A few minutes later, he heard voices echoing off the rocks. Men whispering. Low, hushed conversations in Arabic. Then he saw light. Dim and flickering, like a candle in the shadows.
Caine ducked low in the water and advanced. He held his M4 up over his head to keep it dry and battle ready.
Finally, the cramped tunnel opened into a cave. Caine counted three men on a ledge. Two young soldiers, dressed like the insurgents, held Russian AK-47s at their sides. The third man was Khaldun. The honeycomb mass of scarring that disfigured one side of his face seemed to glow red in the candlelight.
Assessing the situation, Caine noticed the water channel disappeared again into the far side of the rock. This place looked to be some kind of storage area. But storing what? Caine was not close enough to see.
Hidden in the water, and in the shadow of the tunnel, Caine aimed his rifle. He squeezed the trigger, quickly putting two bullets into the heads of the two Al Qaeda soldiers. They were dead before they heard the sound of his shots. Before Khaldun could even move, Caine pivoted and fired again. He shot Khaldun twice, once in each calf.
The maimed bomb maker fell to the ground, howling in pain.
Caine listened for other soldiers who might have been out of visual range, but he heard nothing. No one came to Khaldun’s aid. Caine advanced, sweeping his rifle across every nook and cranny of the dark cavern. Then he climbed out of the channel, and stood over his fallen enemy.
The Al Qaeda commander spat at Caine. His gnarled hand drew his Janbiya knife, an ornate blade forged with a rhinoceros horn grip. Khaldun cursed and swung the steel blade, but Caine stood just out of range.
Caine sighed. He slung his rifle over his shoulder. With a single, fluid motion, he drew his M45 pistol and put a bullet through the terrorist’s hand. The man screamed again. The knife fell away with a clang, then dropped into the water.
Caine checked the cave. No one else was coming. It was just the two of them.
“Where are the children?” he demanded. His Arabic wasn’t as good as Kimberly’s, but it was enough.
Khaldun cursed him, his eyes wide and manic.
Caine ignored him. He looked up as voices rose in the darkness. Many distant, tiny voices. Young children, calling out in Arabic for help.
“Never mind.” Caine put two bullets in Khaldun’s chest, and one in the head. The terrorist’s body twitched for a few seconds, as blood gushed from the wounds. Then he froze, and lay lifeless on the cold, wet rocks.
Caine listened again for the calls. What he had thought was a shadowy wall was actually a passage carved into the rock. He picked up a candle and advanced. Soon he came across a cavern, blocked with a wooden door. He forced it open. Dozens of tiny bodies poured forward. Young boys… the children.
He had found them.
They didn’t wait for instructions. They jumped into the water and disappeared downstream.
“Mohammad Naaji?” Caine called out to each boy as they passed. “Hussein Naaji?” Most shook their head and kept moving. One did stop, barely eight-years-old, and looked up at Caine. He was dirty and thin, but most of all he was terrified.
“I’m Hussein?” his trembling voice said in Arabic.
“I’m with your mother, Safiya. ”
“My mother is here?”
Caine nodded. “Yes, I’m going to take you to her. Pass the word down the line. When we get outside, wait at the cave entrance. Don't enter the camp until I give the word. My soldier friend and I are going to cause a distraction. Explosives, like fireworks. You all have to get into the trucks, okay? Then we’re going to drive you back to your families.”
“You are American?” came a second, older voice.
Caine turned and laid eyes on what was clearly Hussein’s older brother, Mohammad. He saw their mother’s eyes staring back at him. Their faces held the same hurt and fear she had carried the whole time he had known her.
“Yes. I’m with the U.S. Government. This is a rescue mission.”
Mohammad nodded. “Okay. We will pass the word on.”
“Thank you. Now let’s move!”
Caine waited until the last boy waded down the channel. He counted thirty-seven bodies passing before him. He followed them in the cool water.
As soon as he had a signal, Caine radioed ahead.
