Primary Target

by Jack Mars

  “British pounds,” he said. “They tell me that each pound is worth about two dollars these days. Ain’t that something? You’d think it would be the other way around. But the world’s been stood on its head just recently.”

  He moved onto the next pile.

  “Euros,” he said, without stopping. “They tell me it’s about a dollar thirty-five to a euro. Personally, I think that’s a disgrace.”

  They passed another pallet of euros. Quick calculations told Luke that if what Parr was saying was true, there were at least a couple hundred million dollars’ worth of stolen currency in this room alone.

  He followed Parr to the far end of the chamber. Here was something amazing to see. Pyramids of gold bars, half a dozen of them, all of them four or five feet high.

  “We found these underneath a country estate,” Parr said. “Cemented behind a false wall down in the wine cellar. Most of the wine was skunked, but some of it was still pretty good. Sorry. We drank it. These people aren’t even supposed to have wine. It’s against their religion.”

  “Who lived there?” Luke said.

  Parr shrugged. “Rich folks, I guess, maybe friends of Saddam. Must have run off when the bombs started dropping.”

  The man Roger giggled at that statement. Parr’s eyes flashed a warning to him.

  “It gets messy out there, kids.”

  “We’ve seen it,” Ed said.

  Parr nodded. “Yeah. I imagine you have. But have you done it? Have you made the mess?”

  He turned to face the gold bars again. He waved a hand at them.

  “I don’t know what to tell you. Five-pound bars, solid gold… at what? Eight hundred, nine hundred dollars an ounce? A couple thousand of them here.”

  “How are you planning to get all this stuff out of here?” Luke said.

  Parr sighed. “Son, you ain’t seen nothing yet. We got about thirty-five vintage, cherry luxury cars parked inside this complex. Rolls Royces, Lambos, old race cars from the Monaco days, old James Bond kind of cars… I’ve never seen anything like it. We’ve got millions of dollars in old Soviet weaponry. We could take jet airliners down from here. We got rooms full of old pottery and statues, and I mean thousands of years old. Who knows what that stuff is worth? We got paintings—a guy told me he thinks we have a real Pablo Picasso in one of these rooms. Looks like it to him. Me, I couldn’t say.”

  “And you’re totally surrounded by enemies,” Luke said.

  “Yeah,” Parr said. “We are. But we do have one card up our sleeve.”

  They followed Parr through another doorway and down another long, narrow hall. At the end was a metal door.

  “Saddam and his people always kept prisoners in these palaces,” Parr said. “I guess for when they got bored and decided they wanted to have a little fun.”

  He opened the door.

  Immediately there came a small scream—the sound a startled animal might make—followed by low, muted crying and moaning.

  Behind the door was a chamber. It was dim in there. There were no windows, and only one pale yellow light on the ceiling. On both sides of the chamber were several cells—rounded doors hung with vertical iron bars. Luke quickly counted them. There were seven on each side, fourteen in total.

  Luke peered inside a cell. The cell had a low ceiling, and four or five women and girls were in there. They cowered toward the back, the women crouched in front of the girls, evidently trying to protect them. He looked up the row. There appeared to be people in every cell.

  “Who are they?” Luke said.

  Parr shrugged. “Locals. Wives and daughters of imams and big shots. I don’t know who they all are. I don’t even care. All I know is before we started taking hostages, the bad boys were attacking this place every day. Now they know we got their women, and they come looking to negotiate. Nothing’s come of it so far, but these little chickadees could be our ticket out of here.”

  “What do you tell the husbands?” Ed Newsam said. “You’re gonna sell their women to Al Qaeda?”

  Parr shook his head. He smiled. “Nah. This is Sunni country around here. Half these guys like Al Qaeda, or are in Al Qaeda. We tell them we’re gonna sell their women to the Shiites.”

  Luke glanced at Cole. Cole had been arrested with a truck full of women and girls. Big Daddy had taught him to say that he was a pimp and a rapist.

  “You do anything to them yet?” Luke said.

