by D. I. Telbat
Corban released Titus and let him turn around. Titus rubbed his shoulder, hating the feel of defeat, but Corban was talking more and more sense. Over the last weeks, Titus had left the canister alone with Oleg enough for it to be swapped out. It was possible the old man was telling the truth.
"Then it's a good thing we're armed for an army." Corban touched the NL-X1 strapped to his back. "At the right angle, this thing can take out three to five targets with one shot."
"I can't switch sides just like that!" Titus hung his head. "I've been hunted by too many countries for too long to turn around and help people now."
"Forget those countries and start helping the people. You know who I am. I can help you start over. I've done it for others."
"I don't need you to do it. I have my own resources." Titus rested his hands on his hips. His eyes went to Nuri and his wide-eyed family. They didn't seem to understand English, but their faces showed concern for him. "If Oleg is who you say he is, he's supposed to take down Crac Hassad, right? Single-handedly?"
"Well, he probably didn't take into account Israel's blanket communications jam. He was probably hoping to have support at hand when Crac Hassad arrives at the factory by three o'clock."
"If the canister doesn't have anything real in it, Crac will kill Oleg," Titus said. "Then he'll take Annette and just kill the wounded Israeli kid. But first, Oleg will probably try to put the deal off, once Crac Hassad arrives, until I'm there to back him up in some way. He knows I'd back him up through anything. I can't believe he's Interpol!"
"Oleg won't be able to move with Aaron since he's injured. We need to get to that mosque, bring Leah and the others back here, and run to back up Oleg."
"That phone call you made to your contact, it was about all this?"
"It was. They know I'm with the one who brought in the supposed bio-weapon. They seem to know everything except where Crac Hassad is. And they want to secure whatever may be in that canister, just in case."
"I can't believe this." Titus took a deep breath. "I was going to get millions for that thing. Whatever. Okay, we have two hours to do everything. If I help you, you better get me out of the mix when the IDF closes in. The Mossad would love to get their hands on me."
"The Lord would love to get his hands on you, too, but you're too slippery. Something we'll have to pray more about." Corban nodded at Nuri. "We won't be long. Stay here with the lights out."
Nuri put out the lamp before Titus opened the door for Corban to take the lead down the stairs and into the street.
Titus looked back at the family. He felt like he was doing a lot of looking back lately, and he blamed Corban. But it felt good to be doing the right thing for a change, even if it cost him everything. His brother and sister back in Arkansas wouldn't recognize him now.
*~*
Chapter Ten
Southwest Gaza City, District of Tel al-Hawa
Luigi Putelli crouched behind the burnt skeleton of a semi-trailer. Chewing a mouthful of bubble gum, he hoped his chomping didn't make any sound to alert the unit of men he was trailing. They were deep in Gaza City, somewhere west of the Old City. No one had suspected he was a stranger when he used the Israeli forces to infiltrate the secure border. He'd abandoned the IDF troops three miles north of the city and tossed the IDF uniform.
Now, Luigi wore black dress boots with black slacks and a crimson silk shirt—the same clothes he'd worn on the plane from New York. The toxic belt buckle and nylon belt around his waist topped off his wardrobe. It was his only weapon, but he knew it well.
Israeli Saraph gunships hovered nearby. They were staying parallel with the Hamas unit, watching the heavily-armed militants as they marched south. When the Hamas unit far ahead passed burning buildings, Luigi glimpsed at least a dozen Hamas radicals who carried RPG tubes. If the gunships moved any closer to the militants, Luigi guessed they'd fire a grenade at the choppers. The Hamas army was over fifty-strong here, a force armed too heavily and moving too rapidly for even organized ground units like the Israelis to intercept.
Fifty Hamas soldiers! Luigi was tempted to jump one of the masked men and infiltrate their forces as well. If masked, he could move freely instead of in hiding. But it would take just one Hamas militant to ask him a question in Arabic, and his cover would be blown.
