by Mark Donovan
In unison, like a synchronized dance performance, the men guided their respective drones over their designated positions and then simultaneously gently landed them on the roof of the NSurv headquarters building. They powered the drones down as soon as they landed them to eliminate the high pitch whine of the spinning motors and rotor blades. When they were all in position, Diyan pulled out of his pocket a remote control transmitter and handed it to Barak.
“You have the honor of setting off the explosives Barak,” said Diyan.
Barak could hear it in Diyan’s voice and see it in his eyes as he looked directly into them. He was testing him. Diyan wanted to see if he was truly a soldier of the jihad against the great Satan of the West. Barak reached out and took the transmitter from Diyan’s hands, thankful that his own hand didn’t shake when he did so.
The four men turned their gaze to the NSurv building, Barak holding the transmitter in his right hand, his thumb on the red button. The button that would detonate the C4 explosives and take out the entire front headquarters of NSurv. Barak took some solace knowing that no one was probably in the front offices at this time of the day, and that he would unlikely kill anyone. Without further hesitation, he pushed the red button on the transmitter. Instantly the skyline to the east exploded into a massive fire ball, the sound from the detonation ripping through the air. Pieces of brick, wood, and other building materials from the NSurv building rocketed upwards and outwards as the C4 explosives tore it to shreds.
As the smoke began to clear the four men saw that the entire front offices of NSurv were no longer there. “Alhamdulillah, Praise Allah,” said Diyan. He turned and began walking back to the van, the other two men following. Barak hung back for a few seconds longer, looking at the heavily damaged and burning building, watching smoke and fire billowing up into the twilight morning sky. “Alhamdulillah,” he whispered to himself, before turning and walking back to the van.
Chapter 33 (April 17, Sunday 2:00pm, Northeastern Turkey)
Dave had been waiting for over three hours at the small abandoned airfield in northeastern Turkey, the rendezvous point for his pickup. He had landed at the airfield after paralleling the northern coast of Turkey, thirty kilometers out over the Black Sea, and then turning inland over the country, scud running just above the terrain for another fifty kilometers.
The dirt airstrip was in the middle of a large valley with lush green covered mountains to the north, in the direction of the Black Sea, and arid flatter terrain to the south. It was here, at these specific GPS coordinates, that Ron had told him a CIA Special Ops Group (SOG) would pick him up and fly him to a United Nations military airfield in Iraq. From there, he was to be flown to Tehran to meet up with another Counter Terrorist Special Ops Group that had identified the location of Aref Zarin. Undoubtedly where Spencer was taking Dana.
The airfield was void of any life, human or otherwise, and the heat and humidity were unbearably oppressive. Dave sat on the ground, underneath one of the few trees that peppered the landscape near the airfield, to take shelter from the blazing afternoon sun. He was munching slowly on a bag of trail mix and washing it down with a bottle of water that Ron had fortunately shipped to him when he left Yemen.
Besides hungry he was also exhausted and psychologically drained. He had barely slept in almost two days, and he could tell that the lack of rest was beginning to affect him, both physically and mentally. For the moment, however, quenching his hunger and thirst would have to be sufficient for his tired mind and body. He needed to stay awake and watch for his extraction team. He also had to stay alert for any possible unexpected guests that might show up. For men who might have seen his airplane fly in low over the area, and were aware of this abandoned airfield.
The eastern part of Turkey was not far from Syria and Iraq, and many Arab bedouin tribes roamed freely in the region, oblivious to borders and uncaring of state laws. Most of the time they were peaceful people who simply practiced their Muslim faith. Families who traveled across the deserts, from one city to the next, to trade their crafts for food and animal livestock. However, as with all societies, small or large, there were always individuals within these groups that created their own laws, laws that suited themselves. Men who twisted the words and meanings of their prophets and their God to justify their actions. Men that could rob or kill him if they were to catch him asleep underneath a tree in their desert lands.
