SOFT TARGET III Jerusalem (SOFT TARGET SERIES)

by Conrad Jones

  The man who was sat across from Japey looked into his eyes, and smiled. He knew that he had him on the hook. He moved his beer and walked around the end of the bar to sit next to Japey, and Japey leered his slimiest smile.

  What Japey didn’t know was that the man was employed by the agency’s black operations department, and was what is called a ‘cleaner’. Ruth Jones sent him to tidy up the mess Japey had caused, and to renew the balance of justice. In his pocket was a small brown bottle of rohipnol, and a syringe full of heroin, strong enough to kill an elephant.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Jerusalem

  Rahid Bindhi was struggling to stay awake. The light from his paraffin lamp was fading and the intensifying, as he watched the flame dance. There were rainbows forming around the light as watched it flickering. It cast shadows on the wall of the huge stone chamber. The chamber had been built long before Jesus was born, and had served as both a mosque and a Christian place of worship. The walls were carved by the best stonemasons of the day, huge arched alters were carved into the walls. Giant marble columns supported the rock ceilings, but the bases of them were covered by thousands of gallons of water. Only the top third of the chamber was visible above the surface of what was now the city`s underground reservoir.

  Rahid was tasked with guarding the dirty bomb. It had been assembled on site over a period of weeks, and it was nearly time to detonate it. The radiation from the salted bomb was taking effect on Rahid. The white blood cells in his body were dying rapidly and not being replaced by healthy ones. His organs were poisoned with radioactive cells, which were lodged in his liver and kidneys. There wasn`t long left in this world for Rahid. He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, and thick chunks of his beard fell away from his face. He spat, trying to get rid of the metallic taste in his mouth, but it just became stronger. There were globules of blood in the phlegm.

  The sound of gushing water echoed through the chambers, almost hypnotising in its quality. He had become accustomed to the sounds in the caverns beneath the Temple Mount, and he closed his eyes to rest them momentarily. The timer on the device ticked away. There was not long now, and then all would be well.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  New York

  Japey didn’t feel well. He thought that the Bud had gone to his head all of a sudden. He was enjoying himself, flirting with everyone, enjoying his fifteen minutes of fame. He had been given three cell phone numbers already, but he wanted the guy he’d met at the bar. There was an attraction there, and the feeling was mutual, he could tell. How could the guy resist?

  He stood up and squeezed the man’s knee, and tried to smile sexily, but it transpired on his face as more of a snarl. His knees buckled slightly as he wobbled toward the gents, and he thought he was going to fall, but he was grabbed firmly by the elbow and supported. Japey turned and recognised the guy he’d been chatting up at the bar. He relaxed a little and allowed himself to be guided by the cleaner that Ruth Jones had sent. The cleaner had slipped the tranquilizer into Japey`s beer twenty minutes ago. It was starting to take effect on his target. In another five minutes Japey wouldn’t remember what his name was, never mind what was happening to him.

  The cleaner pushed open the washroom doors with his foot and guided Japey into the washroom by the arm. The pink theme was continued throughout. A sticky pink carpet covered the floor for the first six foot, and then there was a second door. The door led into a tiled area, white porcelain urinals lined the left hand side, and cubicles lined the right. He pushed Japey toward one of the cubicles. Two of the other doors were closed. The cleaner pushed them, and they both opened revealing that they were unoccupied. He pushed the weakening agent through a cubicle door and held him against the wall by his collars, and then kicked the door closed behind them. It banged shut, echoing off the tiles with a clatter. Japey felt like he was watching the scene from above. This was what he wanted but the guy was getting a bit rough. Japey liked to control the pace, but he couldn’t even control his tongue. He wanted to speak but he couldn’t.

  All the strength in his limbs had gone, and he felt compliant and helpless, but also excited about the encounter that was to come. He tried to smile but his facial muscles had ceased to work and his lips sneered into a twisted grin.

  “What`s up you fucking faggot?” The cleaner snarled into his ear, holding him up with one hand, and taking the booster syringe from his pocket with the other.

  “Do you want me to make you feel good?” The cleaner showed Japey the syringe, waving it slowly in front of his face.

  Japey tried to smile again, the drug was coursing through his veins. The sight of the syringe didn’t register in his brain, but the promise to make him feel good did, selective hearing from his befuddled brain. The cleaner pushed the needle into a thick blue vein in Japey`s neck, and then pressed the plunger. The heroin was in his brain in seconds, and his legs buckled completely. The cleaner undid Japey`s belt and pulled his pants and underwear down. He turned the body and positioned it face toward the wall, bent over the porcelain pot, bare ass in the air. The cleaner put the syringe in his pocket, and removed another one. The new one was loaded with a much weaker dose of heroin. He shoved the needle into Japey`s arm, just below the elbow, and left it there. It was half-full of blood and half full of the opiate.