Regardless of the Hamas soldiers' discipline, they didn't seem too concerned about their back trail, where Luigi lurked from building to building, occasionally darting across the street for better cover. He wanted only to find Corban, and from what he'd heard from Colonel Kalil Yasof at Forward Command, following this weaponized unit of killers was a potential track to his friend.
Unfortunately, Luigi didn't know the city, but he had maintained his compass points. When the Hamas militants turned east, Luigi also moved east, a block north of the soldiers. A helicopter thumped above him as he ran east to get ahead of the soldiers. The gunship may have noticed him, but they seemed preoccupied with remaining parallel to the enemy. Luigi glanced to the right as he dashed across a street. He was ahead of them now, but where were the militants going?
A factory building loomed ahead of Luigi. Using the safety of the building to continue moving east, he stepped through broken glass and was pleased to find a wide corridor still heading the right direction. At least for a moment, he wouldn't have to worry about the choppers above disintegrating him into ash.
The dark corridor forked and Luigi crept to the right. He passed a purring critter against a wall and heard voices ahead. Slowing, he hoped they were merely refugees from the devastating bombing. He moved forward and was surprised to hear English. English in Gaza?
". . . Just try not to move," a woman's voice said. "You're lucky he got that bullet out without bleeding you dry. It was pretty deep."
A man coughed and Luigi used the noise to mask his footsteps. He eased closer and peered through a tangle of clothing racks. It took Luigi a moment to focus on the objects around a single flashlight twenty paces away. At the corner ahead, he saw a woman lean over an injured man with bloody bandages on his chest.
"Thirty minutes until the meet," another man said with a Russian accent, somewhere out of Luigi's view to the right. "You two should move down the hall and out of sight before Luc Lannoy and Crac Hassad arrive."
"Aaron's in no shape to move or be moved," the woman said. There was disdain in her voice. "Just keep your terrorist pals on that side of the wall, huh?"
There was no answer. Luigi reflected on what he'd learned with Chloe: there was a missing American woman and an Israeli soldier. He looked back down the corridor. The Crac Hassad soldiers had been zigzagging through the city, but they'd been heading in this general direction. Both prisoners would make powerful hostages in the right hands. Luigi had a decision to make since Corban wasn't here. Corban would want him to help the captives, but Luigi wanted only to help Corban.
Quietly unwrapping another piece of gum, Luigi slipped it into his already stuffed mouth. Like Chloe had told the colonel, Corban would be in the vicinity if he knew such hostages were local. And the odds against Corban wouldn't stop the old spy.
Sighing, Luigi decided he would stick around. If Corban were any other man, it would be unlikely he'd be in the area. But with Luigi near, Corban's chance of success, whatever he was up to, was better. And instead of leaping into a situation he didn't understand, Luigi waited and listened, ever aware that dozens of Crac Hassad militants were closing on the factory.
"If You're up there, God," he prayed, which felt awkward since he wasn't a praying man, "take care of Corban, and get us home to our girls."
Luigi touched his breast pocket, then remembered he'd removed Heather Oakes' photo before leaving the States. But her face was in his memory. He hoped to see her again. Maybe someday he would view the world and the reason for life the way she did. Maybe someday he would become a Christian, but not yet. It was still easier to live by his own willpower.
#######
East Gaza City, Shuja'iyya District
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"They're your friends," Titus said as he lay on his belly next to Corban. "Why don't you go in there instead of me? Let me cover you from here with the sniper rifle."
"Refresh my memory. It's been a while since I read your file. You're a trained marksman?" Corban kept his eye on the night scope trained on a courtyard a half-mile away. From their vantage point on top of a half-demolished office building, Titus could see the Ibn Uthman Mosque's interior. Scaffolding stood against several walls, as if the mosque were still under reconstruction since the last bombing. "No, Titus, just look at that courtyard. All you have to do is get through the front door, and I'll be able to cover you everywhere inside."
"Yeah. Easy." Titus counted eight armed men at the double doors in the front. "I'll be shooting my way in and out."
"Draw the enemy into the courtyard and I'll put them to sleep for an hour."
