by Brad Taylor
It took a moment, but the vehicle eventually came into my little sliver of view, stopping in front of Samir’s sedan. Something verbal was exchanged, and Samir slowly raised his hands. The men exited, one holding a woman. Samir followed suit, and the woman was released, running to him. He placed his arms around her and whispered something in her ear. Only after she was safely in his car did he walk toward the men, his arms outstretched. He was roughly searched and thrown into the backseat.
“Showtime.” I said.
41
Knuckles heard the call and settled in behind his weapon, staring unfocused at the rooftop to rest his eyes while waiting on the description of the vehicle. After it came, he said, “Anything unique? Any identifying characteristics?”
“Yeah,” Pike said. “Front right quarter panel is dark blue or black. It’s a replacement and stands out. We’re going to roll in five. You ready?”
“Roger. I got the ball.”
Knuckles raised his head to the scope, focusing on the exit from the airport. He’d meticulously constructed his nest to allow the weapon to rest on its own, naturally aiming into the kill zone. He wanted to take out as much human error as possible, leaving the weapon alone to work within its capabilities. Any twitch of muscle, any forcing of aim he worked to diminish. Even his heartbeat. The Dragunov wasn’t the most accurate rifle to begin with, and he couldn’t afford to miss by compounding the built-in error.
He saw a red vehicle exit and immediately dismissed it. Relaxing his left hand on a sock full of sand underneath the buttstock, he raised the scope a smidgeon and focused on the next vehicle. A white sedan.
He scanned for the quarter panel and saw it was dark. A different paint scheme. He felt his pulse quicken and took a long, slow breath like a yoga student, willing his adrenaline away.
“I have the target.”
He heard Pike acknowledge, but wasn’t listening, his mind moving to a different plane.
He squeezed the sock sandbag, forcing the barrel to drop and track on the right front tire. It was counterintuitive, but the farther away he took his shot, the better the chances of success. At this range, the vehicle was moving almost perpendicular to his line of aim, meaning he could aim at the tire head-on. The strike of the round would be a little high as the vehicle traveled forward and the tire gained ground from the time he pulled the trigger until the time the bullet struck, but he wouldn’t have to worry about leading from left to right, like shooting skeet.
The longer he waited, the more the vehicle would be moving parallel to him, and the greater the chance of error. Worst case, he would have to take the shot right in front of his position, where the road curved, leaving him to actually aim ahead of the tire in order to hit it. A recipe for introducing enormous human error.
As the barrel lowered something ticked in his brain. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew he couldn’t ignore it. He relaxed the hand, raising the scope. He focused on the driver. And saw what it was.
“Pike, Pike, the vehicle is not correct. I have one man. A lone driver.”
“Okay, okay. Stand by. Target will be exiting soon.”
“No, I mean it’s the right vehicle, but there’s now only the driver. Nobody else. The vehicle fits. How many white sedans with a repaired right front quarter panel could be exiting the airport at this time?”
He heard Pike say something in his earpiece, but ignored it. He knew what had happened. They’d switched vehicles before leaving the airport to confuse any surveillance.
He tracked to the right, swinging the weapon in an arc, reaching the edge of his sandbag nest. He saw nothing but a large panel truck coming down the road, facing him head-on. Could that be it?
He focused on the cab, seeing two men. He knew the truck had never exited the airport. His mind working in overdrive, he sorted through the data, and remembered the flash of red he had ignored before.
He scanned back to the left and saw nothing. He swung back to the right and saw the panel truck was now in front of his position. Behind it was a red SUV that had been hidden by the panel truck, now revealed by the curve in the road.
He focused on the passengers and saw four, straining now to keep the scope centered on the vehicle as it traveled parallel to his position. The target.
He heard Pike requesting a SITREP, but didn’t have time to give out a detailed report. The vehicle would be out of range and into the Dahiyeh in a matter of seconds.