  The cleaner left the dead agent where he was. He bolted the cubicle door and then climbed over the top, leaving the agent locked in. It was much later when he was eventually discovered. A disgraced agent found in a compromising position in the toilets of a gay bar, killed by a drug overdose. It was perfect. The natural order of things had been restored, and a harsh justice dealt.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Jerusalem

  Tank watched Chen and his three-man team kitting up into black protective combat gear. The entrance to the Well of Souls, originally dug by Christian nights, had been scanned and traces of radioactivity had been detected on the rocks, which matched the profiles of cobalt and strontium. It seemed Tank was correct in his assumption that the bomb was hidden underground. Israeli Special Forces and units from Delta Force, and the British Terrorist Task Force entered the underground caverns equipped with night vision enhancing equipment and enough firepower to stop an army of terrorists.

  The activity beneath the Temple Mount had drawn attention from locals, tourists and the media. The Israelis` troops were desperately trying to evacuate the area without creating widespread panic, but the number of curious onlookers was overwhelming. Tank scanned the growing crowds that were gathering, looking for Yasser Ahmed. Information gleaned from the first Soft Target campaign pointed to the fact that Yasser enjoyed staying close to the operations that he organised, watching from nearby and sometimes taking an active role.

  There was no sign of his enemy amongst the gathering throng. Tank looked left and right, slowly searching the hillside graveyards for any sign of life. If Yasser was around watching events unfurl then he had to be on the Mount of Olives somewhere. He was convinced that he had seen him earlier, but realised too late. Tank tried to calculate the reasons why Ahmed would be here on the Mount of Olives. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that he was sightseeing, watching his affiliates carry out the plot first hand. Tank believed that Yasser was on The Mount to watch the action unfold as it happened.

  The Mount was a safe enough distance away. Not close enough to be injured by the explosion, but close enough to see it, and hear it. Yasser could watch the ensuing panic as the Jews realised that the centre of their religion had been transformed into a smoking radioactive pile of rubble. The beautiful golden dome on top of the Temple Mount mosque would be contaminated too, but it wasn’t as important a site as Medina or Mecca. It could be sacrificed for a few decades, as long as Jerusalem was returned to Palestine.

  The viewing platform that Tank was on was situated near the top of the Mount of Olives. Between him and the valley below were a million white stone graves, some shattered some in better condit
ion. He could only see what was on his side of the headstones. The opposite sides overlooking the city were hidden from him. Yasser could be hidden from view in any one of a million places. He scanned the slopes again and noticed a larger marble structure, which was similar to a Christian crypt. It was two hundred yards down the slope but offered a perfect view of the city. Yasser could be the other side of it watching the growing crowds below, and the disorganised military running about like camouflaged ants in the valley.

  Tank spoke into the coms unit, while he watched the Israeli soldiers trying to erect barriers and roadblocks around the base of the Temple Mount.

  “This is pilgrim one, who`s on The Mount?” Tank asked.

  “Pilgrim one, this is pilgrim four, and I`m two hundred yards east of the golden dome, adjoining the west wall.”

  “Roger that pilgrim four. I need you to position yourself facing south toward the Mount of Olives, and signal me when you`re in position.” Tank scanned the section of the wall that pilgrim four was situated on, and located him next to a huge stone buttress fortification.

  “Roger that, I`m facing in that direction now.”

  “Roger, locate the viewing platform at the crest of the mount,” Tank was watching his agent on the wall as he navigated him onto his position. The platform was becoming increasingly busy with curious tourists eager to get a look at what was going on in the valley below. Tank looked around the crowd, wondering if Ahmed could be among them.

  “Roger that pilgrim one, I have you on visual,” pilgrim four had sighted Tank in his binoculars.

  “Roger, scan down the slope two hundred yards directly below me, and there is a marble structure there,” Tank directed the agent.

  “Roger that, I have it in visual.”

  “Roger, is there any sign of life there on your side of the building, it`s out of my field of vision,” Tank asked.

  “Affirmative, there are three x-rays sat in the shade with a bird`s eye view of the action, and they all look like locals to me,” pilgrim four reported back.

  “Roger that, how much detail have you got?” Tank moved away from the safety barrier and began pushing his way through the crowds, adrenalin started to pump.

  “They`re in the shade somewhat, I can`t see everything.”

  “Roger that, are any of them missing an arm?”

  “Negative Tank, I can`t tell from here they`re wearing robes and sitting down,” pilgrim four answered.

  “Roger that, get our sniper up there with you and have him cover that section of the slope. I`m on my way to check them out now,” Tank pushed his way through the gathering crowds toward the small wall, which bordered the graveyard.

  The noise of a helicopter engine began to oscillate down the valley, echoing off the slopes. Tank stopped and looked at it through his binoculars. It was a civilian aircraft fitted with cameras beneath it. He stumbled through the wall into the humongous graveyard and paused to inspect the helicopter. It was definitely civilian, probably the media. There was absolutely no way anything flew over Jerusalem without the Israeli air force knowing about it. Someone must have tipped them off. Tank pulled his cell phone out and dialled headquarters again.

  “Agent Bell speaking,” the fat controller answered on the second ring.

  “What kept you?” Tank asked sarcastically.