"I can't believe I let you talk me into this!" Titus gathered his NL-2 and NL-3 weapons and rose to his knees. He checked his watch. In less than twenty minutes, Oleg would be hosting the buy-sell meet with a phony biological weapon. Oleg had betrayed him, yet Titus couldn't help but be flattered by Interpol's attention. He understood Oleg was doing what he'd been trained to do: stop the bad guys. And that meant Titus' bank account wouldn't increase now, if Corban was telling the truth, and Titus believed he was. His accounts had actually decreased by the funds he'd spent on the real weapon before Oleg had apparently swapped it out, leaving Titus five million Euros fewer. Whatever the cost, Titus felt drawn to assist Oleg in catching Crac Hassad. The two had been partners for months, though he realized now, each with different objectives. "Just come get me if they get the upper hand."
"Roger." Corban gave Titus a thumbs up without looking. "Do what you do, Serval."
Titus descended four flights of stairs through shrapnel-strewn walls. Once outside, he jogged along a street of closed shops toward the mosque. Before turning a corner, he looked back at Corban's building. He couldn't see Corban, but he trusted he was there. In fact, he had more confidence in Corban than most partners he'd had over the years. Corban had that selfless air about him, something that made Titus feel important and secure. And a little envious.
The mosque was before him. The eight doormen still stood as they had been ten minutes earlier. Titus took a deep breath and walked toward them, the NL-2 machine pistol in his left hand, the NL-3 carbine strapped and cradled in his right.
"Salam alaykum!" Titus greeted in Arabic as he approached. He counted the paces to the men, about twenty left. "We've been blessed with a beautiful night, brothers. Have you seen the sky?"
The eight seemed tense, probably expecting an Israeli gunship at any moment, but a single man talking about the night wouldn't seem like much of a threat, and Titus marched closer, directly at them. Two men stepped forward to inspect Titus. The city was densely populated, but Titus guessed the worst of Hassad's men knew one another. An approaching stranger would be a threat.
Titus leveled the machine pistol when a gunshot echoed through the night behind him. An instant later, three of the eight in front of the mosque grabbed their chests and fell over. Dropping to one knee, Titus peppered the five remaining with pellets from both guns. Far behind him, Corban fired once more with the sniper rifle and took down the last two militants.
Taking stock, Titus realized not one of the eight had managed to fire a single shot. And Corban's suppressed rifle shot was a half-mile away, alerting no one in the mosque that a foe lurked nearby. The whole assault had lasted no longer than ten seconds. The soldiers had seemed both confused and frightened by the pellets. They probably believed they were being hit with live rounds, grabbing at their assumed wounds rather than returning fire.
Stepping over the snoozing bodies, Titus opened the right side of the mosque entrance. Though he expected to find a passage full of killers relaxing in the safety of the mosque's porches, Titus discovered an empty hall all the way to the courtyard. Knowing Corban was covering him, Titus passed through the door and ran silently to the edge of the courtyard. The yard under construction was surrounded by short pillars. He weaved his way through the pillars to a wooden door on the far side.
"It ain't easy being the Serval," Titus mumbled, then threw the door open. He was now out of Corban's sight, but as long as Corban kept the street and the courtyard clear, Titus guessed he could manage the rest.
Before him, on the right side of the corridor, loomed two arched doorways that led into rooms with dimmed lamps. He grit his teeth and stepped into the nearest one. Two men on floor mats and one at a table all looked up to receive pellets in their throats. A breath later, they tumbled over. The clicking of Titus' weapons drew a giant Palestinian with bushy brows from the second room. Titus fired too quickly and his pellets slapped the man's waist before Titus was punched firmly on the jaw. He bounced off the doorjamb and backed into the first room, but Bushy Brows continued his assault, kicking and punching with battering blows.
Titus dropped his firearms to hang at his sides from their straps and clenched his fists as he parried a punch meant for his nose. He ducked under a wild swing and threw a solid punch into the man's solar plexus, making the larger man back up to catch his breath.
"You got in a couple good ones," Titus admitted in Arabic. He spit blood from a cut lip. "Nobody told you I'm working with the Christians now, did they? Things aren't looking so good for you, pal. Come on. Just like junior high back in Arkansas."
