He was now in a full sprint to get out of sight as more bullets began raining down. The cover of treeline was within grasp. Jopprie leapt to the side, entering the protective covering of the woods. The move carried him safely away from the hail of lead that had been unleashed along the open plain of the hillside, but he could no longer control his momentum. Jopprie slipped and fell forward, tumbling violently downward. Mercifully, he came to a halt as the terrain leveled off. He lay on the ground momentarily, gasping for breath and focusing on his body, surveying for any serious injury. He knew his skin was torn in several places, but he felt no pain. The adrenaline coursing through his veins enabled him to ignore such discomfort and focus on his plight. Deliberately, he moved his arms and legs, slowly at first and then more freely as he was reassured no serious damage had occurred.
Wiping a trickle of blood from his forehead, Jopprie warily made his way to his feet and scanned the terrain. His satchel had tumbled well out of reach, but the sounds of his pursuers indicated he could ill afford to retrieve his possessions. The realization his gun was no longer in his hand suddenly dawned on him; where was it? He had the weapon tightly gripped during the chase, but the fall must have knocked it out of his hand. Panicking now, Jopprie immediately looked all about for the weapon, to no avail. His hand moved beneath his robes – his knife was still holstered to his belt. It was all he would have if a confrontation with these men came to pass.
Three armed Sayf Udeen warriers now made their way down the hillside. They had seen the native hastily scurry down the hill, but they were unable to strike the moving target with their rifles. The boy had disappeared from view into the thicket to the left, and they marched off in pursuit. Carefully making their way, they systematically began searching for the African that had proved so elusive. He could not have gotten far – eventually, they would find him and they would kill him.
Bill Kelly was seated in the Hermes control center, looking at the map before him alongside one of the technicians.
“You got him on GPS, John?”
“Yes, up until about an hour ago. Then he just disappeared.” The Hermes chip was able to track the target for much of the journey.
“Okay, fine. He must be pretty far underground.” That was reassuring. It was no surprise Udeen would hide their whereabouts among the deep mountain topography of the continent. His agent did not seem to have a clue.
The chip could not transmit from a significant subterranean depth, but that did not concern the CT chief. With the firepower they now had in the region, all they would need was an approximate, but reliable, assessment of Udeen’s location, and they could easily obliterate the organization.
“I’ll need the coordinates for where you last spotted him.” Kelly added.
“You got it boss. One second…Oh, wait – just picked him up. He’s on the move.”
“Where?” asked Kelly
“He’s headed West. Not far from where your team is located.”
“Okay. Good work.”
Kelly then picked up the telephone receiver on the wall, and called in to the Langely operator working the mission. Within minutes, he was connected to his squadron leader some five thousand miles across the Atlantic.
“Hey, it’s Bill. Can you hear me?…Yes, I’m sending you some coordinates. I think we might have the location pinpointed to within a few hundred meters. ‘Bout a half-day’s drive from your current position. Can you check it out?” Kelly was in constant contact with his operatives on the ground in Africa. The plan was simple. While Koval and STAT and virtually every other available resource at home worked to ferret out the locations of the three missing stashes of element 94, the CTG members abroad, along with the military forces in the area, were preparing to strike at Udeen’s headquarters. If they could definitively pinpoint the location of the organization, then it would not be difficult to decapitate the target. General Fitzpatrick had his forces close by to assist, and a carrier had arrived off the coast of Liberia to the West with a squadron of warplanes awaiting the order to engage. If they could uproot Udeen, perhaps that might buy them more time at home to find the cells that seemed poised to strike.
“What? When do you expect him back?…Okay, that’s fine – tell him to check it out. It might confirm the location we already suspect. Besides, we’ll need some knowledge of the inner workings of that place if we’re to have any hope of saving our man. Just do it quickly, that’s all. And be careful. I think you may be getting some company…Yes.”
Kelly then hung up the line.
“Bill, what was that all about?”
“My men seem to think they can get their hands on relatively senior Udeen members who might provide some valuable information.” Kelly could not hide the look of concern as he spoke to the Hermes tech, prompting the technician beside him to ask
“But…”
“But I’m not sure we have time for that”, Kelly answered the unspoken question. “I think, once we confirm where these bastards are, we just might have to drop a bomb on them.”
“Drop a bomb?”
“Yes. A big one - wipe em out. Fitzpatrick has two MOABs within striking distance. We might not have time to save C.J.” The Massive Ordinance Air Burst bombs were the most powerful non-nuclear weapons in the United States arsenal. Two generations of MOABs had evolved since the very first was deployed (but never used) in the second Gulf war.
“Why’s that? You don’t think the cells here will be able to function without orders from above? Aren’t these types able to act independently? How will the strike abroad help…”
“I think that they think it might just buy some time, that’s all. We need to find whoever it is with this stuff here, no doubt. But if decapitating the head of the serpent can slow it down and buy us time, then that’s what might have to happen. The boys at DOD might be right about this one.”