He looked again at his watch before continuing to scan the southern skyline, where he anticipated the CIA Ops team to come from. As he stared out into the oblivion, his mind kept switching back and forth between rescuing Dana and the recent news he had received from Ron. He was concerned that he would not make it in time to save Dana, but all he could do at this point was wait.
The news that he had just received from Ron, however, was also just as concerning. A major explosion had occurred at NSurv headquarters destroying a large section of the building and severely injuring Doctor Gillian. It was around five thirty in the morning when the explosion occurred. Doctor Gillian had been up all night working on a design for combating the bioterrorism weapon that Aref Zarin had masterminded. Apparently he had just dropped a set of design drawings off on Ron’s desk and was walking back to his lab when the entire front part of the building suddenly exploded. Ron had reported that Doctor Gillian was in the hospital and had suffered two broken legs and numerous cuts and bruises to his entire body. Fortunately he was expected to survive and no one else was injured.
Ron had also indicated that they had reviewed the recorded video feeds from surveillance cameras mounted on the rear of the NSurv building, cameras that had not been damaged in the explosion. The video feeds had shown that several drone helicopters had flown in from the west, and landed on the roof of the building just before the explosion occurred.
Dave knew Zarin had to be behind it, no doubt, retaliation for the incident in Alaska, and another attempt to stop him and the U.S. government from threatening his murderous plans. He would pay with his life he said to himself, as his mind shifted back to Dana with a heightened sense of peril for her safety in his heart. Aref Zarin and Spencer Williams will not get away with it, thought Dave with a determined look towards the southern skies.
It was just a small black dot low in the sky. Dave stood up and squinted into the southern horizon. The dot was not moving left or right. Instead, it was slowly growing larger with every passing second. His ride was coming. He bent over and packed up his knapsack that he had taken from the Cirrus. He threw the knapsack over his shoulders slipping his arms through the straps. He then picked up the case that contained the PRC-155 radio and started walking towards the airstrip. As he did so he saw movement on his right, in the direction of the hills to the north. Two men, wearing long white thobes and kufeyas on their heads, were running towards him. Each was carrying a rifle in his hands. Dave’s initial assessment was that they were not part of a welcome wagon. He turned and looked back towards the south. The black dot had grown into the shape of a Blackhawk helicopter. It was still a couple of kilometers away, but was approaching fast.
Dave suddenly heard a swooshing sound pass by his left ear, followed immediately by the sound of a rifle crack. Dave instantly dropped to the ground and looked back towards the north, in the direction of the bedouin men. One of them was knelt down on a knee and had his rifle propped in his hands. The gun was pointed in his direction. The other was still running towards him at full speed.
Dave turned and started to run back towards the tree he had been resting under. At least it provided some level of barrier between him and the bullets being fired in his direction. Again he wished he had a weapon of some sort in his possession. As Dave ran back towards the tree he prevented himself from panicking and running in a straight line. Instead, he zigged and zagged while keeping his head low, as he made his way back to the lone tree. Repeatedly he heard the swooshing of bullets whizzing by him and the thudding sound as they penetrated into the ground near him as he ran.
&n
bsp; When he got to the tree he dropped to the ground, putting the trunk of it between him and the bedouin firing at him. He looked back and saw the Blackhawk helicopter descending and approaching the airfield at high speed, the muzzle of a machine gun extended out its starboard side. Suddenly the machine gun began rattling off hundreds of rounds a minute in the direction of the bedouin shooting at him. Dave turned back and looked in the man’s direction. The bedouin virtually dissolved into the sand as the bullets from the machine gun shredded his body into thousands of pieces.
The sight and sound of the Blackhawk helicopter and its fire breathing dragon of a weapon, however, wasn’t slowing down the bedouin that had been running towards him. The man was closing in on him fast and was wielding a long scimitar knife in his right hand. Dave yanked the knapsack off of his back, opened it and shoved his right hand into it, desperately feeling around in it for anything that could serve as a weapon, or at least as a defensive tool. At the bottom of the knapsack, his hand gripped around something round and metal. It was heavy he thought, as he pulled it up and out of the bag.