“Sergeant Tyler, I have the children and the data stick. We’re making our way to the exit, over.”
Tyler’s voice crackled back. “Roger that. I already thinned the herd a bit out here. Some wandering sentries. Amazing what a man can accomplish with twelve inches of high quality steel. Standing by for your signal.”
Caine grinned in the darkness.
The mass of children huddled near the tunnel’s exit. Caine jogged up and peered through the opening. He saw the camp fire, still crackling in the distance. Only about half as many men gathered around it as before.
Tyler had been busy.
Caine reloaded his weapons, then turned to the children. “Okay, no one moves until I say. Understood? ”
Mohammad and Hussein nodded. The boys whispered instructions amongst themselves.
Caine lifted the radio to his lips. "Tyler… light it up."
“On it…” the voice answered back.
BOOM!
The rocks shook, and dust filled the air. A series of explosions erupted around the edges of the camp. The fireballs were almost blinding in the dim light.
A few of the terrorists who sat near the outskirts of the camp were consumed by the explosions. Their charred bodies flew through the air. The remaining men leapt to their feet, firing their weapons wildly into the darkness.
Tyler’s silenced shots dropped men left and right. He was cutting a path through the confused, leaderless soldiers.
A path for Caine and the boys.
Caine fired twice, taking out the men closest to the tunnel.
“Move!” he shouted.
He charged forward, and the boys followed behind him. Caine pivoted left and right, spraying fire on the few men that remained. Many of the terrorists had fled into the rocks. They were young foot soldiers, inexperienced and lacking confidence without a leader. Without Khaldun spurring them on, their resistance was feeble at best.
Caine and Tyler ran the children to the two cattle trucks. He counted them again. Still thirty-seven. “You two,” he said to Mohammad and Hussein. “Sit up in the front with me, okay?”
Caine and the two boys piled into the front seat of the truck. More children leapt into the back. He started up the engine and the vehicle rumbled to life. They raced out of the camp, kicking up a cloud of dust in their wake. Caine took the lead, with Tyler and the other children in the truck behind.
They turned a bend to find Safiya Naaji waiting in the road. She stood in the glare of the headlights, staring at the truck with trepidation and hope .
Caine swung open the door. “You'd better get in… I have two boys up here who’ve been waiting to see you.”
When she laid eyes upon Mohammad and Hussein, her face lit up.
Caine realized it was the first time he had seen her smile.
Chapter Twenty-Six
CAMP LEMONNIER, DJIBOUTI
Kimberley Hustwait’s surgery lasted four hours. She had lost a lot of blood, and at one point her heart had stopped beating for ten seconds. But in the end, she pulled through.
Afterwards, still in his bloody scrubs, the surgeon had explained to Caine that Kimberley had been extremely lucky. The knife wound had only nicked her major organs and she had suffered no serious damage. But considering the amount of blood she had lost, they had only just got her to the base in time.
Caine sat with Kimberley in the post anesthetic ward while she slept. He visited her again the next day in the general ward. She was still asleep. He watched the IV fluids drip down one splash at a time through the tube attached to her arm.
It was late into the afternoon when her eyelids flicked open. She glanced around, taking in her surroundings. They were in a
drab military hospital ward. Everything was khaki and utilitarian.
“I’m not dead?” she said with surprise.
“You’re not dead,” Caine said, and laughed. He sat close to her, patting her arm affectionately. “You're on the base in Djibouti. You made it.”
She smiled, and Caine saw again how pretty she was. If he wasn’t involved in a complex relationship with Rebecca, he knew he would have returned her kiss in the desert.
“The bastard stabbed me,” Kimberley said through a grimace of discomfort. “Why the hell did he stab me?”
Caine shrugged. “Well, he’s dead now.”
Her face twisted with concern. “What about Safiya? And her boys, Mohammad and Hussein?”
“They’re fine. They’re reunited again. And so are the other children and their families."