  Parr put a finger to his lips. “Sshhhh. Don’t ever talk like that. If the men outside these walls thought for one minute that these girls were ruined, or whatever these barbaric Arab concepts are, they’d blow us all apart in an afternoon. Us, the girls, the wives… we’d all be dead and they wouldn’t care. Because of the shame. And they could do it, too. These walls are thick, but our neighbors have anti-tank weapons. The only thing keeping us alive right now is we have hostages, and the men outside think they are safe and intact.”

  They left the jail and Parr closed the door behind him. He moved ahead down the hallway. They passed into a wide chamber with a two-story ceiling.

  “You’re trapped in here, Parr,” Luke said.

  Parr nodded, but didn’t bother to turn around. “Yeah. You could say that.”

  Luke decided that this was as good a time as any. He and Ed were in here with Parr and one other man. They might not get an opportunity like this again. From what Luke had seen, Parr’s little army was past it. Their vulnerability had finally dawned on them. If Parr gave up, the rest of them probably would, too.

  “Even if you could somehow bargain your way past the local Sunnis, you’ll never manage to get all this stuff out of the country. Border guards, Al Qaeda, American military checkpoints, satellites, drones, helicopters… forget it.”

  Parr simply stood. He still didn’t turn.

  “You got any ideas?” he said. “I mean, now that you’ve seen it, you’re in. Just like I told you. I can’t exactly let you walk out of here.”

  Luke turned to Cole.

  “Cole, look at your shoelace.”

  It happened fast. But not fast enough.

  Was there the slightest hesitation on Cole’s part? Maybe.

  Worse, he unclipped his gun and flipped it across the five feet to Luke, but his aim was just bad enough that Luke had to step forward and snatch it out of the air. He spun it around and held it in a two-handed grip. He pointed it at Parr.

  But Parr’s bodyguard Roger already had his own gun down and drew it. Ed Newsam stood between Roger and Luke. Now Roger’s Uzi was pointed directly into Ed’s broad chest. Ed looked at Luke.

  “Dammit! You were supposed to give me a heads-up.”

  Luke sighed. He was right. “Okay. I know. My bad.”

  Ed shook his head. “Your bad? The man is pointing an Uzi at my chest. This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I told you that ahead of time, and you did it anyway. I notice no one is pointing a gun at you. This isn’t a TV show, man. The black guy is not expendable.”

  “I made a mistake, Ed.”

  “Yeah, you did. You made a big mistake.”

  “Roger, if you shoot that man,” Luke said, “I’ll blow Parr’s brains out.”

  “If he shoots me… that’s terrific, Stone.”

  Roger shrugged. “I’m not even sure if I care about Parr that much.”

  Parr turned around.

  “What’s going on here, sweethearts?”

  “Edwin Lee Parr,” Luke said, “my name is Agent Luke Stone. I work for the FBI Special Response Team. You are under arrest for murder, kidnapping, crimes against humanity, looting, theft of antiquities, and a host of other felonies. You have the right to remain silent. You should know that if you forfeit this right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be…”

  At that point, Parr began to laugh.

  “Son, did you happen to notice that I live in a palace? I’m a wealthy man. Do you think I can’t
afford an attorney?”

  Luke shook his head. “I think you’ll be forfeiting most of your wealth.”

  Parr’s smile faded. His face became pained. “You’re gonna arrest me for murder? In a place like this? Don’t that beat all?”

  From the corner of his eye, Luke noticed that Cole had pulled his AK-47 down from his shoulder. He had it ready, but wasn’t pointing it at anyone in particular.

  “It’s over, Parr,” Luke said. “There’s no way out of here. We’re your only chance. You surrender to us, and they’ll send you back to the States. You’ll get a trial. You’ll go to prison.” He shrugged. “Maybe there’s some defense—fog of war, temporary insanity. Maybe you’ll see daylight again one day. But if you stay here…”

  Luke shook his head.

  “These people are going to cut your heart out.”

  Parr looked at Cole.

  “You did this to me, Cole? You brought these guys in here? You knew about this?”

  Cole shrugged. “The CIA had me. They tortured me, Parr. They were gonna kill me. They still might.”

  Parr gritted his teeth. He shook his head. “You punk traitor. You don’t have to wait for the CIA. Roger, kill that man.”