“Well what are you going to do if you find Udeen before the military does.”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know. Perhaps STAT can come through, help us find the weapons here at home and provide a cushion of time. It’s a decision I hope to never have to make. If I decide to stall the attack in order to save one man’s life, and it costs us thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of lives in the form of a domestic terrorist attack, then…” Kelly’s voice trailed off, leaving the end of the sentence unspoken. No words were needed.
“Bill, how certain are you that this target of ours will even lead us to Ra’ed?”
“It’s a hunch John, that’s all”
The jeep came to a screeching halt as they circled in the direction of where the young African was fleeing. Azeez reflected momentarily before scampering off to chase down the youth. It was not clear what the native had seen or heard, but the youngster must be found and disposed of. No one must know of the radiological survey, or the presence of the captured American agent. But could he risk leaving one man to guard the American? The presence of a gun to the agent’s head, his hands still in restraints, and the open plains would make escape virtually impossible. Yes, the terrorist concluded, he could leave his companion alone with the CIA operative in order to help ferret out this native that had somehow stumbled upon them.
“Yussef”, motioning to the pock-marked brute now in the back of the truck with C.J. ” Keep a close eye on the kafir. Stay a safe distance away, and keep your gun on him at all times until we get back. If he moves, shoot him.”
“Yes Sir”
Azeez rushed out of the vehicle and headed for the brush to cut off the fleet-footed Jopprie. He should be headed straight for him, and wouldn’t be far. As the Udeen lieutenant ran, he quickly looked back one last time to make certain C.J. was well guarded. His companion had already taken up position well away from the American, and had an AK-47 drawn in front of him. There was no chance for the CIA operative to escape; of that much, Azeez was certain.
Ra’ed was now before the hundreds of Udeen followers that were summoned to the gathering place. They had all been informed of
the new and wonderful developments with the weapon, and cheered wildly as he appeared on the ledge before them. As the din died down, Ra’ed addressed his followers. The acoustics of the valley, surrounded by the steep face of the surrounding mountains, enabled the leader to effortlessly project his voice to those below.
“I want to assure you all, what you have heard is real. What you have just been told is the source of power, our power, that will change the world forever." Ra’ed punctuated the statement with a closed fist raised to the air. A deafening cheer rose up from the crowd in response. The Udeen chief basked in the moment, allowing the wild celebratory roar to go on for some time, before motioning to the crowd with his arms to quiet down.
"My fellow warriors, today is a watershed in the history of our people, indeed in the history of mankind. For today, Allah has given us the firepower to contend with the infidels and non-believers. Soon, I promise you, the deliverance for which you have all fought so long and hard will be upon you. Soon, this force will be unleashed upon our enemies, and then they will learn of the revenge Allah has in store for the infidels of the world. Finally, we will be able to dictate our terms to the world, and believe me my brothers, your efforts will not go unrewarded.” Again the great oration was interrupted by cheering from the frenzied crowd. As the noise died down, Ra’ed concluded with a powerful, albeit pithy summation. “The day of reckoning is upon us. So go forth now my brothers, and may Allah be with us all". One final, deafening crescendo echoed throughout the valley, continuing long after Ra’ed withdrew from sight. The supreme leader of Sayf Udeen had skillfully manipulated the emotions of the people, playing upon the ingrained nationalistic and religious fervor of the followers. And now they were ready to sacrifice; an army of the willing, ready to give their lives to the Udeen cause.
Ra’ed now made his way back through the catacombs, flanked as always by his guards. His senior leadership would see to it the necessary precautions were in place to brace for a counterstrike by the Americans. It was time to give the final order.
Chapter 11
C.J. was left alone with the pockmarked brute watching over him. If ever there was an opportune time to evade those who kept him hostage, this was it. He had just one terrorist to contend with instead of the usual two or three. Just one man to defeat, and C.J. would once again taste the sweetness of freedom.
Of course, this would be no easy matter. The terrorist guarding him was given strict instructions to maintain a safe distance from the ever-dangerous CIA operative, keeping a gun leveled in his direction at all times. The slightest movement and C.J. was a dead man. It would take some creativity to safely broach the gap and reach the armed terrorist before being fired upon. He had to formulate a plan.
C.J.’s strength was now partially restored, and he felt confident that if he could only get within striking distance of his foe, he should be able to vanquish him. But how could he safely get close enough to reach his captor? These men were clever; a significant gap separated C.J., who was still seated in the back of the pickup truck, and the gun-wielding man who stood well off to the side some distance away. Even if the first shot failed to stop the approaching operative, or somehow missed its mark altogether, the rapid, multi-burst staccato of the assault rifle was sure to fell its prey eventually. It was an impossible predicament - or was it? C.J. felt he had to do something. He had to act now, or he might never again have such an opportunity, however unlikely his chance of success might be.
Despite the precariousness of the situation, a confident smile appeared on C.J.’s face. The unexpected gesture had an unnerving effect on the lone remaining terrorist, who reflexively tightened his grip on the assault rifle. The two men stared intently at one another, like two prizefighters mentally dueling before a single punch was thrown. And then it happened, so unexpectedly and so fast that not even the lightning quick messaging system of the brain to the terrorist’s trigger finger could register in time. C.J. just disappeared, falling backward over the far side of the truck as if pushed by an invisible hand. All it took was a subtle shift of weight, and suddenly a barrier between C.J. and his captor had been created.