Rising to a knee, he rapidly dragged a sandbag to the right and slapped the stock of the weapon on top of it, now facing ninety degrees away from where he had planned. He settled behind the weapon and lowered the scope to the rapidly diminishing vehicle, sighting in on the right rear tire.
Due to the curve in front of his position, the road going away wasn’t as ideal as the road coming toward him. He would have to lead the tire some. The question was how much. The longer he waited, the less he would be forced to do so as the road began to wind perpendicular to his line of aim. But the longer he waited, the farther the vehicle moved and the greater the chance it would be outside the accuracy envelope of his beat-up Dragunov. Especially now that he would be introducing human error as he locked the scope onto the tire with muscles alone in his hastily reconstructed sniper nest.
All of these facts flitted through his mind in a nanosecond, none achieving any dominance. They were simply instinctive, like the millions of inputs a hawk receives diving at a mouse. He focused on the task, calming his body down and manipulating the rifle so he was working with it instead of forcing the shot, seating it as best he could into the sandbag.
He settled the crosshairs just inside the rear tire’s rim, giving him the largest cross section to work with as a margin of error for the vehicle’s forward travel. Watching it shrink with each passing second, he took a deep breath and let it out, the air escaping like a pinhole in a balloon. He was conscious of the reticle slightly bouncing in time with the pulse of his blood. Conscious of a steady breeze against his cheek. Conscious of all the outside influences on the path of his bullet, but he trusted his subconscious to adjust, minutely correcting his aim to ensure success. It was a skill cultivated over a lifetime. He caressed the trigger, lightly pulling it to the rear with a feather touch.
His eyesight slightly unfocused on the edges, the tread of the tire in stark relief in the magnification of the scope, he was startled when the weapon bucked in his hands. As he knew he would be.
He settled the scope and saw the vehicle weave, then pull to the shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut and heard Pike shouting into the radio.
In a monotone, he said, “Break, break. Target is neutralized. I say again, target is neutralized. Past my position. Red SUV with four males inside. Original vehicle’s location is unknown.”
“Is it the right vehicle?”
Knuckles smiled, the question hitting home. He’d just made one of the toughest shots he had ever been called upon to do, and even he wasn’t sure if he’d hit the right target.
“I have no idea. That’s your part of the job.”
42
Already outside the airport, I asked Jennifer if she could see the original white sedan ahead of us. The one thing we could not do was take out two separate vehicles.
“No. He’s not in sight in front of us. Maybe he exited off the roundabout before he reached Knuckles.”
Great. An unknown threat on the loose.
“Okay. Close on the SUV with the same plan, but keep your eyes open for that damn vehicle. Knuckles said it was only one man, but that’s all it would take to turn this into a gunfight. Jennifer, you got the ball for ID. If you don’t recognize Samir, we break out, no questions asked.”
I keyed my radio. “Knuckles, keep an eye out for the white sedan. Give us early warning.”
“Roger. He shows, what then? I can’t threaten. Only shoot.”
I knew the implications, but wanted the warm and fuzzy of his long reach. “You give us early warning and we’ll deal with it. Just be prepare
d. This goes wrong, drop everyone you don’t recognize.”
“Roger.”
I peeked between the curtain to catch a glimpse of the red SUV, but saw nothing. Jennifer was straining, leaning so far forward the veil on her face had separated, exposing the skin of her neck.
“I see it, I see it. One man out. No ID on Samir.”
I started breaking out kit, along with Decoy and Brett. “Keep looking. We’re almost at point of no return.”
If it was Samir, he’d be in the backseat. Of that much I was sure. The rest were unknowns. Did the guy next to him have a weapon? Was it out ready to go, or holstered? Did they already have it in their mind to kill Samir? Would that make them much more prone to pull the trigger at the slightest sign of resistance? How many men would exit to check out the flat tire? One? Two? Would they be armed as well?
We hadn’t seen any weapons at the airport, but then again, we hadn’t seen any red SUVs either. Too many variables to plan for, but I was working with men who didn’t need much planning. They could assess and execute on the fly, making correct decisions based on the variables presented. But I wasn’t sure that would be enough for success. I was fine with our chances of survival, but wasn’t with Samir’s. I had no doubt we could close on and subdue everyone in the red SUV, killing them if it came to it, but I wasn’t sure we could do it in time to save him.
