by Rick Jones
Kimball kept a watchful eye, not on Isaiah but on those surrounding him to see if unwelcome eyes were being drawn. But Chahine was drawing all interest as if he was a god amongst men.
Isaiah looked natural in this element though, moving among those who were similarly dressed. Then in fluid motion he attached and hid the device somewhere beneath the vehicle’s wheel well, then returned to the truck. He started the vehicle and turned to Kimball. “Done deal.”
“Let’s get of out of here before we press our luck,” said Kimball.
As soon as they left the Bazaar, Kimball checked his GPS screen. They were getting a blip that fanned out from the main signal like ripples in a pond after a stone is tossed and disrupts the water’s surface.
“We’ve got a read,” he said.
Now they could track Chahine to Mabus’s lair without Chahine suspecting that he was being followed. They would stay beyond Chahine’s vision, even with the rearview mirror, and follow the blip on the screen to Mabus’s lair.
Kimball clenched a hand into a tight fist out of Isaiah’s view, the points of his knuckles turning white.
He wanted to send Mabus to Hell where he belonged–to rip out his life and watch the light in his eyes fade. But the cost would be great. The price immense. He would risk everything, even the chance for salvation, to see Mabus’s last breath escape his lungs.
For all those you had killed, he thought. Including my little Yara.
After moving out of the hotspot of the danger zone, Kimball and Isaiah parked along the Euphrates River and waited for Chahine to have his say with his people and take his leave.
Twenty minutes later the man was on the move.
Using the tracking system to monitor Chahine’s precise location, the Vatican Knights followed from a distance.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
It had taken nearly 90 minutes before Chahine’s vehicle finally stopped at a small village 60 miles, or 96 kilometers, south of Raqqa. There was still plenty of gas in the tank of their vehicle despite the lengthy time of travel from AKçAKALE, which was only a total distance of 128 miles, or 270 kilometers.
“He stopped,” said Kimball. Then he typed in a new set of coordinates; their position to the position of the tracker. Then he directed Isaiah to take a series of narrow and dirt-laden streets that were surrounded by stone-built buildings the color of desert sand.
As they approached Chahine’s vehicle and noted its location, Kimball said, “Keep going.”
Six heavily armed men surrounded the vehicle, talking and oblivious of the Vatican Knights as they passed them. Chahine was nowhere in sight.
“He must be inside,” said Kimball. “He’s probably briefing Mabus.” Then: “Swing around to the back. Let’s see if there’s anyone keeping guard.”
There were. There were three men that were heavily armed. But it was the point of weakness. Better to take on three than to take on six.
“Now that we know the location,” said Kimball, “let’s wait along the outskirts until nightfall. Then we’ll come back for the Cross.”
From a berm that overlooked the village, the Vatican Knights waited for darkness.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Warehouse #12
Bethesda, Maryland
7:34 P.M.
The guard-shack was empty. Mohammad Allawi knew that the property’s defenses were lacking, with maybe one or two unarmed security members trolling the area with one usually in the shack for visibility, but tonight there was no one.
And this raised a red flag with Allawi.
Going against his gut feelings, Allawi entered the property in a van. In the rear of the vehicle sat his team: four men, all assassins, all members of the Islamic State.
He drove slowly around the complex, his eyes searching high and low for something–anything–that was out of the ordinary.
Nothing.
Then he checked his watch. Plenty of time.
After driving around and surveying the area, he finally stopped the van before the doors of Warehouse #12. The large assassin in the back opened the rear doors, stepped out with a set of bolt cutters, took care of the Master Padlock, and then opened the doors by sliding them on their tracks.
As soon as the van entered the warehouse, the large man closed the door behind it and waited outside for the shipment vehicle to arrive.
Inside, Allawi and his team exited the vehicle, with Allawi immediately examining the overhead catwalks with caution.
“Something wrong, Allawi?” asked Shamen, the computer recruiter.
Allawi narrowed his eyes. The catwalks were dark, lots of shadows and places to hide in. “Something’s not right,” he finally said. “It’s like a burglar trying to rob a house, only the owner has seen fit to leave the door open.”
“Do you want us to check the catwalks?”
Allawi nodded. Yes.
Shamen started to bark orders in Arabic for the rest of the team to grab their weapons and scout the location from top to bottom. Each man was equipped with suppressed weapons, MP7s, who then began to make the climb to the upper levels.
“I want them to remain up there to maintain a vantage point,” Allawi told Shamen.
Shamen cupped his hands around his mouth like a bullhorn and translated the information.
Reaching the top tier, both teammates began their search of the area with their weapons trained to the shadows in front of them.
#
Inside Warehouse #3 and less than one hundred yards away from Warehouse #12, sat a cube van. It was completely equipped with audio and visual surveillance equipment. Infrared cameras had been set up inside Warehouse #12 from numerous angles. Wireless bugging devices the size of a dime capable of picking up voices with absolute clarity, were placed throughout the building. Warehouse #12 had been completely canvassed with the eyes and ears of technology.
