She pulled a phone from out of her own pocket and handed it to Ben.
In the end, whether he got off the island or not, he needed to make contact with Avner. He turned the device on and found no signal.
Ben walked back to the top of one of the staircases and stood on the landing. He needed to scope out their surroundings and quickly. He hugged the far side of the staircase wall and descended. He found the light switch halfway down and turned it off. The stairwell went dark behind him. Just beyond the base of the stairs the room opened up into a massive anti-chamber that served as the foyer to the auditorium. Ben stayed in the shadows and peered around the wall. Spaced along the walls in the foyer were plush chairs and sofas in a variety of tropical patterns and colors dressed with half-moon shaped tables and great wall length mirrors.
Except for the furniture, the room was empty. Ben ventured out of the hallway, staying pressed against the wall. He only got a few paces when he heard footsteps and slid himself back to the stairwell. A single Arab man entered the room and walked across its breadth to sit on one of the sofas. He produced a cigar from somewhere within his robe and lit the end of it with a slim gold lighter. Ben watched as the man puffed and pulled on the smoke until the tip glowed a bright reddish orange. Ben retrieved the phone. The words, ‘no signal’ were still spread across the screen. He tucked it back into his pocket and returned to the balcony.
“I’m going with you.” Emily blurted out. Her voice trembled.
“Going with me may not be any safer for you than staying here but it’s up to you.” He said, doing his best to sound neutral.
“Leave whatever you have. We’re going right now.” He said handing her one of the sub-machine guns.
She held up a notepad she had removed from one of the guards. On it were scribbled a few lines in Arabic, followed by a couple of international numbers. It said, “North shore, 2PM, Saturday.” Below that were the words “Sea Wind”. Ben felt he had seen the name somewhere before but he couldn’t quite place it. Neither the location reference nor the phone numbers meant anything to him.
“Forget it, it’s useless to us.” He said quietly. He took the weapon out of Emily’s hands and slowly pulled back on the bolt. He let the loading mechanism run forward, keeping his other hand out in front of it to ensure that it didn’t slam into position and alert anyone.
“Let’s go.” He said as he handed it back to her.
Emily hesitated. She looked back at her fellow reporters. Ben wasn’t indifferent to their plight but he had a mission that required him to put the safety of others behind him. She stared at him, her eyes pleading on behalf of her colleagues.
“If you can get them away from the balcony without causing a disturbance, I can probably get them up into this attic. With any luck they might not be discovered up there.” He said, pointing to a small square patch in the ceiling overhead.
Emily crept over to the balcony. She stayed low enough that no one below could see her. She saw the men’s faces and her heart broke. They were scared, terrified. They had seen their own deaths coming and it had spiraled them into a collective state of shock.
“Don’t look down here. Keep looking at the podium and just listen. We have a way to hide you.” She was more afraid for them than she was for herself. For all intents and purposes they had become mindless robots.
“I need you to pick the right opportunity to step away from the balcony. You can’t let anyone who might be looking up here see you. If you understand what I am saying blink twice but do not look down at me.” She whispered. All except one of them blinked. She hoped that the lone reporter would get the point after he saw that the others had moved. She backed away from the balcony and got back to where Ben stood next to a metal folding chair he had staged beneath the attic access.
“Well?” He asked anxiously. The veteran Mossad agent would have left the other reporters there and forced himself to be okay with it, if it hadn’t have been for Emily Stanborough’s intervention. Now he was breaking his most important survival rule. A rule that had kept him focused and alive for more than a decade in some of the world’s most dangerous regions.
“They either have to start coming, or I have to go. Nazari’s speech could be over at any minute. We can’t wait for them.” He said.
One of the reporters nonchalantly peeled himself away from the rest of the group and came to Emily and Ben. The Israeli wasted no time.
“Put your foot in my hand and reach for the edge of the access. The slightest disturbance will echo through the hall, so don’t make any noise.” Just as the reporter heaved himself up over the edge and disappeared into the attic, another one of the group stepped back from the balcony and took his place on the chair. Ben gave him the same spiel and hoisted the man into position. One by one, the men entered the attic.