  Roger had a perfect angle on Cole. He turned his Uzi two feet to his left and fired a short spray. The ugly blat of automatic gunfire was deafening in the rounded chamber, echoing off the walls and ceilings.

  Ed Newsam’s entire body jerked, almost as if he had taken the bullets instead.

  Cole turned just in time to take the shots in his chest. It knocked him backward—he was wearing body armor under his clothes. Cole stumbled but stayed on his feet. Roger hosed him again. This one took Cole’s head off above his eyebrows. Bone and blood and brains spewed backward. The shots ricocheted around the room.

  Luke’s ears were ringing now.

  He turned toward Roger. Big Ed’s back was in the way.

  Ed!” he shouted. “Duck!”

  Ed dropped like a trapdoor had opened beneath him.

  Luke fired a single shot from his handgun. BANG! It hit Roger directly in the face, punching his features inward. Roger dropped, his Uzi clattering across the floor.

  Luke turned back toward Parr.

  Parr had his own sidearm out. He raised it to point it at Luke.

  Luke pointed his own gun at Parr.

  “Drop it!” Luke said.

  Parr shook his head. “You drop it.”

  “Parr…”

  “You’re stupid, man,” Parr said. “This whole thing is stupid.”

  The two guns came closer. They were inches apart now, and the maw at the end of Parr’s gun was like a tunnel, like a cave, like the abyss itself. Luke had been at the point of a gun before, many times. It never got easier.

  “Drop that gun!” Luke shouted.

  Parr’s hands were shaking. Luke saw Parr’s gun in a blown-out close-up, like it was a giant poster on a wall. Parr’s finger put pressure on the trigger. The gun inched closer, and now the two guns were so close they could almost touch. They were like two nervous lovers, coming together for their first kiss.

  BANG!

  Luke pulled his trigger and the sound was loud in his ears, deafening. His ears rang and it was like his head was inside a helmet stuffed with cotton. The only sound was the ringing. It went on and on, as if someone had hit a bell with a hammer and then let the vibrations play out, like ripples on a pond.

  The shot had hit Parr in the center of his chest.

  No body armor for Parr. He was the king of this castle, and he probably hadn’t planned on going outside today. A spot of blood appeared on his shirt, then began to spread. Soon it became a lake.

  He looked at his chest, then looked at Luke. His left hand reached up and touched the blood on his shirt. His fingers came away red. His jaw hung slack. His eyes were wide with surprise.

  His gun was still pointed at Luke.

  “Don’t you dare pull that trigger,” Luke said.

  Parr looked at the gun in his hand.

  Ed Newsam was standing again. He suddenly walked over and took the gun away. Parr stared at him for a second and then fell to the floor. His head made a noise as it connected with the stonework. To Luke, it seemed as if he could almost feel the impact through his feet.

  Ed turned and pointed Parr’s gun at Luke’s head. It was a large caliber handgun. The end of the barrel was a gaping maw, a tunnel you could drive a truck through.

  He did it so quickly and without hesitation that for a split second Luke really thought Ed was going to shoot him.

  “How’s it feel, man? You like that?”

  Now they pointed their guns at each other, Parr on the floor between them.

  Luke gestured with his head at Parr. “Check him.”

  “I can’t believe you just did that,” Newsam said. “Are you crazy? First you didn’t signal me in any way that you were going to make the arrest, even though I asked you to. You put my life at risk. Then you nearly shot me in the head. I felt the breeze go past my scalp. I’m not a piece of furniture, okay? You want to risk someone’s life during an operation, risk your own life.”

  Luke looked at him. He lowered his own gun. If Ed wanted to shoot him, so be it.

  “Check the subject,” he said. “Tell me if he’s dead or not.”

  The gun wavered.

  “Do something. Check him or shoot me. I don’t care.”

  Newsam kneeled and checked Parr’s pulse. He shook his head.

  “He’s gone.” He looked up at Luke. “But you and I need to talk.”

  Luke was already kneeling, sliding his right boot off and ripping the tiny radio transmitter out of the side compartment where it was sewn in. He clicked the button, opened the transmitter to its full length, and held the thin metal antenna to his mouth.

