Counterfire sts-16

by Keith Douglass

  “Take it easy there. Can Ebenezer help?”

  “He has. Go get ’em.”

  As soon as the fire came from down the hall, all three SEALs returned with counterfire and drove the gunman back into one of the rooms. But which one? Lam lay in the hallway, his MP-5 covering the hall and the doors. He provided Murdock and Ching with the cover they needed as they checked on four more doors with windows looking out at the broad expanse of the Dead Sea.

  All were elaborate suites, but had no people in them, Murdock found out. At the first sound of gunfire, the whole complex must have been evacuated. With a few exceptions. Where was the man with the machine gun?

  Murdock kicked open the last door and stopped. Three men stood there; none held weapons, but a submachine gun lay nearby on the floor. He and Lam stormed through the door at the same time. The three men didn’t move. Behind them stood an oversized bed with a solid wooden canopy.

  “Stand aside,” Murdock said in Arabic.

  “No, we protect our master with our lives,” one of the men said.

  Murdock waved his weapon at them. “Stand aside, or I’ll shoot.”

  A voice in Arabic rumbled from behind them. Slowly the three men dropped to their knees, turned, and put their heads on the foot of the bed and waited.

  For the first time, Murdock saw the man in the bed. He looked nothing like the pictures they had of El Cuchillo. This man was thin, not well, with a festering sore on his cheek. His eyes were dull and slow-moving. One hand, more skin and bones than flesh, lifted and pointed at them.

  “You have come at last,” he said in Arabic with the same rumble of a diseased voice.

  “Ebenezer, down the hall to the last door, quickly,” Murdock said.

  The Israeli came in the door with his MP-5 sweeping the room. He took in the scene in a second, dropped the muzzle, and rushed to the bedside. He turned in surprise and looked at Murdock, who nodded.

  “I’d say that’s our man, but he’s been hiding behind this facade of vigorous activity to cover himself.”

  “And I speak English,” El Cuchillo said. “I am The Knife, but I am about as dangerous as a half-blind kitten.”

  “You have killed many of my countrymen,” Eb said. “You have been a terrorist drenched in blood, yet you show no remorse.”

  “I am a soldier in the Army of Allah. I do only his will.”

  “You are a murdering bastard who should die slowly,” Eb said.

  He stared at the old man, whose eyes were deep-set, with brittle white skin stretched tightly across his face by the protruding bones.

  “You killed in Munich in 1972 and outraged the world.”

  “A soldier in Allah’s Army.”

  “You butchered women and children in eight distinct car bombings in Israeli town markets.”

  “The work of Allah continues.”

  “You killed two good friends of mine in Haifa.”

  The old man shrugged.

  Lieutenant Ebenezer lifted his MP-5 and slammed three rounds into the pasty-white legs that lay on top of the white sheet. The old man screamed, but the sound came out as only a whisper and a gargling, frothy rumble. Tears crept down his cheeks. He shook his head a moment, then looked up.

  “That didn’t hurt me a bit. I am Arab, I am a soldier of Allah.”

  Two of the guards kneeling at the foot of the huge bed lifted up in protest. Ebenezer swung the MP-5 around and shot both of them in the chest. They slammed backward in sudden death.

  “You are like vermin on the face of decent human beings,” said Ebenezer. “You are gutter trash, the spawn of pure camel dung.”

  Murdock understood a little of the Arabic. He moved back and used his radio.

  “Report in. DeWitt, what’s happening?”

  “The palace is clear. We found four more bodies. Took out three more guards. Found a locked room in a structure behind the main building. We’re not sure what’s inside. Could be an explosive bunker or a magazine of some kind. Holding on that. You find anything?”

  “We have The Knife. He’s an old, old man. Eb is questioning him.”

  “How old?”

  “Old and sick, looks like he could be eighty-five, maybe ninety. Skin and bones, in bed and dying.”

  “What about the locked room?”

  “Hold, we should be down shortly. Post your guards. We don’t want to be surprised.”

  Eb stared at the ancient one on the pillows.