Ben stood on the seat of the chair. “Okay, close her up. I don’t know when or if we will be back to get you. My suggestion is to wait at least a day and if you don’t hear anything come down. But be very cautious. There will probably be guards all over the island. Good luck.”
The reporter replaced the access door. Ben got down off the chair and leaned it up against the wall. He and Emily filed back down the unlit stairway. The man that had been on the sofa smoking his cigar was now up and walking the room. He carved an invisible outline of the room’s perimeter with his steps as he puffed away.
Ben watched and waited for the man to make a complete loop and begin the trek along the auditorium wall toward himself and Ms. Stansborough. When he was close enough, Ben reached out from the shadows of the stairwell and locked his arm around the man’s neck from behind, being sure to wedge the guys arm up against the open side of his neck. The man struggled but succumbed to the lack of oxygen within seconds. Ben drug him back up the stairs. Ben didn’t bother to hide the man’s body once he got to the top of the stairs, something he would probably regret. But he was running out of time. Nazari’s speech could be over at any moment and then the men in the audience were likely to be crawling all over the facility.
When he got back down the stairs, he found Emily wandering around in the anti-chamber. He was a breath away from calling after her when he heard someone shout in Arabic.
“Hey, what are you doing down here?”
It was another of Nazari’s guards.
Ben had two choices; he could leave her and use the guard’s distraction to sneak off in the opposite direction or he could rescue her and deal with the consequences. Ben burst from the shadows with long strides toward the guard. The Mossad agent already had his right foot in the air by the time the man started to turn to investigate the noise of Ben’s approach. Schweitzer caught him square in the hip with a severe thrusting kick. There was an audible crack and the man cried out in pain. As he fell to the floor Ben followed up by launching his other leg forward, just a few inches off of the ground. The tip of his dress shoe connected with the man’s throat and he was instantly silent.
Emily Stansborough recoiled at the scene. She had been a war correspondent at the beginning of the Iraq war in 2004 but she hadn’t been this close to the action. She was grateful that there were men who had such courage in such times but it made her stomach turn nonetheless.
Ben grabbed her by the arm. He didn’t bother scolding her for exploring without him and attracting the guard’s attention, there was no time. They had to move, fast.
There was a side door at the end of the anti-chamber. As Ben and Emily approached, it swung open and a man in a black suit and tie appeared. He was holding a silver tray of tiny crystal shot glasses that were filled with Arabian coffee. The man stepped aside and let them pass. Ben grabbed the open door to the auditorium’s kitchen, just as a group of men entered the foyer from the auditorium behind them through a doorway at the opposite end of the room. Ben looked back briefly. They were shouting in Arabic and pointing their way. Then one of the men spotted the body on the ground near the stairwell and raised an AK-47.
Ben also raised his
weapon. Unlike the wild-eyed gunmen however, Ben was well trained. He dropped to a knee, as the man pulled the trigger and returned fire. The man’s rounds sank deep into the plaster of the wall several feet over Ben’s head while all but a few rounds from Ben’s gun landed in the other man’s torso. The terrorist dropped to the floor, clutching at his chest, unable to breathe because of the peanut sized holes in his lungs. The ringing of gunfire echoed through the entire hall. It was like the sound of a fire alarm. Ben closed the door behind him and entered the kitchen. The cooks and wait staff looked puzzled and scared as they ducked down behind stainless steel prep tables and industrial appliances.
16
Quneitra, Syria
Day 5
Saleem placed the last of a charge of plastic explosives at the base of a large column. The three story building in the center of town had originally hosted a bundle of private offices before the destruction of the city, in 1974. Saleem stared approvingly at the mangled United Nations vehicle that he and Azim had hauled in from the street via a ratchet strap they had secured to the Land Rover’s rear hitch.