  “I was just about to ring you actually. The satellite news channels have a very disturbing story about an extremist bomb attack against the Wailing Wall. They have aerial pictures of Jerusalem as we speak,” he explained gleefully.

  “I was afraid you were going to say that. There`s a press helicopter above the Temple Mount, someone has given the thumbs up for the story to be leaked,” Tank said.

  “The American channels are crammed with the Liverpool attack, and they`ve linked it to a serious fire in Queens, New York. They evacuated the financial district this morning,” the fat controller was linking everything up.

  “It would seem that if the Americans have gone public then the Israelis have followed suit,” Tank mused, looking up at the helicopter.

  “There`s no doubt about it. The world and his wife are watching this on the television. The Americans and the Israelis will milk this for all it`s worth. They`ll turn Jerusalem and the rest of Israel into a fortress, an American aircraft carrier and missile silo all rolled into one.” The possible connotations were endless.

  “That`s if they stop short of a military strike in retaliation. All they have to do is bum up enough evidence that Iran is behind this and America has the perfect justification to blow it to bits,” Tank answered, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he watched the helicopter.

  There was a slight rustle behind him and then the feeling of cold steel against his neck. The muzzle of a fat Bulldog revolver was jammed painfully into his carotid. He was held tightly from behind by at least two sets of hands. There was another rustle of footsteps and a slightly built Arab dressed in a scruffy robe stepped in front of him. The Arab had dead eyes and only one arm.

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Eternity

  Small brown hands took the cell phone from Tank, and another pair removed his Glock nine-millimetre from its holster. Yasser reached out his scrawny hand and tugged the coms unit from Tank`s ear, rendering him unarmed and very much alone. Yasser stared into his eyes in silence. Nothing was said. He nodded his head and the ragbag group of Arabs walked slowly down the hill toward the marble crypt, surrounding Tank and keeping him covered. One of them circled the group pointing here and there. From above it looked like Tank was strolling through the graveyard, being guided by local beggars. The crowds on the viewing platform were ensconced with the military activity to the east, below the Temple Mount. Yasser and his three cronies were leading Tank east out of sight of the growing crowds.

  The group stopped momentarily and a hessian rope was tied tightly around the big man`s wrists, digging into his flesh. Tank tensed the muscles in his forearms and hands, making them swell to their maximum potential. When the rope was secured, he continued to tense and relax the massive muscles in his arms. The fibres were stretching and weakening before they had finished securing their ligature. Tank took the respite to assess how bad the situation was.

  There were four armed men, plus Yasser in the group, heading toward a crypt where he knew there was another three x-rays. He didn’t know if they were bandits or just locals, but he had to prepare for the worst. Tank was eighteen stones of well-trained fighting machine. He could break these men in half with a flick of his huge wrist if all things were equal. Tank wasn’t sure where he was being taken, but it appeared that they were heading toward the marble crypt. Tank was confident that his sniper could control several of the bandits, but the gun at his throat wasn’t helping the situation. All four Arabs had robes on, hiding whatever weaponry they were carrying. He didn’t know who had taken the Glock either. It was out of sight somewhere. The situation was fragile at best, and precarious to say the least.

  Yasser led the way and never spoke or looked back at Tank once. Tank wasn’t really surprised by that fact, because the man rarely showed any concern about anything. The good thing was that the group was still heading for the broken crypt, and the crypt should be covered by a sniper already. Tank liked the odds.

  The four Arabs manhandled Tank down the slope toward the marble crypt. When they reached the marble mausoleum, Yasser turned the corner first and went out of sight. There were raised voices and a flurry of guttural Arabic as Tank was pushed round the corner of the crypt, out of sight from anyone watching from further up the hill.

  Tank turned the corner and a heavy chunk of concrete flashed into his vision. It was a blur of rapid movement, which made him close his eyes instinctively. The concrete smashed into the bridge of his nose, splintering the small bones there to pieces. The pain in his head was excruciating, and his eyes watered blurring his vision. He felt blood run from both nostrils and the coppery taste stuck to the back of his throat.

  Tank rock
ed his head backward trying to avoid any follow up but he was held too tightly. The second vicious blow caught him full on the mouth. His top lip burst like a squashed slug, and his two front teeth pierced the gums before being splintered into fragments of denture. White light exploded through his brain, the exposed nerves in his broken teeth burned like tiny supernovas of pain. Blood filled his mouth and he gagged, as the thick viscous liquid threatened to choke him. Consciousness was leaving him; his body was falling into shock. His survival instinct took control.

  Tank opened his eyes to see the third blow heading for his face. Although he was badly stunned by the savage attack he only had two choices now, fight or die. The chances are he would die anyway. If he took another blow of such brutal intensity then death was a fore gone conclusion. He ducked at the last moment, bending his legs and twisting his body at the same time. The grip on his arms weakened as he twisted, allowing him to avoid the blow. The concrete block whizzed by his ear and into the face of the man holding the Bulldog revolver. The gun clattered onto the marble beneath them.