  “Why the deception about your still being an active terrorist?”

  “Often the fear of a potential act is as effective as the act itself.” The old voice came in spurts, raspy, shaky, and it was hard to understand every word. When he finished the sentence, he closed his eyes and took deep breaths. A tremor of pain darted through him and his face contorted, then relaxed. His dazed eyes sought out the Arabic speaker.

  “Why don’t you kill me? I’m ready. Allah is waiting to welcome me. He tells me I’ve suffered long enough.”

  “I won’t do you any favors, El Cuchillo.” Ebenezer looked away and in a fraction of a second, the third guard at the foot of the bed lifted up and in one soaring movement, hurled himself backward at the Israeli officer. Eb looked up to find the body coming at him. He jolted to one side, jumped out of the way, and triggered a three-round burst at the guard.

  Two of the rounds burned into the man’s neck, spilling him to the side, cutting his right carotid artery, which pumped blood out in a huge spurt with every heartbeat, jetting the raw red blood eight feet across the room.

  The third round in the burst missed the guard, slammed over the bed, and hit the old terrorist in his forehead, hammering him back onto the bed, spreading blood, brains, and chunks of his brittle skull over the pillows.

  Lieutenant Ebenezer’s eyes went wide. He lowered the weapon slowly, went forward, and took one last look at the man.

  “I think we’re done up here,” Murdock said. “Let’s go see what Ed has found downstairs.”

  Murdock stopped by the first room they had entered on the third floor, and saw Bradford standing and taking a few steps.

  “How you doing, Bradford?”

  “Not the best, Skipper, but I can walk. Hell, I’m about five minutes from fit for duty.”

  “Let’s go downstairs and find DeWitt.”

  Murdock held his arm as they went down the steps. That put a strain on the shot-up side, and Bradford winced with every step but didn’t utter a sound.

  They found DeWitt with most of his squad at a building attached to the main house but with a separate entrance.

  “No windows and only one door,” DeWitt said. “Figured it had to be something special. Nobody has gone out or tried to get in since we found it. Big padlock on the door hasp.”

  “Easy. Put about six rounds around the hasp and blow it out of the wooden door,” Jaybird said. The others stood back as the big mouth of the platoon went to work. It took him only three rounds before the hasp spun out of the wood and the door hung ready to open.

  Murdock nodded to his second, who reached out, stayed against the wall, and swung the door open. Nothing happened. The inside was dark. DeWitt shone his flashlight past the doorjamb from the ground level and into the dark room.

  They heard some jabbering from inside. Lieutenant Ebenezer pushed up beside DeWitt and shouted something into the darkness.

  An answer came back, and Ebenezer grabbed the flashlight and charged inside the room. A moment later he found a light switch and turned it on.

  Murdock and Jaybird had surged in right behind Ebenezer, their trigger fingers ready.

  More shouting, and Murdock tried to get his eyes used to the sudden light after the darkness. He saw three cots with men on them. Ebenezer was embracing them one by one, and shouting in a language not English or Arabic.

  He turned, and his face billowed with a smile.

  “These men are Israelis, we thought they were dead. They are a special Mossad team sent in two months ago to find a man ready to flee this land
and bring with him some vital information.”

  23

  “Let’s get these guys out of here and in a friendlier spot,” Murdock said, looking at the three Israelis on the cots.

  “Chained down,” Ebenezer said.

  “Bolt cutters, who is packing?” Murdock said on his Motorola.

  “Yo,” somebody said, and a moment later Fernandez came into the room and worked on the chains. He cut the loops in the medium-thick chain and had the men free quickly.

  “Clothes?” one of them said. They all wore only underwear shorts and T-shirts. The SEALs searched the room and found the Israelis’ clothes in a big wooden box.

  Each man asked for a weapon. Jaybird gave up the spare MP-5 he had carried. Bill Bradford gave up his sub gun, glad to get rid of the weight. He gave the Israeli six extra magazines. Jefferson handed over the .45 auto he carried under his left arm and four filled magazines.