His voice softened. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
She laughed, then coughed and winced in pain. “Don’t make me laugh, Tom. This bloody hurts.”
He smiled and just looked at her for a while. He’d been worried that she wouldn’t make it. That the time taken to divert the flight to the Al Qaeda camp might have made the difference between life and death for her. This time, he’d gotten lucky. But as the surgeon said, it had been a close call.
“I thought Australians were supposed to be tough?”
“It’s a myth we Aussies are happy to encourage. You ever been to Australia, Tom?”
“I’ve been to Sydney Airport.”
She made a scoffing noise. “That’s like your favorite band playing at the Big Day Out, and you only buy their souvenir t-shirt.”
“Big Day Out?”
“You've never heard of Big Day Out? It’s one of our biggest music festivals. You should really visit, Tom.”
He nodded. “I think I might.”
Kimberley lay back, exhausted. She was joking around, but Caine could see she was still in pain from her injuries. She looked weak and frail, but who wouldn’t after such a grievous wound? But he could also see determination in her beautiful blue eyes… She would get through this.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“You look sad, Tom.”
He nodded. He knew why. Kimberley was a civilian. He was a covert paramilitary officer with the Central Intelligence Agency. They were two very different kinds of people who didn’t mix well in the real world.
It was time to say goodbye.
“You’re going to walk out of here soon, aren’t you Tom, and I’m never going to see you again?”
He shrugged and held her hand. “Not just yet. And who knows, Kimberley. Anything is possible in this world.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Rebecca Freeling waited for Caine inside Camp Lemonnier’s Task Force Compound. The building was home away from home for the Navy SEAL, Army Force Delta and other Special Forces teams that operated behind enemy lines. Yemen was only a hundred miles by boat across the Red Sea, so Djibouti was an ideal location to support their covert missions. It also acted as a logistics hub for drone surveillance, to keep the massive U.S. Military machine operational in this part of the world.
Everyone in the Camp wore either military gear, or was dressed in practical clothing. Like the desert boots, jeans and blue cotton shirt that Caine wore. Dust from the Sahara covered the tables and chairs in the sparse meeting room. Everything was covered in a dull film of grime. Caine had come to associate that stain with military bases across the globe.
But Rebecca looked like the harsh environment around her couldn’t touch her. She was stunning in a two-piece navy suit, polished flat shoes and a cream blouse. Her fiery red hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she looked sleek and well groomed. She seemed more like the host of a media event than the tough CIA Case Officer Caine knew her to be.
When she laid eyes on Caine, she shook her head. “What happened to you?”
He knew he was a nasty sight. Bruising and cuts covered his face and hands. A bandage wrapped around his shoulder, showing through beneath his shirt collar, and he wore a brace over his injured knee.
“Oh, you know how it goes,” he said, and grinned. “Didn’t like what someone said to me, so we had words.”
“Words?” She stepped close to him, and parted her lips. She was used to him taking a beating in the field. She had given up worrying about what she considered to be minor injuries.
He wanted to kiss her, but he knew someone could walk in at any moment. They’d agreed to keep their on-again-off-again relationship on the down low. Despite their caution, many of their CIA colleagues had guessed what they were up to. He smiled at her instead.
“You created quiet an incident with the Saudi Government,” she said in a low voice.
“I’m sure you’ve sorted it out.”
She smiled and looked over his shoulder, checking if anyone was watching them. “Yes, well, the data you recovered contained some very embarrassing information. Intel that the Saudis want to keep quiet. They won’t talk about a U.S. encounter against their military on their sovereign territory, if we promise not to release the details on the stick.”
“What was on it exactly?” He caught her eye. “Presuming I have clearance to know?”
“You’ve already figured out most of it. Martin Delbridge was running an operation smuggling medical supplies out of Yemen. He was working with Colonel Rashid of Saudi Military Intelligence. They made it appear to be the Houthis’ doing. Emily Argyle, Jarod Forster and his pilot Charles Li were his on the ground team—”
“But Delbridge was using the Mustang Sally program,” Caine interrupted. He convinced Rashid that he was Forster, so if it all went wrong, Forster would take the fall.”
