“I will do as you say,” al Zoubi replied sullenly.
“You have chosen wisely.” McDaniels spread a piece of duct tape over al Zoubi’s mouth.
Flipping the Arab over as if he were a child, McDaniels lifted him from the bed. Al Zoubi turned the small lamp on near the bed. In the light, he looked around fearfully at the bearded giant standing over him for direction. McDaniels easy handling of Al Zoubi’s nearly two hundred pound bulk registered on his features.
“Get dressed,” McDaniels ordered.
By the time al Zoubi finished getting into his clothes, McDaniels had taken out a waterproof rucksack with shoulder straps from his own pack near the end of the bed. McDaniels turned the Syrian around and plastic tied his hands behind his back.
“Okay, ‘Fez.” McDaniels removed a powerful flashlight from his coat. “Lead me around to your stuff. Remember, I will go over the room quickly after you guide me. If I find you have been holding out on me our deal will be off. You will then join your men out in the desert.”
Al Zoubi nodded his understanding. Nearly forty-five minutes later, McDaniels had filled up the rucksack with papers, discs, and the notebook computer al Zoubi showed him. McDaniels grabbed the Arab by the neck while quickly checking the room again. When he was satisfied, McDaniels released al Zoubi’s hands.
“Put your coat on.” McDaniels handed him one of the parkas from al Zoubi’s room.
McDaniels slipped the rucksack onto the Arab’s shoulders after al Zoubi did as he was told. With the Arab shouldering the rucksack, McDaniels guided him outside. McDaniels saw his captive looking for sign of his men.
“Your men did not suffer, ‘Fez,” McDaniels told him as they walked out into the desert. “I killed them in their sleep with a very potent shot. The most they felt was a pinprick. I gave you a mild sedative to keep you out for the two hours it took me to bury your men out here. Do as I tell you and you will not join them.”
Al Zoubi walked slump shouldered in the direction McDaniels indicated. McDaniels took nearly five hours to overtake Mehmed and the Nakhuda family. He approached carefully and called out when within shouting distance over the wind noise. Mehmed turned, yelling for Shomari and her sons to get down. McDaniels called out again, identifying himself. Mehmed stood up, happily waving his understanding. All four of the refugees cringed at the sight of al Zoubi. Al Zoubi looked sullenly at the four, his hands still restrained. McDaniels had removed the duct tape from his mouth.
“I…I do not believe it,” Mehmed stammered.
“You should have killed him, Cold Mountain,” Shomari added, gripping her sons to her.
“Traitors!” Al Zoubi spat.
McDaniels smashed him to the ground with one overhand slap. McDaniels leaned down and plucked al Zoubi from the ground, shaking him like a rag doll.
“Listen carefully,” McDaniels said finally. “The next word out of your mouth will be your last. I will let you know when to speak and what to speak about. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I… I understand.” Al Zoubi’s head throbbed from the McDaniels’ stinging open hand blow. McDaniels turned to the others with a reassuring smile.
“We need to get a few more details from ‘Fez. He will never bother anyone again. You have all made very good time. Lead on, my young friend. We will be safe over the border by nightfall.”
Mehmed did as ordered, looking doubtfully at the chastened al Zoubi. Shomari’s young sons followed Mehmed, glancing continuously at the huge American as their mother tried to keep them moving.
Before dusk McDaniels saw a flash of light from an outcropping nearly two hundred yards away. He took out his satellite phone and hit the first number. Lieutenant Dominguez answered immediately.
“Is that you, Cold?”
“No, it’s Winnie the Pooh.” McDaniels heard Bocelli laugh in the background. “There are five of us, Abe, so don’t get trigger happy.”
“Aye, aye, Sir, c’mon in.”
“Man, it’s good to see you, Sir.” Lieutenant Dominguez shook McDaniels’ hand.
“That’s only because we aren’t in a small room where you could smell me.”
“Yes, Sir.” Dominguez laughed along with the other Marines in his squad within hearing. “Let’s get you back to camp.”
