“I can do both,” Clint said as he gathered together his pile of supplies and tucked them into his vest and backpack.
“Then do it,” Mason agreed, trusting him.
Clint ran to the edge of the roof and looked down. It was easy. Only a four-story drop, he’d be fine if he fell.
Not.
But it had to be done.
He looked over at the other building. Lucky for him the top of the building had been blown away, leaving it with only three stories. Clint took a running jump and landed perfectly.
Lydia would probably say it was the yoga that was keeping him limber. He grinned as he rushed to the side of the building that faced the avenue. He pulled out his binoculars and God bless the little baby Jesus, what did he find? Two black Land Rovers.
“Got the Land Rovers sighted. Somebody has the hood up on one of them. My guess is that they’re trying to hot-wire it. They’re about one kilometer south from the square on the main boulevard coming in from Damascus.”
“Who’s free to head that way?” Mason barked into his mic.
Jack and Finn immediately volunteered. Clint saw their beacons on his tablet, but he couldn’t make them out in the crowd, which was a good thing.
“Archer, you there?” Felix tagged him.
“Yep. What’s the scoop?”
“You’re not going to like it. They’ve got four tanks headed your way. They’re moving at top speed. The drone clocked them with an ETA by sunset. You need to find the senator and his pals and get the hell out of there. Seriously, Clint, what’s been taking you so long?”
“Fuck you, Felix,” Clint said without any real heat as he kept his eyes peeled on the scene below. “Sundown is when?”
“You’ve got an hour and forty-five minutes. Maybe two. Seriously, man, you’ve got to get this done.”
“I hear you, so quit talking to me unless it’s important. Archer out.”
Clint relayed the information to his team.
Once again, he was left with the frustrating but necessary job of scanning the crowds for Americans. He huffed out a laugh when he saw Jack, head-and-shoulders above others in the crowd wearing a thobe and a close-fitting white turban to cover his blond hair. The slightly smaller man beside him was dressed similarly. That’d be Finn, who Clint would bet his bottom dollar had acquired the disguises. Not that unheard of, but with men asking questions about Americans in their midst, it was best to lay low.
He still hadn’t spotted Drake, but he was pretty sure he knew which burnt-out vehicle he was hiding in. He could see the huddle of people around Darius, even though he couldn’t see his teammate who was likely crouched down with a small patient on his knee. That left Mason.
“Mase, Whatcha got?”
“You were spot-on, Archer. We’ve finally found three of our targets. No senator, but I have the cameraman and two of the congressmen’s aides.”
Clint listened in as Mason explained the urgency to get them the hell out of Idlib.
“Sign me up,” said someone. “Where’s our ride out of here?”
“We can’t. We have a job to do,” another male voice spoke up. Clint assumed it was one of the senator’s aides. “We have to get footage of the senator talking to some of the Kurdish refugees, then he needs to talk to some of the Kurdish rebels. He needs to broker peace between al Assad and the rebels.”
“The first part is utter bullshit.” The first man spoke up. Now Clint figured out it must be the cameraman. “He just wants his name in lights. Everybody knows what’s going on. Now if you said he was going to get them more US aid, that would be a whole other thing. The second part is lunacy. He’s going to end up getting himself and the rest of us killed. Why weren’t we informed of his intentions from the get-go?”
“It wasn’t your place to know, you’re just a reporter. So, you report.”
Clint didn’t like the guy. He was an asshole.
“Quit arguing,” Mason growled. “I need to gather everyone who was part of your group so we can get out of here. We don’t have much time.”
“Sure, we do,” piped up a woman’s voice. “The senator was told by one of the ambassador’s top people that this was a safe excursion.”
Jesus. Who was running things? Dora the Explorer?
“Well, his information was wrong. We’ve got terrorists with tanks headed this way. We have less than ninety minutes to clear the hell out of here, or risk being killed. Or worse yet, captured.”
“What do you mean, worse yet?” the second man asked.
Clint pictured Mason’s head exploding.
“Clint, you’re going to be our landmark. I’d use the clock, but that’s too exposed. Instead, I’m bringing these three your way.”
“Got it.”
“But—” the woman started.
“Shut it, or I’ll explain in very specific detail what the soldier means by worse. Especially for a woman,” the cameraman said. “We need to follow him and shut the fuck up, you got it, Kelley?”
“Dare, quit with the doctoring. I need you to meet me at Clint’s location. We’re going to get details from this group and go out and find the senator and the rest of this hippy-dippy group.”
“Got it,” Darius agreed.
Clint packed up again and climbed down to the back of the second floor of the shelled-out building. There were enough handholds for everyone to make it up to meet him. That way they would be out of the melee.