He knew this, of course, when he’d agreed to the plan. He was prepared to fight for his life, and we’d planned the takedown, but there were just too many variables that we couldn’t predict.
Best case, we assumed the driver would exit the vehicle and check out the tire alone. That was Decoy’s target. Brett would take out the passenger up front, whether he was in the vehicle or not. That left the man in the backseat for me. Possibly wrestling with Samir over a weapon. Possibly shooting Samir outright.
Jennifer was nothing but eye candy on this one. Her whole mission was to simply lull the opposition. She’d sit in the front with her black garb on, wearing sunglasses to hide her eyes, looking like the meek Muslim woman remaining in the vehicle while Samir’s friend, acting as our driver, went to help.
He would be key. While he would offer nothing in the fight, he was the trigger, which was critical for success. Go too soon, and they’d still be on edge that our vehicle was a trap. Wait too long, and they’d inevitably get suspicious about the driver’s intentions. We wanted to hit a sweet spot, along with hopefully splitting the targets apart when we assaulted. To do this, the driver would attempt to get at least one of the men to our van, stating he had better equipment to help with the flat. If it worked, the trigger would be him opening the door, allowing us to assault. If that failed, and the targets waved off on any help, the driver would signal with a concealed radio, giving two clicks on the transmit button that he’d done his best and was on the verge of drawing suspicion.
I felt the van pull onto the shoulder, but still couldn’t see the SUV. Jennifer said, “One man out. The driver. Two men in the back, one in the front passenger seat. The one on the left rear looks like Samir, but I can’t be sure. The sun’s reflecting off the back window.”
“Knuckles, you got us?” I said.
“Yeah. I got you. Clean shots right now. Tracking the driver.”
“Keep your eye out for the white sedan.”
“Roger.”
I craned to see between the curtain, but couldn’t get a glimpse of anything but the upper right rear of the SUV. Jennifer said, “Front passenger exited. Looking at the van.”
I heard Arabic shouting.
“He’s saying something to me. He’s getting my attention. Driver is engaged with our guy.”
I watched her lean out of the open window, as if she couldn’t hear.
Jennifer’s next words sped things up considerably.
“He’s walking toward me.”
I snicked the curtain shut, leaving a sliver to see through, and took my pistol in a two-handed grip.
“No change to the plan. Take your designated targets. Brett, your target’s walking up to the van right now. We wait this out, until we get the signal.”
I now heard the man talking, trying to engage Jennifer. I peeked between the curtain and saw her staring down, shaking her head, playing the shy wife.
The man leaned in and snatched Jennifer’s sunglasses. He said something else, and I saw his scowl sprout into amazement. Because of the color of her eyes.
He reached in again and yanked off Jennifer’s niqab. Before he could remove his arms, Jennifer exploded into action, locking his elbow joint and causing him to try to climb through the window to relieve the pain.
I said, “Execute! Brett, you have my target. Right rear door. Decoy, no change.”
I ripped the curtain back as I heard Brett and Decoy launch out of the van. I leaned in and hammered Jennifer’s captive behind the ear with the barrel of my pistol, then raced to follow Brett. I didn’t care if I’d knocked the guy out or just stunned him, knowing Jennifer would do the rest.
I could see the two men in the back of the SUV wrestling and knew it was for a weapon. We had seconds before bullets started flying and this turned into a bloodbath.
Brett reached the door and attempted to yank it open. It didn’t budge. Locked. I reached him just as he shattered the glass with the barrel of his weapon. He unlocked the door and I ripped it open, praying Knuckles had subdued his target on the far side of the SUV.
The man held a semiauto pistol, and Samir was wrestling for control, keeping the barrel away from his body just like in a bad movie. The glass from the window glittered in the sun, sprinkled around the head and shoulders of my target. Knowing he had threats to his front and rear now, he desperately pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through the floor of the car and causing Samir to let go. He threw his hands in front of his face, screaming as if he could ward off the coming death. Instead of shooting Samir, the gunman whirled toward me.