“I want you and the guys to escort this young man, Mehmed, and the Nakhuda family to camp. I’ll join you shortly. ‘Fez here and I have a few things to go over before I bring him in. Anyone asks, I’m not back yet but I will be shortly. You have any batteries Abe? My stuff is all dead. I need to do a little recording.”
“Colonel Martinson ordered me to report in immediately when I returned to camp, Sir.” Dominguez handed McDaniels batteries from his field pack. “They’re none too happy with your absence. They all act like you went walkabout in Central Park.”
McDaniels laughed. “It’s always like this, Abe. Nothing ever pleases them. I’m too late… too early… it’s the wrong time of the day… too little gas… not enough oil…”
Sergeant Bocelli and the other Marines laughed nervously, having seen their Colonel’s face when he issued the order to Dominguez.
“I don’t think the Colonel was kidding around, Cold,” Bocelli put in. “They were getting ready to nuke the place.”
“That’s why I picked you guys to back me up on this mission, Jed, you big girl,” McDaniels said matter-of-factly, causing another outburst of laughter. “Now, what’ll it be, Marines? Do you escort my charges back to camp and keep your mouths shut or do you want to put on your evening gowns and heels?”
“Rah!” Came the chorus from Dominguez and his squad.
“That’s better. Tell Martinson I had to take cover for a while. I’ll give him a full report the moment I get into camp. Some things can’t be done in camp. If my little buddy ‘Fez clams up all we’ll have is the info in the bag I gave you. I need for him to explain the route they have set up. His camp was the final leg before Iraq. Did you guys nab the last two shipments I tagged for you?”
“We followed them right into Mosul as you ordered before going walk-about,” Dominguez confirmed. “How the hell did you bug them, Sir? Man, what did you do, join up before you took them down?”
“Never mind all that. How’d you do in Mosul?”
“We screwed them up good. You bugging those two caravans was the only reason they didn’t blow al Zoubi’s encampment two weeks ago. I told them your Sat. phone was probably down so don’t wave it around when you get into camp. AD Reskova has been melting my E-mail drop, Sir.”
“I bet,” McDaniels replied, thinking about Reskova wistfully. “I’ll call in to her right away as soon as I have my chat with ‘Fez.”
McDaniels gestured at Mehmed, who had been listening intently to the conversation from where he stood next to Shomari and her sons.
“Mehmed speaks English pretty well. So does Shomari. Put them in first class back at the camp. Mehmed, go with Lieutenant Dominguez and his Marines. I will join you in a little while. Don’t be afraid. You’re all home free now.”
“It will be as you say, Cold Mountain,” Mehmed replied in accented English, smiling over at Lieutenant Dominguez.
“See ya later boys.” McDaniels gave the Marines a little wave before moving towards where al Zoubi was guarded.
Shomari reached out and gripped the sleeve of McDaniels’ parka. McDaniels patted her hand reassuringly.
“Go with Mehmed. I will see you in a little while,” McDaniels told her.
“Kill him and bury his body in the desert, Cold Mountain,” Shomari pleaded. “He will find some way to…”
McDaniels gestured her to silence. “We all have parts to play, Shomari. For you and your sons to be reunited with your husband I must bring him in alive. You let me handle ‘Fez.”
McDaniels looked up at Mehmed, who came over and put an arm around Shomari’s shoulders.
“Let us go now and leave the Cold Mountain to do his job,” Mehmed urged.
* * *
The
Marines fanned out around the small group. With one of the Marines taking point, they hiked toward their main encampment.
“How did you hook up with Cold?” Bocelli watched McDaniels head in the opposite direction with al Zoubi.
“Hook up? Oh… yes… ah… it is very embarrassing,” Mehmed replied, looking down at his feet. “One moment I am on guard duty and the next I am trussed up like a fatted cow out in the desert.”
“Welcome to the club,” Dominguez piped in. He and Bocelli exchanged knowing glances.
“The Cold Mountain has done such things to you?” Mehmed looked up at the heavily armed warriors hopefully.
Bocelli sighed. “Oh yeah, he practices on us regularly.”
“It is very disturbing,” Mehmed commented quietly.