The terrorist responded by letting loose a haphazard volley of shots where C.J. had been seconds earlier. The bullets glanced harmlessly off the thick steel shell of the vehicle. C.J. alertly crawled on the ground, away from the direction of gunfire, and looked underneath the vehicle. He could see the man’s feet as he moved to circle around to the far end of the truck. The terrorist suddenly accelerated with a burst of speed. He would have a clear path of fire within seconds. C.J. did all he could to scamper away to the far side of the truck and seek cover.
A quick volley of gunfire erupted, followed by a metallic pinging sound as the shell of the truck was again pierced. The location of the slugs, embedded in the steel hull of the vehicle where the operative had been moments earlier, indicated the narrow margin by which C.J. had avoided the deadly projectiles.
C.J. now crouched next to the front right wheel of the vehicle, utterly still, his breathing slow and measured despite the adrenaline coursing in his veins. A few millimeters had just separated him from certain death, as he barely escaped the oncoming attack. He could ill afford to continue such an engagement. It was a classic game of cat and mouse, only there was no doubt as to who was playing which part – C.J. was clearly the defenseless animal. Somehow, he needed to capture the offensive; but how?
“Dog - show yourself!” The ugly brute barked in a guttural Arabic. “Do not make me kill you!”
C.J. instinctively positioned himself lower to the ground and closer to the vehicle, bracing for another volley of fire from the automatic weapon. His hand made its way onto the front right bumper of the jeep that served as the only barrier between him and certain death. He thought about peering around the corner to gauge the terrorist’s approach, when machine-gun fire suddenly erupted. A hail of bullets was directed at the corner of the car near where C.J. was positioned. The sickening sound of twisting metal could be heard as the bullets began to tear apart the skin of the vehicle. Then there was silence. A cloud of dirt, intermingled with thick black smoke, hung like a pall over the area.
The time for running was over. In one fluid motion, C.J. stepped onto the bumper and hurled himself at the terrorist. He could see the man’s head move towards him, the gun following not far behind. They momentarily locked eyes. With both hands knotted together in closed fists, C.J. struck the terrorist just before another round could be released from the cartridge. The contact rendered both men sprawling to the ground.
C.J.’s momentum carried him just beyond the terrorist. The gun lay on the ground between them. They both lunged for the weapon. The operative was the quicker of the two and was able to get a hand on the gun and fling it out of reach. Both men scrambled to their feet. They were in close range and the large Arab threw an awkward uppercut that missed its mark. C.J.’s hands were still bound by a thick rope, which he maneuvered to the back of the man’s neck. Using his weight and leverage, he directed his would-be killer’s head down as he brought his knee upward. The strike connected squarely, and the terrorist immediately went limp and fell to his knees. C.J. pounced and began a relentless barrage of stomps and kicks. When he was finished, the man before him lay face down on the ground, motionless. C.J. knelt down and checked for a pulse. His work wasn’t done. With a knee on the man’s back, the operative secured the rope binding his hands around the terrorist’s throat, and tightened the noose.
Yussef Habibi, an Udeen soldier and loyalist, the man who had beheaded Russell Bellow some weeks prior and who delivered repetitive torture to the young 23 year old CIA agent who had by sheer mishap been taken captive, was now himself laying helplessly on the ground and slowly, inevitably, suffocated. His death served not only as a means to an end, namely C.J.’s eventual escape, but also a matter of personal pride and retribution for the countless days of torture which the operative had endured at the hands of the terrorist thug. While the real healing from C
.J.’s ordeal, more psychological than physical, would take much longer than the brief minutes it took to cut off the flow of oxygen to the vicious brute’s brain, the act served as a conduit for dispelling weeks of pent-up anger and catharsis. It was why C.J. continued to mercilessly squeeze the man’s thick throat long after his head had become limp and blue. The sad irony of the situation, which the former captive would not appreciate for some time, was that a similar chokehold had resulted in the death of his own brother. But the seeds of revenge for this murder had yet to be sown.
After a while, satisfied, C.J. finally let go, allowing the purple skull to fall lifelessly to the ground. He stood up and looked triumphantly towards the sky as he caught his breath. The moment was almost surreal, as he was now, for the first time in weeks, finally rid of the gun-wielding terrorists that stalked him day and night. But he was still in survival mode, and C.J. did not pause long to recover and relish in his victory. He was dangerously exposed out in the open plains, and needed to make for the cover of the treeline. He quickly rummaged through the felled man’s possessions and retrieved a large knife, which he used to cut through his bindings. Picking up the rifle on the ground, C.J. headed for cover, armed and ready – and free at last.
Jopprie headed into the denser brush, his progress slow and methodical, ensuring he did not make any noise as he stepped forward. He decided to stop, scout the area, and get his bearings. His pursuers were sure to be close behind. The young African positioned himself behind the cover of a thick tree and looked to his rear. He could hear men approaching, moving down the hill perpendicular to his current position. Within seconds, he saw one man, and then another, walk along the slope of the hill past him, moving away from where Jopprie was now hidden. He breathed a sigh of relief.
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