Dave glanced up from the knapsack to prepare for the onslaught of the bedouin assailant. The man was less than ten meters from him and coming up fast. Dave also noticed that the Blackhawk had landed and two soldiers were also running in his direction, their weapons drawn and extended in front of them, but no shots being fired. They must be concerned they would accidently hit him thought Dave. The approaching bedouin was in a direct line between them and himself. They were also a hundred meters away from him. He would have to fend off the bedouin for at least a dozen seconds before help arrived.
Dave finished lifting the weighty round metal object out of his knapsack. It was a heavy duty Maglite flashlight, a foot in length. “Thank you Ron,” he said out loud. It would pass as an acceptable club. Dave dropped the knapsack and immediately crouched in a defensive position.
He only had half a second before the bedouin came racing up to him, slashing the scimitar at his head and face frenetically. Dave repeatedly ducked and weaved his head from the knife’s razor sharp blade. Simultaneously, he shoved the flashlight out in front of him, attempting to threaten the bedouin backwards. However, the bedouin only hesitated for a second before he began to charge at him again with the knife, wildly swinging at his face. But on his second charge, Dave juked his legs and body to the left and slightly forward. The bedouin ended up parallel to him and on his right. Before the bedouin had a chance to react, Dave brought the Maglite flashlight crashing down across the back of the man’s neck. There was a loud crack as the flashlight shattered vertebrae.
The bedouin man’s eyes just stared back at him, his mouth in rictus, as his brain struggled to catch up with what had just occurred to him. Like a dead tree in the forest, the man silently fell to the ground his arms and legs paralyzed from the crushing blow. Dave looked down at the man as the two soldiers ran up to him. He could tell the man was still alive, but was suffocating from his non-functioning lungs. One of the soldiers aimed his side arm at the man’s head and fired two shots into it, and then another through his heart.
“Jesus,” the other soldier said to him. “We almost didn’t make it.”
Dave looked at him with a look of incredulity. “I think you mean, I almost didn’t make it,” responded Dave.
The soldier gave a slight nod of his head and a semblance of a smile. “I guess you’re right,” he said as he looked down at the dead bedouin.
“We need to get going,” said the other soldier who had fired the termination shots into the bedouin lying dead at their feet.
Dave nodded his head in agreement, threw his knapsack up over his shoulder and picked up the radio case. He took one last parting look at the dead bedouin lying at his feet before turning and jogging with the two soldiers back to the Blackhawk. As he made his way to the helicopter, one nagging thought kept coursing through his mind. The man he had just killed was not what he appeared to be. He, and his accomplice, were not nomadic wanderers of the desert. Someone had sent them. Sent them to kill him. Dave saw it in the man’s face. He saw it in his actions. The determination, the intensity in his eyes, the savage flailing of the knife. The man had been no ordinary bedouin thief. He had been sent on a mission, to find and kill him.
But how? How could they have known where he was? How could anyone but Ron and the CIA have known where he was headed? There was only one answer that kept coming back to him, but still, he kept trying to reject it from his brain. The CIA had a leak. Someone at Langley had been compromised and was somehow feeding information about his whereabouts back to Al Qaeda, to Aref Zarin. Suddenly, as if an explosion went off in his head, he realized what he was facing. His mission to rescue Dana was compromised. Zarin not only knew that he was on his way to him, to Dana, but that he was also preparing for his arrival.
The Blackhawk rotors were already spinning up when Dave and the two soldiers reached the helicopter. Dave shielded his face with his forearm from the blowing dust kicked up by the rotors, as he approached and climbed into the helicopter. When he and the two rescue soldiers were onboard the aircraft, it immediately rose up from the desert floor and raced towards the south. Dave crawled onto the bench seat next to him and covered his ears. The noise inside the Blackhawk was deafening. The soldier sitting next to him handed him a set of headphones to put on. As he placed the headphones over his ears and adjusted the microphone to his lips he noticed sitting across from him, next to one of the two soldiers who had escorted him to the aircraft, a man dressed in civilian clothing. He was extending his hand out towards Dave with a slight grin on his face, a smirk that immediately turned Dave off.