“Yes, my friend.” Dominguez patted Mehmed’s shoulder. “That it is.”
* * *
“You are just an American,” al Zoubi said. McDaniels guided him into a seated position on a rock.
“I am.” McDaniels sat down next to the Arab. He took out his DVD player and replaced the batteries with the ones Dominguez had given him.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“We have some details to go over.” McDaniels put in a disc he had stored in his pack.
“I wish to speak to your superiors,” al Zoubi stated, his countenance more positive upon hearing McDaniels confirm his nationality.
“I bet you do.” McDaniels took out a topographical map of the border region they had hiked out of. “I want you to show me each stop on your smuggling route and where you recruit at.”
“Your soldiers know you have me captive. You cannot simply torture me without your superiors knowing about it.”
“I can make you talk and my soldiers will pretend you died getting here. I have something else to show you.”
McDaniels held the DVD player where al Zoubi could see the screen. He then hit play. “Once we found out about you, we did some research on your life. You have family in Yemen. We took a movie for you to watch. Guess what will happen to them if you refuse to cooperate.”
Al Zoubi watched the screen, a look of horror spreading over his features. In the movie, his wife and young son were recorded walking out of his house and at a market. McDaniels shut it off.
“You cannot kill innocents,” al Zoubi whispered.
“You’re right - my country, my superiors, and even my fellow soldiers do not. I will hunt down and kill everything you love in this world. No one will ever find out. Show me the stations of your smuggling route. Write down the bank account numbers you launder the funds through to pay for them. Remember, ‘Fez, if you give me bad information it will not matter if you are in custody.”
Al Zoubi picked up the map with shaking hands. He pinpointed the checkpoints along the smuggling route with a marker McDaniels gave him. When al Zoubi finished writing down the account numbers and countries laundering funds for his terrorist enterprise McDaniels sealed the information in a Mylar envelope, but kept the map out.
“Very good, ‘Fez. For your family’s sake I hope this is accurate.” McDaniels pulled the Arab to his feet. He bound his hands again. “Come along.”
Half way to the American camp, McDaniels left off the small equipment bag with his DVD player and disc showing al Zoubi’s family. When the pair reached the outskirts of the encampment, Dominguez and Bocelli met them.
“Did all go well, Sir?” Dominguez asked.
“‘Fez was most cooperative. Did Martinson like the stuff I brought him?”
“He already sent it on by helicopter. You were right. When he took a look at all you’d brought out he cooled off,” Dominguez answered. “He still wants you ASAP. AD Reskova will be waiting for your call afterwards. I set up the notebook computer in your new quarters.”
“Thanks, Abe. Check this out boys.” McDaniels pointed his Maglite on the topographical map. “‘Fez here was nice enough to give me the location of his smuggling stations.”
“Shit, Cold,” Bocelli exclaimed. “That stretches all the way to the Mediterranean.”
“You aren’t thinking about going on another walk-about, are you, Sir?” Dominguez asked as McDaniels put away the map again.
“Mehmed knows a few of the guys at one of the other stations. I’m thinking of hooking up with them. I’ll see if they’d be interested in feeding us a little intel.”
“AD Reskova ain’t going to like it, Sir. She’s more than a little relieved,” Bocelli replied. “I think she has plans to pull your butt right out of camp on the first non-stop to the states.”
“This won’t be like your excursion close to the border, Cold,” Dominguez added. “We might have been able to do an air-strike to help you out. That deep into Syria you’ll be on your own. I think you used up all your luck on this one.”
“Luck?” McDaniels gave Dominguez a slap to the back of his helmet. “Why you little…”
Dominguez laughed. “No offense meant, Sir. Jed and I have gotten used to seeing you. We’d kind of like you to stick around amongst the living.”
“Do you boys ever want to get home from this toilet?”
“Of course, but…”
“But nothing,” McDaniels cut Dominguez off. “We have to take a few chances or we’ll be playing in the sand for another fifty years.”
“Are you going to explain your new plan to Martinson or Reskova?” Bocelli asked.