Rebecca nodded. “That’s right. When Forster found out, he started gathering evidence of Rashid’s and Delbridge’s dealings. He even had recordings of Rashid and Delbridge communicating on sat phone. Insurance against Delbridge if he ever tried to set them up.”
“So he kills Forster instead.” Caine gritted his teeth for a second, then continued. “After that, he eliminated Emily and Li. They were all loose ends.”
Rebecca nodded. “Technically, the whole operation was sanctioned high up by our own government. Selling the medicines for a profit… that was his own idea. In the eyes of the CIA, Delbridge may be a criminal, but he isn’t a traitor.”
“But he still ran?”
Rebecca brushed a strand of hair from her face. “He ran because of you.”
“He set me up. Sent me, Kimberley and Safiya into the desert to die. He caused a lot of people to suffer.” Caine looked again to Rebecca, but she said nothing. “I presume the pharmaceuticals are now making their way to the UNHCR?”
“Yes, we’re dealing with a Frenchman, Jean Marchand. It’s all being sorted.”
“What’s going to happen to Safiya and her boys? I can’t imagine Yemen will be a safe place for them for much longer.”
“Some good news there, Tom. The United States Government has offered them immigration visas and they’ve accepted. They should be in California before the end of the month.”
Caine nodded. “That still leaves a decision to be made about Martin Delbridge.”
“Well this is an interesting situation…”
“How so?”
“Some of the top brass think Delbridge is a hero, that SANDFIRE was a success. They figure he’ll report in eventually. When he does, they'll read him the riot act, of course. But after that he’ll be back in the field, sorting out terrorists in another war-torn country. Probably with a big promotion.”
“Right,” Caine snarled, not hiding his disappointment.
“But there are others who think he’s a liability. They believe he’ll go too far one day, and compromise national security. Maybe he already has."
“Really? So there's a rift at the Company?”
Rebecca nodded. “Delbridge was selling the Yemen medicine for a profit in Dubai. That was never part of the
plan. And Forster’s information brought more of his illegal activities to light. He’s been shipping conflict diamonds out of the Congo, cocaine out of Colombia. Plus, he earmarked millions of dollars for bogus operations. We’re fairly certain he’s been pocketing much of that over the years.”
“Forster was IT-savvy, so I guess he knew how to follow the money.”
She nodded, and they were silent for a moment. Ideas formulated in Caine’s mind.
“Delbridge is a bad operator,” he said.
“A very bad one.”
Caine looked away. He knew what he wanted to do. He also knew he wasn’t likely to get permission to do it. Not officially, anyway.
“Where is Delbridge now?” he asked.
“Nobody knows. He’s worked in so many countries he could have contacts anywhere in the world. This guy is meticulous… you can bet he had multiple contingencies in place, in case he ever had to run.”
“What about Australia?”
Rebecca looked puzzled. “What do you know that I don’t?”
Caine remembered back to the snowfields in New Zealand where Emily Argyle had bled to death. She didn’t deserve to die like that. Jarod Forster didn’t deserve to die of grievous wounds in the bone-dry desert. Three-dozen children didn’t deserve to suffer at the hands of fanatical terrorists. Hundreds, if not thousands, didn’t deserve to die because the medicines they required to live had been sold for a profit.
All this misery started with Delbridge. Caine was determined it would end with him too.
“I couldn’t work out why Emily ran to Australia. She had never been in the country before. But what if she wasn’t running? Maybe she was hunting. Forster and Emily must have figured that Delbridge’s escape route was into Australia. She went there to expose him. I’ll bet anything that’s where he is.”
Rebecca touched his hand. She was standing so close he could feel her breath upon his neck. Then she whispered, “You’ve got ten days recovery leave, right?”
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