  “How you doing?” Murdock asked Bradford. Mahanani had redone the bandage and given him a shot of morphine.

  “I’ll make it, Cap. You just point me in the right direction.”

  Murdock talked with Ebenezer. “We have the three men. You want to go after the target they came after?”

  “Absolutely. We’ve accomplished our main, let’s give this a try. Plenty of time before we head back to the boat.”

  “Where are the reserves they should have here? Will there be a counterattack of some kind?”

  “Doubt it. We wasted enough out there on guard duty so the rest are hiding their tails anywhere they can until daylight.”

  “Where is this turncoat?”

  They talked with the three Israelis. Two spoke good English.

  “His name is Najjar Hanieh. He had been a shoemaker, but he had such a perfect drawing skill that they used him to illustrate and draw diagrams for their terrorist plans. He has a small shop in the business area and lives behind his store.”

  Ebenezer held up his hands a minute. “Names. This is Commander Murdock and Lieutenant DeWitt. These three lucky men are Adir, Yehudi, and HADERA. That’s enough to remember. Adir, you know how to find that little store?”

  “With my eyes closed.”

  “DeWitt, you take the lead with Adir and your squad. Alpha will back you. Let’s move.”

  They left the area like ghosts in the night. In ones and twos, slipping from one building to another, they worked two blocks to the main business street. Halfway down it they went into an alley. Murdock held his men at the mouth of the alley, spread out in a defensive position. He didn’t believe that the Arabs here would roll over so easily once they saw a little blood.

  DeWitt and his squad led the Israelis into the alley, and were almost to the back door of the turncoat’s shop when gunfire sounded ahead of them and they dug into the dirt of the alley, behind one old truck parked there and in some building offsets.

  The squad returned fire, aiming at the muzzle flashes less than fifty yards ahead.

  “Cover us,” Ebenezer said. Then he and Adir lifted up and dashed ten yards ahead and behind a building. Then they ran up to a smaller one beside it. All were made with common walls. The shorter one had a door that Ebenezer kicked in. He ran inside. Adir charged along right behind him.

  “This is the right place?” Ebenezer asked. They were in a storeroom, and saw steps leading to the left.

  “Let me go first,” Adir said. He slipped up the steps quietly and tried the door at the top. It was unlocked. He edged it inward and called softly.

  “Najjar. Najjar, wake up, we are your friends.” His Arabic was excellent. He repeated the words again, and this time they heard some sounds inside. Then steps came toward them.

  “Adir? Everyone said you were dead.”

  “We’ve come to take you out of here. Get ready to travel. You have ten minutes to get your clothes together and what you can carry in your pockets. I’ll handle the briefcase filled with terrorist plans and targets that you promised me.”

  Najjar struck a match and studied the face in front of him for the time it took for the match to flame out.

  “Yes, I can come. They told all of us that the three Israeli spies had been caught and were beheaded.” He paused. “Yes, I am glad to see you. Wait.”

  In the alley outside, Ed DeWitt kept up fire at the gunmen at the far end of the alley as long as they fired back. When they stopped, his men stopped.

  At the other end of the alley, Murdock looked at the street and buildings. There could be a company of Palestinian Authority policemen out there. But were there? He figured not. There’d been no advance hint that anyone was coming. The Israelis said they had been captured two months ago. The PLO would tend to let down their guard after two months. But who were the gunmen at the other end of the block? How did they know that the attackers would come here?

  Then he knew. Somehow they’d found out about the three spies being rescued, and they must know who the spies had come to rescue in the first place. Now all that mattered was how many men the Arabs had been able to throw together to stop them. It wasn’t a good feeling. He got on the net and told the others what he had figured out.

  “So we play it carefully from here on. We double-check every building before we go past it. Better exfiltrate out this way on the alley with the prize, but keep a rear guard to get off some last rounds. How is our man doing?”

  A dog ran across the street, but didn’t pay any attention to them. A cat screeched on a fence and then jumped off. Murdock’s radio came on.