He pushed a blasting cap into the clay-like block and rolled a Primacord fuse out into the street. Saleem ducked down behind a steel dumpster and depressed the primer trigger. The fuse exploded at such a high rate of speed that it appeared to be instantaneous across its length. The columns that supported the abandoned building gave at their base and the structure collapsed in a thunderous heap. A plum of dust and rubble shot high into the air. Saleem stood up to admire his work. The building had caved in on itself. Now, no evidence of the peacekeepers patrol existed.
Saleem got back into the SUV and drove down the road to where he had set up the first sensor. The landscape was desolate. A sense of fear and doom, brought on by the apocalyptic appearance along the highway, settled into the pit of Azim’s stomach. An empty feeling came over him as he thought about dying in the forgotten city. He thought of all the Syrians that had sacrificed their lives in Quneitra during the six day war. They were not remembered. No one cared about who they had been or what they had been after. Their memories had vanished long before the buildings of the city had begun to decay. He regretted that he would become a statistic in the place. But there was nothing to be done about it. He was trapped, forever a part of Saleem’s world. It was depressing and made him even less eager to fight.
Saleem on the other hand, was enthusiastic about how things were progressing. Especially after he had subdued the U.N. soldiers. Anything could have gone wrong during the mission to take out the peace keepers. The United Nations Team could have been ready or just more qualified to handle an ambush than Saleem was at orchestrating one. But what had happened instead was success.
Azim wanted to speak to Saleem. He thought for a brief moment that perhaps Saleem would have pity on him. Surely, he would desire to have only those soldiers whom remained hardened at his side. After the incident on the roof, he was beginning to think he might reason his way out of Quneitra; on the grounds that he was a hindrance to Saleem and the cause. Azim tossed this thought back and forth in his head as they drove but in the end, he lacked the nerve to beg Saleem for his freedom.
Saleem passed the original location of the motion sensor and stopped after a mile. He wanted to widen the expanse of the perimeter. He didn’t say anything to Azim as he got out of the truck. After the events with the misfiring gun at the hospital and the hesitation on the roof, Saleem questioned Azim’s usefulness. He was aware that if Azim was to stay on, he could very likely put one or more of his men in unnecessary danger, even cost them their life and jeopardize their mission.
He placed the last of his sensors in the ground and pressed it into the firm soil with the heel of his boot. He crossed the road, counting the steps as he went and set the reflective receiver on the other shoulder. He looked around the vast desert landscape that surrounded the city of Quneitra. He imagined a convoy of military vehicles swarming into the city, National flags flying high. “They are in for a surprise,” he thought to himself. He headed back to the Land Rover. Azim eyed him as he approached, the fear in his eyes obvious. It frustrated Saleem. Azim had signed on knowing exactly what was in store and what was expected of him. Of course, he knew that is was foolish to believe that someone’s zeal could be measured in real terms before they had been tested in the furnace of war.
He got in the vehicle and settled in behind the wheel. The two men sat there for several minutes without uttering a word. Finally, Saleem reached behind the passenger seat and secured a pair of plastic zip ties. He threw them on Azim’s lap.
“Put them on.” He said calmly.
Confusion covered Azim’s face as he looked down at the thin, transparent straps. He’d not expected to become one of Saleem’s prisoners.
Both men sat there in the truck facing the major artery into the abandoned city. Saleem didn’t bother to reiterate his command, he knew that it had put Azim at a crossroads. Eventually, he figured that Azim would decide to play along. When faced with the proposition of being either a hostage or a soldier, the choice was exponentially easier to make.
Azim picked up the plastic ties and threw them onto the floorboard of the SUV.
“It won’t happen again.” He said, mustering as much bravado as he could.
Saleem snorted and turned the key over in the ignition. The truck came to life and the terrorist leader did a U-turn in the middle of the empty street. Saleem believed Azim was sincere about his commitment to their cause but he would keep a close eye on him nonetheless.