Cameron Minor was manning the console and bank of monitors that showed the interior of Warehouse #12 from multiple angles. One screen showed a large man standing outside the doors, the image feed hacked from a nearby CCTV.
Minor spoke into his lip mic. “We have three inside, one outside. The three inside are armed with weapons that appear to be MPs. We have two topside, two on the bottom. And the one on the bottom may be the major prize. Stand by for confirmation.”
Minor zoomed in on Allawi’s face, captured the image with a push of a button, and then ran the photo through a facial recognition software program. In less than two seconds he had his answer with 100% verification. “We have a confirmation,” he said. “The major prize has been identified. Confirmation is accurate to one hundred percent. Mohammad Allawi is on site. I repeat, Mohammad Allawi is on site.”
“Copy that.”
#
Shari spoke into her lip mic and responded to Cam Minor’s audio transmission. “Copy that.”
Inside one of two HRT cube vans not too far from the surveillance van, Shari was completely decked out in riot gear: Kevlar vest, helmet, face-shield, and composite bodyguards for shin, elbow, knees and forearms.
She turned to the assault team’s leading lieutenant. “Flash bangs,” she said. “Quick and clean. Have your team take out the vantage points on the catwalk. Shots to center mass. Take Allawi alive, if you can.”
The lieutenant gave her a wink. Acknowledged.
Then from Cam Minor: “Charlie One to Alpha Four, we have a vehicle approaching through the east gate. I repeat, we have a vehicle approaching through the east gate.”
Shari: “Copy.”
Then the audio streamed in another message over the comm system from another location. “Alpha Four, this is Omega Three. We have a visual on the vehicle. Do you want us to intervene?”
The lieutenant spoke into his lip mic. “That’s negative, Omega Three. Could be a dummy vehicle to draw us out. Stand by.” Dummy vehicles
were often used in illegal transactions to draw out those who may be watching, only for those who had been watching to find an empty vehicle.
“Copy that.”
Cam Minor continued to update them: “The vehicle is now stopping in front of Warehouse Twelve,” he reported. “Now they’re conversing.” A moment later. “Now the vehicle is moving off and heading for the exit.”
A dummy vehicle, thought Shari.
The time was now 8: 36, twenty minutes after the transaction was to take place.
Ten minutes after that a van pulled up to the gate, entered freely, and made its way to Warehouse #12.
“Stand by, all units,” said Minor. “We have a van at Twelve. I repeat, we have a van at Twelve.”
“Copy.”
Less than a minute later the doors to the warehouse opened and the van ventured inside.
Then from Cam Minor: “Contact verified. Mobile unit is inside. Stand by. Going to internals.”
“Copy that, Charlie One.”
#
Allawi was frustrated by the driver’s tardiness. “You’re late.”
The man, a Hispanic with a sizeable paunch and threadbare mustache, got out of the vehicle. “I’m also careful,” he answered. “I sent a dummy vehicle to scope the area. It’s clean.”
From the passenger side another Hispanic man got out with an assault rifle, an AR-15. Though he didn’t level it at anyone in particular, he held it in such a way that it could be brought up and across in a simple sweep.
Then from Allawi: “You have our supplies?”
“I got what you need,” the Hispanic said. “Now the question is: do you have what I need?”
Allawi didn’t know what he was talking about. The deal was to take charge of five weapons, nothing else. “What are you talking about?”
“The transfer fee is one thousand dollars.”
“There was no discussion of this.”
“The cartel needs a little taste, you know? Nothing is for free.”
“There was no discussion of this.” Allawi was beginning to sound heated.
“Look,” said the heavyset Hispanic. “We’re all business men, right?”
“You’re trying to extort me,” said Allawi. Now his voice was even.
“Extort you?” The Hispanic started to chortle with humor. “This isn’t extortion. Like I said, the cartel needs a little taste.”
“Then have a taste of this.” Allawi raised his weapon and set off a quick burst, the rounds punching little red dots into the fat man’s shirt, and then Allawi came around and set off a second burst, the bullets stitching across the second man’s chest, his AR-15 falling from his grasp and to the floor.
And like that two men lay dead.
Idiots!
Allawi went to the rear of the van and whipped a door wide. Inside were five cases. He dragged one close to him, undid the snaps, and lifted the lid. And then he smiled, his lips parting just enough to show off rows of perfectly set teeth.
He never thought that a rifle could be so wonderful to look at.
#
No one could hear the suppressed gunfire from Allawi’s gun, but Cam Minor witnessed everything on the screens. “All units, this is Charlie One. Allawi just terminated his suppliers. I repeat, Mohammad Allawi just terminated his suppliers.”
“Can you confirm the weaponry?”
“That’s negative, Alpha Four. However, Allawi’s taking inventory of what’s inside the vehicle. Stand by.”
“Copy.”
#
Shari lowered her lip and addressed the lieutenant. “Allawi just killed the suppliers,” she said. “Mobilize the unit. Take out the sentry and stand by. Be ready on my mark.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lieutenant jumped from the van and assembled his team. They were in a warehouse several doors down. Then taking a side door, the five-man team used the shadows to make their way towards Warehouse #12.