In a martial arts stance, Titus raised his mitts and waved the man closer. The Palestinian's scarless face showed he wasn't accustomed to challengers, especially from those he'd already struck a few times.
Bushy Brows faked a jab and kicked at the side of Titus' knee. Titus raised his leg and took the blow on the side of his shin. Harmless.
"That's all you get," Titus said.
With a flurry of elbows, knees, and hands, Titus drove the Palestinian back into the hallway. He glanced a blow off the man's ear so hard, the giant shook his head. Titus gave him space, and both caught their breaths.
"Where are the Christians?" Titus demanded. "You have no hope to win tonight."
"You will never get out of here alive," Bushy Brows said with a growl and rushed, arms wide.
But Titus was ready this time. He pulled the trigger of the NL-2 and swung it up, pelting the big man with rounds from his knees to his oversized forehead. The man did succeed in tackling Titus, but he was unconscious moments later. Titus rolled him off and struggled to his knees in the hallway. Looking up, he saw an older Palestinian in glasses watching from the entrance of the second room.
Suddenly, the man lunged back out of sight into the room. A chill coursed through Titus' body, and he dashed forward, hoping he could get to the man before he could get his hands on a gun. Titus entered the room and froze.
"Come closer . . . American Satan," the man said in halting English, "and everyone go boom!"
Titus' eyes strayed from the detonator in the terrorist's hand to a black box with a blinking red light. Attached to the black box was a set of wires trailing to an explosive charge wrapped in black tape and plastered to a rafter on the ceiling. Directly below the charge were ten women and children, their hands bound and their mouths covered with tape.
"Stupid," Titus said aloud to himself. He knew now he should've cleared this room before the other. His choices were affecting others' lives, and he wasn't used to recognizing the responsibility of taking care of others.
"You, American Satan, give me gun!"
"No." Titus swallowed hard. "The mosque is surrounded. Give me the detonator. You don't want to kill innocent women and children, right?"
"Yes, if I am surrounded." The Palestinian snarled and Titus saw the crazed look on the suicidal man's face. "It is Allah's will."
"God, help us," Titus whispered and took a step back, but there was no escaping, not from a charge that size. Titus realized in an instant he would meet his Maker. It wasn't a pleasant realization. The Palestinian squeezed h
is detonator, a surrendered look on his face . . . but nothing happened. He frowned at the device in his hand and pumped the trigger again. Shaking the shock from his brain, Titus shot the man with five tranqs in the chest. The detonator fell from his hands and he collapsed.
Titus stared at the detonator, then gasped in surprise for several breaths. No meeting his Maker yet. The explosive had failed!
"Nuri sent me," he said to the captives, using a knife to cut their binds. "Which of you is Leah?"
"I am Leah," a young Palestinian woman said after she peeled the tape off her mouth. Her eye was swollen, and several of the children around her had lacerations on their faces.
"Corban is outside. Help me get the others back to your house."
"Where is my husband? Where is Jachin?"
"He is . . ." Titus checked the hallway as he stalled for the right words. He remembered his brief thought of God before the detonator malfunctioned. "He's with God. Quickly, everyone."
Titus gathered them at the door. Then, as the international arms dealer he was, he easily identified and plucked off the faulty wire in the explosive device. Instead of disarming it completely, he twisted the wire around a connector to complete the circuit which had been the bomb maker's problem. Before he led the way down the hall, he slid the detonator trigger into his breast pocket.
In the hallway, he stood against the wall and rushed everyone toward the courtyard.
"Run outside! Stay together!"
Waiting until everyone had exited the room, Titus then stepped into the hallway to bring up the rear. Something zipped through the skin on his neck and slammed him into the wall. Stunned to see his blood spattered on the opposite wall, he slid down the marble tile to sit on the floor. He heard voices. They were coming for him from the depths of the mosque.
He could no longer see the women and children. They'd moved beyond the courtyard where the door would lead them into Corban's view.