  “Skipper,” DeWitt said. “We’re in contact and the man is getting dressed. Should be out in a minute or two. Wilco on the getaway. Will be your way in about five. Yes, here they come now. We’ll lay down some cover fire, so don’t be alarmed.”

  Murdock heard the firing from familiar weapons, but little counterfire. Where had the gunmen gone? He told Lam to recon out toward the water to see what he could learn. “Don’t go more than a block, and be careful.”

  Two minutes later Bravo Squad came up and spread out. Lam called in.

  “Looks free and clear up here, Cap. Had one car, but it turned off and is gone. Few lights on, no streetlights. Nobody on the street. I’d say it’s a go up here for a block. I’ll wait. This is still about a hundred yards to the water.”

  “Roger that.”

  Murdock looked around at the dark shapes. “Alpha Squad up front, our visitors in the middle, and Bravo bring up the rear. Spread out at least five and let’s move.” Murdock took the point and led out, checking every building, every window as they faded along the dirt street toward the Dead Sea.

  Nothing.

  The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up. What? Where? He scanned the buildings again. He felt like he was in a huge trap and the killer hammer was jolting down to squash him.

  Lam came out of the gloom. “Still looks good ahead, Skipper. Some traffic to the south of us, two whole cars.”

  “Could they be moving men and guns south to block us?” Murdock asked his head scout.

  “Possible. I can take a run down that block and check.”

  “Do that, and we’ll move south on this street. Last one before the highway, then the sand and the water. Go. Don’t get yourself shot, and report back on anything. If all is well, we’ll meet you a block south of here on the wet sand.”

  Lam gave a curt signal with his hand and vanished into the night. Murdock kept the platoon moving. He was halfway through the block to the east when Lam called in a whisper on the radio.

  “Trouble, Cap. I’d say about twenty men with long guns. They have formed a blocking line from the near side of the highway down to the water’s edge. Look like some of them have uniforms, maybe the Palestinian Authority guys.”

  “Thanks. We’ll change plans and go the way you went. Ed, you hear that? Reverse march and lead us south down that street we just passed. Go south, be careful. Put out a scout. We might be able to go around that bunch up there. If not we’ll be in a tough firefight.”

  “Roger that, we�
��re reversed. Fernandez is out as scout.”

  Murdock acknowledged the call, then went to find Bradford. He was beside Ching, who’d grabbed his combat vest and was holding him up by one arm.

  “I can make it, damnit!” Bradford growled.

  “Sure you can. Now just keep going this way for another block; then we get a rest or you can pack me a ways.”

  Murdock fell in behind them and watched their rear.

  Ed came on the radio. “Okay, I get the picture better now. Lam is with me. We’re maybe fifty yards from the end of the picket line out to the west. We keep going here without a sound, we should outflank them and be gone.”

  “Let’s get south of them, then get some protection and hit them with the twenties,” Murdock said. “Otherwise they’ll be chasing us all the way down the sea. Jaybird, how many twenty rounds left?”

  “Five in the magazine and five more.”

  “I’ve got seven left. We can discourage them to hell and back with those rounds. We’ll move down out of range of their guns, say five hundred yards, laser them and let fly. Now let’s get past the end of their line without a damn whisper. Go, Ed.”

  The line of SEALs, with ten yards between them, moved agonizingly slow as the men worked their way across the silent dirt street and in back of the buildings on the continuing street. The Israelis and their Arab guest were in the middle, with Alpha Squad bringing up the rear.

  They were almost across the exposed area when a dog charged out of the darkness and attacked Luke Howard, the third man from the end. Luke heard it coming and swung his sniper rifle like a club. The heavy butt of the weapon pounded into the side of the dog’s head, and it went down without a whimper.

  The last two men stepped around the dog, and Murdock did the same, giving a little sigh of relief when he was behind the building. They moved faster then, still as silent as a ghost company. One more block and they ran out of buildings. Fernandez angled them east toward the water. They were still thirty yards from it when they crossed the blacktopped highway in a rush, then melted into the darkness of the shoreline.

  “How far?” DeWitt asked.