  “Swann, you with me?”

  Swann’s deep voice came across the airwaves. It sounded tinny, like Swann was speaking to him from the bottom of a soup can.

  “Stone? I’ll be damned. This thing works. We’re right here. You guys alive?”

  Luke looked at Ed.

  “We’re alive. We’re fine. No injuries. Parr is dead. Cole is dead. Newsam and I have the hostages secured and can protect them. Bring in the choppers. If they ride the loudspeaker and let everybody know what’s up, I’ll bet they can take this place in about five minutes flat. They should take out the main gate first, which is actually a bus. Once that’s gone, these guys can’t protect themselves. They’ll be looking for friendlies to surrender to.”

  “Awesome, Luke. Here comes the cavalry. Over.”

  “Thank you. Over and out.”

  Luke folded the antenna closed. He looked at Newsam again.

  Newsam’s eyes were hard. “You and me are gonna talk about this. We get back to base, we’re gonna talk for real. We’re not in the service anymore. We don’t need to worry about rank.”

  Luke nearly smiled, but then didn’t. He thought at first that the guy was putting him on, but now he could see that he wasn’t. He was honestly mad.

  The operation had been a total success. Parr was dead. In a little while, the 1st Cavalry was going to storm this palace, and the women and girls would be returned to their families. The money and stolen antiquities would be recovered.

  Okay, Luke had made a mistake. It put Ed in a dangerous position for a moment. But it had worked out fine.

  “What’s your problem?” Luke said.

  Ed pointed at him. “You’re my problem. Rock stars like you. You could have gotten me killed. But the mission would have been a success anyway. I’ve seen a lot of that in my time. We did what we were sent to do, but oh yeah, spear carrier third from left got wasted. Oh well. Tragic, really, but they’re going to bury him at Arlington and his mama’s gonna hold the flag.”

  Luke shook his head. “What do you want me to do? Say I’m sorry?”

  Ed’s fierce eyes stared. “No. I’ve heard about you, man. And I’m going to demonstrate to you that I’m not t
he one you drop in a hole on your way to glory.”

  “Buddy, you know what they say when you’re picking a dancing partner, don’t you?”

  Ed shook his head. “No. Why don’t you tell me?”

  Luke nodded. “They say, Choose wisely.”

  “Is that supposed to scare me? Why, because technically you’re my boss? Because you’re gonna go above my head and get me in trouble? Because you’re gonna threaten my job?”

  “No,” Luke said. “Because I’m gonna kick your ass.”

  Ed half-smiled and shook his head. “I can’t wait.”

  “Well, while you savor the anticipation, do you mind if we finish up the mission in the meantime?”

  * * *

  “Good job, boys. Your mothers will be proud.”

  The man was talking to Ed and Luke.

  “This is exactly the kind of trash that needs cleaning up. They’re ruining my war zone. I don’t like that.”

  He was a tall, ramrod straight colonel from the 1st Cavalry. He had stepped off a Black Hawk in the wide palace courtyard, wearing a cowboy hat, snakeskin boots, and wraparound sunglasses. He lit up a victory cigar and smiled.

  Luke had been right. As soon as the choppers announced over the loudspeakers that Parr was dead, his little ragtag army had rolled over. They hadn’t fired a shot. There were less than twenty of them, and they wanted no part of a fight against Black Hawks and Apaches. They were tired. They just wanted to go home and do their time. Maybe they could cop some kind of plea deal, and see daylight again before they were old men.

  Then again, maybe not.

  Luke watched a group of them being loaded into a chopper. They were daisy-chained together, manacled at the ankles and wrists. Bearded, muscled-up, with long hair or Mohawks, wearing crazy clothes and with tattoos all over them. It had been a game to them. They were stars in a movie only they could see.

  Now, they were abject in defeat. Their shoulders were slumped, their heads down. Clean-cut 1st Cav guys moved them along, none too gently.

  “What goes up must come down,” Ed Newsam said. He said it loud enough for the men in chains to hear him. One of them, a big guy with a thick beard and long blond hair, turned and glared at Ed.