“I need Red in on this or I’ll really be hanging in the wind. Martinson wants us out of this sand-trap just as much as the next Marine. He’ll be on board.”
Chapter 44
Return To Syria
“You want to what!?” Martinson asked. “Look, Colonel, you’ve done a hell of a job but I think you’ve gone around the bend. They’ll never okay an incursion like that into Syria. Where’s your prisoner by the way?”
“Outside, John. I thought I’d run this idea by you before I talk to AD Reskova.”
“Thanks for letting me in on it.” Martinson ran his hands through his short cut graying hair. “I’m too old for this secret agent shit.”
McDaniels grinned at the solidly built six footer in front of him. McDaniels knew Martinson was over fifty but he also knew the Marine Colonel could keep up with any Marine in his command.
“I’ll just need you to monitor my progress, John. I’m figuring my best bet is to find the guys the young soldier knows first and hook up with a ride to the coast. I’ll backtrack toward them from there, gathering intel as I go. We may be able to shut down the largest terrorist pipeline they have.”
“We can shut it down now. Look, Cold, why not just take what we’ve got?”
“Because they’ll shut it down on their side and move it somewhere else. Recruiting these guys inside Syria could be the gift that keeps on giving.”
“Okay, see what Reskova says,” Martinson relented. “This time, tell her to lose my number. Between Dominguez and me, your Assistant Director is more than a little nuisance.”
“Are you saying she’s unprofessional?” McDaniels pretended shock.
“She ain’t your Mom. Any other relationship I don’t want to know about. Bring in this al Zoubi character along with Sergeant Bocelli to watch him. Once you’ve introduced us, you can take off and get showered. You’re stinking up my quarters.”
McDaniels laughed and walked to the entrance. He gestured for Bocelli to bring in al Zoubi. Once inside, al Zoubi immediately began speaking perfect English.
“I have been tortured,” al Zoubi said to Martinson. “You need to arrest this man immed…”
“Shut the fuck up,” Martinson screamed into al Zoubi’s face. “Who the hell do you think you are giving me orders? You look okay to me, you little pussy.”
“This man threatened to kill my wife and son if I didn’t speak.” Al Zoubi ducked away from Martinson’s rage. “He had a movie of them in Yemen. He told me he would kill them if I did not cooperate.”
“That so, Cold?” Martinson asked.
�
��I don’t know what he’s talking about. I asked him for account numbers and map points. He gave them to me.”
“Liar,” al Zoubi said. “He has the movie player in his pack. It will show you what he did.”
“Do you have a player in your pack, Cold?”
In answer, McDaniels stripped off his pack. He opened it up for inspection. Martinson rifled through it with some disgust at the smell emanating from inside. He found no sign of anything other than communications gear and equipment needed to survive in the freezing temperatures. After about ten minutes Martinson looked up at al Zoubi.
“There’s no DVD player here, asshole.”
“He…he must have hidden it somewhere. He…”
“I’ve been with the Colonel since he came into camp, Sir,” Bocelli interrupted. “Other than the AK47 he was shouldering, that pack was all he had.”
“Take this prisoner. Get him settled in at our Marine Hotel, Bocelli,” Martinson ordered as al Zoubi continued to protest. “If he doesn’t shut up, gag him.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Bocelli answered crisply. He saluted and left with al Zoubi.
“What was all that about a DVD player?” Martinson asked suspiciously.
“Don’t know. If I wanted to make him talk I’d have cut his fingers and toes off.”
Martinson laughed. “You would too. Okay, get out of here and call that pain in the ass boss of yours. Let me know what she says.”
“Will do.” McDaniels exited Martinson’s quarters.
* * *
McDaniels watched Reskova’s image pixels swim into digital view. Reskova was gripping the desk in front of her as she peered intently at the screen.
“Hi, Red,” McDaniels greeted her with a small wave.
Reskova’s face tightened as she tried to control her emotions. A long moment passed before she could speak.
“I…I thought… you were dead,” Reskova said finally.
“I’m good. I brought back everything along with a couple of extras. God, you look fine. Did you find out any more about those Russian pricks?”
Monster Page 46