• • •
The first embers of sunlight poured in through a window at the far end of the room. Rhinefeld hadn’t been sleeping but the deep violent rumbling outside the building stirred him to investigate. He leaned against the wall next to him for stability before walking toward the light. His legs were still weak from the punishment he’d received the day before. The archaeology professor peered out of the window and gazed at a bright blue expanse. Given the circumstance they were in, it was almost heartbreaking to see that the world continued on without them. The professor thought back to his time in the States. News was only news for a few days, unless it featured some scandalous action by a prominent celebrity; then it was liable to last for weeks. He imagined by now, the media had already placed them at the end of their broadcasts and newspapers. Worse than dropping off of the six o’clock news however, was a sinking feeling Rhinefeld couldn’t shake. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt that no one was coming for them. The more he dwelt on the issue, the more morose he became. His thoughts began to deteriorate to self-pity. He was hungry, scared and exhausted.
After some time, Rhinefeld focused on one of the University’s Land Rovers. It was parked with two of its wheels on a section of crumbling sidewalk across the street. The sight of it made him yearn for his freedom. He tried to peel his attention away from the vehicle but some magnetic drive pulled him in and made him stare at it and wonder if the keys were in the ignition. He then questioned if all of the students would fit in the lone SUV. Suddenly and without thinking, Rhinefeld impulsively slapped his palms against the window’s threshold and heaved his weight up to the opening. There were gasps from several of the students but he ignored them. He heard Tracy Peters call after him but he ignored her too. Despite his bruised and worn body, he quickly thrust himself through the small opening. Rhinefeld dropped a good five feet to an overhang roof above the first floor. His knees folded under him as he impacted with the warm flat surface and he rolled for several feet. He stopped at the edge, just before rolling off.
He looked back to the window he had just fallen through. Tracy Peters was watching him, her face a pale shade of white.
“Stop.” She said, pointing a finger toward the road. Rhinefeld turned over on his side and looked. He saw one of the other Land Rovers barreling toward him from a side street. The vehicle’s front end raised up as the driver spotted him and mashed the gas pedal.
Rhinefeld scrambled to his feet a
nd jumped across a divide in the roof to the next building.
• • •
Saleem grabbed the rifle that rested on the dashboard. He laid the rifle butt in the crease of his hip and pulled back on the charging handle. A round slid loudly into the chamber. He compensated for the professor’s path and steered the truck in his direction.
Rhinefeld sprinted forward out of instinct. He leapt across a hole in the roof and ran down its length. He was a sitting duck out in the open. He needed to get off of the roof.
Saleem drove up onto the sidewalk next to the building’s overhang. He lined himself up with Rhinefeld and forced the brake pedal down to the floor. The smell of burnt rubber saturated the air as the brakes brought the sport utility vehicle to an abrupt halt. He opened his door and stood on the edge of the running board. Aiming his rifle at the professor, Saleem took a shot. The hot 7.62 millimeter bullet zoomed over Rhinefeld’s head.
Rhinefeld looked back at his pursuer and saw the Land Rover parked next to the roof he was on. The driver was shooting at him. He threw a zigzag motion in as he ran from the predator. Another shot rang out, this one missing his left arm and shattering the only remaining window in the building. Rhinefeld knew that at any second, he was going to feel the searing penetration of a bullet in his back. He braced himself each time a shot pierced the air, though because a bullet outpaced the speed of sound Rhinefeld never would have heard a round that had impacted him. At another junction in the roof, he took the opportunity to jump off. Again his knees gave and he hit the ground hard, landing on his side. Behind him, he heard the sound of the Land Rover revving back to life. He picked himself up off of the ground and entered the building through an empty doorway.
Inside Rhinefeld had a plethora of choices to make. He could take the staircase to his left and hide on the second floor of the facility or he could choose one of three hallways on the first level. He wasted no time deliberating; he let his body take him to the hallway to his right as he continued to beat his tired feet against the ground. He ran so hard that his breath came in tiny, short bursts.
SANCTION: A Thriller Page 13