I parried his rotation with the gun in my right hand, a ridiculous sword fight using pistols. He put another round into the front of the SUV, and I hammered him in the face with a left cross. I controlled his gun-hand and squeezed toward the cab, allowing Brett access to his body. I disarmed him, and in short order Brett had him subdued on the ground.
I scanned for other threats and saw Decoy covering a man on his knees, hands behind his head. Jennifer’s target was still hanging out of the window, but wasn’t moving.
“Koko, you good?”
“Yeah,” she said. “He’s out. No issues. Just holding him here in case he wakes up.”
I leaned into the SUV. “You okay?”
Samir was ashen, but his voice was strong. “Yes. Thank you.”
I wanted to take a moment to relax, but knew we had little time. Sooner or later, someone was going to report this activity, even here in Lebanon. The response would be slow, since the police would more than likely want to sweep up the brass instead of get in the middle of a sectarian fight, but they would be coming.
I leaned down to the man on the ground, figuring since he had the gun on Samir, he was in charge.
“What’s your name?”
He said nothing. Samir said, “He’s Abu Aziz. Head of security for Majid’s cell.”
“Okay. Aziz it is. Look, I know you don’t believe this, but I don’t mean you any harm whatsoever. In fact, I think we can help each other out. You think Samir had something to do with killing Majid, but he didn’t. I think I know who did, and I want him as bad as you.”
Aziz remained mute, his eyes filled with a hatred that radiated out like a physical thing. Jesus. No way am I going to convince this maniac.
I tried again. “The man is an American, but doesn’t work for the government. He’s tried to kill me and some friends of mine, and I want him bad.”
Still no reaction. No response but the hatred.
“He worked for you. I don’t know what name he gave you, but you called him Infidel.”
I saw a flicker in his eyes, a cra
ck in the facade. The name had hit a nerve.
I was carefully choosing my next words when Knuckles called, “Pike, Pike, white sedan approaching at a high rate of speed.”
43
I heard the supersonic crack of Knuckles’ rifle at the same time I located the sedan, about two hundred meters behind us. It swerved, but kept coming. The right front tire disintegrated, strips of rubber flung out as the driver continued on the rim alone. It screeched to a halt adjacent to the van, sparks flying from the steel rim grinding on concrete and gravel. The driver jumped out, wildly swinging an AK around, finally settling his sights on the closest target—Jennifer sitting inside the van, holding the head of his friend.
He began to scream in Arabic, which did absolutely no good. I trained my pistol on him and spoke out of the side of my mouth.
“Aziz, tell him to put the weapon down. Don’t turn this into a gunfight. Tell him to quit.”
Aziz said nothing. This not being allowed to kill anyone is starting to piss me off.
I shouted at the man, my pistol still trained on him. He swung his weapon toward me, then back at Jennifer, as if he couldn’t make up his mind. In a low voice, I said, “Knuckles, you got a shot?”
“Yeah. Clean headshot.”
“I mean a nonlethal hit. Can you take him down without killing him?”
“Not now. Need to get him away from the car. All I have right now is his upper body.”
“All right. Got it. I’ll get him to walk toward me, then knock him down.”
“Your call, but no promises. It’s not like I’m holding a custom long-gun here. I’ll hit him, but if it rips into his femoral or tumbles somewhere else, I can’t stop it.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”
I shouted again, getting the gunman’s attention, feeling like a cop trying to talk a meth addict off the ledge. The guy even looked like a meth addict. I pointed my weapon at Aziz, still subdued on the ground by Brett. The gunman followed the barrel, and recognition dawned for the first time. His eyes wide, he began screaming again. I waved him forward, then raised my hands in a gesture of surrender. My weapon was pointed harmlessly in the air, but my subconscious was screaming to split his head open. This is why I would never have made it as a police officer.