“It is a pleasure meeting you Doctor Henson,” said the man, his voice coming in crystal clear over the headset. “My name is Aaron Davis.”
Dave reached out and shook his hand cautiously. “You can just call me Dave.”
“Right, Dave it is. Welcome to Turkey,” the grin still present on his face. “There has been a change of plans.”
Dave immediately stiffened. Now he didn’t like the guy on two accounts, the continuous shit grin on his face and now telling him there’s a change of plans.
“What do you mean change of plans?” Dave asked trying to control his temper.
“Instead of flying you all the way to Tehran, we are going to drop you off into the northwest corner of Iran, about ten kilometers due west of Tabriz. We have a ground team there that will pick you up. From there, you will travel by road with the team to Tehran.”
“Tabriz! That’s nearly five hundred kilometers from Tehran. It will take at least six hours to drive that distance,” exclaimed Dave, anger now clearly evident in his voice.
Davis responded, “Actually, it will take you five hours and thirty five minutes to get there, assuming there are no setbacks along the way.”
“I don’t give a damn if it is five or six hours. My wife doesn’t have that much time. We don’t have that much time. Another attack could happen at any moment.” Dave looked at the two soldiers for a brief second. They kept their eyes focused ahead, acting oblivious to their conversation.
Davis had wiped the grin off of his face. “Dave, I fully appreciate your concerns. However, a ground entry into Tehran is your best bet, our best bet, for remaining undetected, and for having a chance to rescue your wife and prevent another attack. We fly into Tehran on a U.S. military aircraft, commercial jet, or private jet and every government and religious political leader in the city will know of our arrival.”
“But what happens if something goes down before we even get there?” pushed Dave, yelling into his lip mic.
“Based on the chatter we are hearing over the radios your wife is not currently at Zarin’s residence. We are also not hearing any increase in chatter about another bio attack.”
The tendons in Dave’s hands and fingers relaxed a little when he heard the news on Dana.
“I would suggest Dave that you sit back and try to get a little rest while you can.” Dav
is shifted his eyes briefly around the inside of the Blackhawk. “This will be your most comfortable ride until we get to Tehran.”
“What do you mean we?” asked Dave. “I thought you said another team will be picking me up when we land in Tabriz.”
“Sorry, I meant us, you and me.” The grin reappeared on Davis’s face. “Like it or not, I am your shadow partner all the way in.”
Dave slowly shook his head in frustration.
“Get some sleep Dave. You look like hell and you’re going to need the rest.” Davis reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of elliptical shaped blue pills. “Here, take these. They’ll help you get to sleep over the sound of this racket.”
Dave hesitated before reaching out and taking the pills from him. He knew he was exhausted and needed the sleep. He tossed the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry. He then reached into his knapsack, grabbed his bottle of water and took a couple of pulls from it to wash them down. He watched Davis settle back onto the bench on his side of the aircraft and look down at a tablet he was holding in his hands.
Dave also tried to relax as best he could on his bench seat and closed his eyes. He started to think about Dana again, but quickly drifted off into a deep sleep.
Chapter 34 (April 17, Sunday 5:00pm Tehran, Iran)
Dana was lying semi-consciousness on a bed. She was in a palatial looking residence located somewhere in the northwestern part of Tehran. The bedroom that she was being held a prisoner in was large and opulently decorated. An enormous Persian rug covered much of the room’s dark walnut wood floor, and several smaller rugs adorned its walls. There was also a large painting on one wall. The scene, two bedouins riding camels in a desert. The painting was bordered by a thick gold frame with ornate detailing. A single massive window stood to the side of the bed she was lying on. Heavy drapes that went floor to ceiling outlined it. White shears hung between the drapes to let in sunlight, while still providing privacy.
