plans, but that won’t be a problem. Perhaps the men who do carry out the killing can wear your uniforms. When they are found dead, killed by the courageous actions of my troops, people will still blame America. Either way, my hands will be clean.”
“Those bombs aren’t clean. You know what they’ll do.”
“I know. But it is necessary. This war has almost destroyed Syria, and when I use those devices on the enemies of my country, the Kurds, the PKK, and the so-called Free Syrian Army, it will bring the war to an end.”
“How many men do you plan to kill? A million? Two million, five million?”
A shrug. “It is unfortunate, but circumstances dictate these deaths are unavoidable. At least when the radiation eases, Syria will be free of these parasites.” He glanced at his men. “Take them into the basement, and lock them up.”
They hustled them away under the barrels of the rifles, into the elevator, and back down the basement staircase. Now Bryce understood the reason for that empty room with the heavy bolts to hold the steel door shut. They’d made it a temporary cell, and when they pushed them inside, the door slammed shut with a loud echo of finality. After a few minutes to adjust their eyes to the darkness, he made his way to the door, feeling around the frame to see if there was any way of getting out. There wasn’t.
“Will, there’s something I’ve been trying to tell you.”
“Not now, Zeke. First, we need to find a way out of here. We’ve walked into a trap, and unless we do something fast, there’s going to be a mass slaughter on industrial scale.�
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“Will, it has to be now! Listen to me. We’re in serious trouble.”
“No shit. Do you think I’m blind to what’s happened?”
“It’s not that. It’s something else. Those bombs in the room next door.”
“What about them?”
“They’re leaking. That’s what I was trying to say when we were down there. Look at this.”
He was holding up the portable Geiger counter which they hadn’t found when they relieved them of their weapons. He pressed the button, the display illuminated, and it started to click. Not a slow click, but like before, it sounded more like a rattlesnake.
“It’s coming from next door?”
“It’s coming from next door, yes.”
“What’s that mean?” Custer asked him.
“It means if we don’t get out of here soon, we’ll start to get sick.”
“So what’re you saying? How long do we have?”
“Not long. Every hour we’re in this place is an hour too long. As for how much time we have, days at most. And every day, things will get worse. Until…”
Bryce finished it for him. “Until we die.”
He nodded; “Right, until we die.”
* * *
They drove toward Aleppo, and as they got nearer, his misgivings grew. Grew in direct proportion to the amount of gunfire. When Stern had said there was a battle raging in and around the city, he hadn’t exaggerated. The combatants were exchanging shellfire, mortars; machine gun and assault rifle bullets whistled through the air. They were a kilometer out from the city center when they had to stop. A line of ragged-looking fighters was hunched behind a makeshift barricade, swapping shots with what looked like regular troops.
They weren’t Syrians. He recognized the uniforms of the Turkish Army. Clearly, they’d penetrated much further south than their President had suggested. Yet the irregulars, that they assumed were PKK or possibly Free Syrian Army, were putting up a good fight. Too good, and it blocked them from getting any further.
“You’ll have to turn back and circle around to the south of the city.”
Ryder glanced at Stern, and then at Nolan, who nodded. “Do what he says. He’s the expert. At least as far as this place is concerned.”