#
Allawi pulled the case outside the van, placed it on a crate, and then removed the rifle from its padded molding. It was a marvel of engineering, he thought. Something he had to admire.
Then to Shamen: “There’re four more inside. Grab them and let’s go.”
Shamen did as he was told.
#
The large man stood sentinel outside the warehouse doors. In the waistband at the small of his back was a firearm, a Glock.
Do shadows move?
He turned to his left.
The darkness stilled.
Silence.
But he erred by removing his weapon.
A grave mistake.
There was a perceptible sound of someone spitting. And then a hole suddenly appeared in the middle of the man’s forehead, a kill shot. The sentry fell to the ground looking surprised by his own mortality, with his eyes wide and his mouth ajar as if to protest. And as he lay unmoving and looking skyward, a lazy coil of blue smoke climbed from the wound.
Silently, dark shapes slid from the shadows, grabbed the body, and quickly removed it from sight.
#
From the lieutenant manning the first team, his radio relay to Shari was: “Target One removed. Awaiting orders.”
Shari responded quickly. “Stand by and maintain a perimeter. HRT is being initiated.”
“Copy that, Alpha Four. Setting perimeter for area lockdown.”
Shari exited the vehicle.
Standing in the wings was her HRT unit from Quantico, a team of seven battle-tested elites.
She beckoned them with flexes of her finger, a command. Let’s move!
Though Shari was not the point-man in this particular operation, she was still the field commander.
They pressed forward, the team moving quietly through the shadows until they reached the warehouse doors. Blood spotted the area where the sentry had been felled by a single bullet.
They flanked the doors evenly, four on each side, their weapons ready.
Shari whispered into her lip mic. “We’re in position, Charlie One. Locations?”
“One on the catwalk to the left, another on the right. Both centered. Both armed. Two on the lower tier. One armed. The other is loading the assets into a second vehicle.” ‘Assets’ was the term that Shari wanted to hear, and a term used to confirm when the goods were actual, like the M600.
“Copy.”
All eyes were on Shari as she relayed messages with a series of hand gestures. Shari raised a flat hand to the east side of the building and upward, then showed a forefinger to indicate one person on the top tier. She did the same for the west-side top tier. And then she indicated that there were two on the bottom floor, one armed.
Hostile locations were transmitted and received. Everyone was on the same page. Now it was time to implement procedures.
Shari gave a thumbs-up to the point-man who responded by removing a flash bang from his belt, and readied up for the assault. Two others grabbed a handle on each door and readied themselves to swing them wide.
Shari then raised her hand and began ticking off her fingers in countdown.
… Five …
… Four …
… Three …
… Two …
… One …
The doors swung wide and the flash bang was tossed. As soon as the grenade went off with a concussive blast, the team moved in with their heads on a swivel to locate their marks to bring them down.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Syria
It was early morning and dawn was still a few hours away. By now the village was fast asleep and numbers would be few, should things go wrong.
They drove the vehicle close to the stone hut but out of sight. Then they kept to the shadows. Tonight the moon was in its crescent phase, a blessing since it showered little light whi
ch was perfect for a nighttime hit. So the Vatican Knights edged forward and stayed close to the structures, two shapes that were blacker than black.
Two guards stood post at the rear door. Earlier there had been three. Then Kimball worked his way alone to the front while Isaiah kept an eye on those in the back. There were three in the front, all talking by Chahine’s car. There had been six before. Now four were missing from the entire group that had been there earlier.
Kimball made his way back to Isaiah. “There were nine this morning. Now there’s only five. Four are missing.”
Isaiah made an observation. “The light’s still on in the hut. They could be inside.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” Then: “Don’t these people ever sleep?”
“So how do you want to handle this?”
“Take the two in the back. I’ll move to the front.”
While Kimball moved to one side of the structure and Isaiah to the other, they used the shadow as their friend … and closed in.
#
The two guards in the back were talking and jesting about things that elicited an occasional laughter. They were focused on each other rather than their surroundings. They were feeling secure on the home-front far from the bombings in Raqqa and had become complacent, which Isaiah had banked on.
Isaiah moved through the shadows hugging the wall. His intent was to incapacitate the two, not kill them. But good intentions sometimes didn’t go well when dealing with the nature of the beast.
They laughed, then spoke softly, then there was another round of light laughter in amusement.
Isaiah was close.
Like a leopard working its way to its game with the prey oblivious, if not clueless, neither knew of the power that was about to come down on them.
And then Isaiah exploded from the darkness and was on them before they had a chance to acknowledge his presence. With the blade of his right hand, Isaiah came across on a level plane and connected with the first man’s throat, the chop striking hard. As the sentry’s eyes ogled, as he choked and gagged and fought for breath, Isaiah came around in a blur and handed a series of straight-arm blows to the second sentry’s face, breaking bone and cartilage. As that man fell against the wall with his face bloodied, Isaiah came back to the first sentry with an elbow strike and hit him square in the temple, which put him down for the count. Then turning on the second guard to deliver the knockout punch, Isaiah saw the sentry had slid down along the wall and into a folded mass against the ground, the man unconscious.