Dare was the first to arrive. He looked grim.
“Wanna talk?” Clint asked.
“What’s the point? It’s not going to change a damn thing. I worked on at least three people who aren’t going to live out the week.”
It had been a couple of years since they had seen so many desperate innocents. Clint knew better than to offer any platitudes or ask any more questions. He watched as Dare heaved out of his backpack like an old man. Certain things tended to age you.
“When are the civilians going to be here?”
Clint did a head tilt and Dare looked over to the square. He could see them making their way towards the apartment building, with Mason pushing them along. It was going to take them forever to get to the apartment building at that pace.
“Finn? Jack? You got anything?” Clint asked over their comm system.
“Give us a sec.” Finn’s voice was a whisper. Sounded promising.
“Drake, what are we waiting on?” Clint wanted to know.
“Whoever these guys are, they’re showing pictures of Leonard and his two aides. They’re also waving cash around. I was wrong; these aren’t Kurdish rebels, they’re either Hayat Tahrir al-Sham or Al Qaeda. They have to have moles in the American embassy.”
“Great, just fucking great. Has anybody stepped up and taken the bait?”
“Not so far.”
“I still have a dinner date with Rebin, his two sisters, and their mother. They really need to leave Idlib, but they’re determined to stay.” Darius said. “When these yahoos get here, we’ll see if that’s them, or if it’s the rest of the delegation. I get the feeling the kid’s family are rebels.”
“Drake, get back here. You’ve found out all you’re going to,” Clint said into his mic.
“Already on my way.”
Clint glanced back into the crowd and saw that Mason and the three others had made some progress.
“Archer!”
It was Felix.
“What?”
“You’ve got another problem.”
Great.
“Tell me.”
“We’ve kept the drone over the convoy. Two trucks with mounted RPGs linked up and are now moving ahead of the tanks. They should be there in thirty mikes. Whatever you’re doing, do it double-time, man.”
I knew this was a shit-sandwich. I just knew it.
“Got it. Can your drone keep an eye on them?”
“Negative. Doesn’t have the fuel. It’s got to come back to base.”
“Understood.”
3
Was he for real?
The man holding the camera followed. At least he had the good sense to follow at a fast pace. He didn’t want to die.
“What do you need?” Drake asked as his head showed over the top of the second floor. Now he had made good time.
“I need more eyes on the crowd. But my gut’s telling me that Finn and Jack are going to find the senator and the rest of them. But we’ll question the people that Mason is bringing in.”
“I still worry that some of them might be going with Rebin’s mom for dinner. It’s a damn good photo op.” Darius reminded Clint.
“But they don’t have their cameraman.”
“There’s always a phone to video it.”
Shit, his friend was right. He needed to keep his head in the game.
“Dare, we only have a half-hour to get the senator. If, and this is a very big if, the civilians Mase is bringing in can’t tell us anything, you’re taking Mason with you to the house. I’m assuming they told you where?”
Dare nodded.
“Why not me? I’m sociable.”
Dare and Clint stared at Drake, who finally held up his hands. The man had the manners of a bull in a china shop—when you needed finesse, you sent in Mason.
“Need some help,” Mason yelled from the bottom of the apartment building.
Drake scrambled down and soon had the woman up to the second floor. He had carried her on his back. She looked terrified.
Next came the cameraman. You could tell because he was still clutching his video camera close to his chest. Mason brought up the rear with a man wearing chinos and a polo shirt who didn’t look terrified. Instead, he looked put-out.
Great, he was one of those. The entitled type.
“This is unnecessary. We have diplomatic immunity,” he was saying to Mason.
“You know what? How about we leave your ass down there, in your little American preppy clothes, and see how far your immunity goes when the terrorist tanks show up. Shall we?” Drake rumbled at the man as he helped the woman to her feet.
For once Mason didn’t stop Drake’s tirade, he just let it rip.
“Terrorists don’t have tanks,” the little snot said.
“These guys have an army. Don’t you do any kind of research?” Drake derided him. “Mase, can’t I take him back down near the clock in the middle of the square?”
That seemed to quell the little shit’s attitude.
Mason turned to the civilians. “Do any of you have any idea where the rest of your group might have gone too? We need to gather them up and get the hell out of here.”
“How are we going to get out if they have tanks coming to kill us?” the woman whimpered.
“If we get out of Idlib and quickly reach our rendezvous point, we’ll be helicoptered out of here,” Mason explained, far too kindly in Clint’s opinion. “Now, where do you think the senator went?”
“He was trying to find one of the Kurdish rebels who might be willing to come back to the Syrian embassy with him. That way—”
“What kind of dumbfuck idea is that?” Drake broke in. “In all my years of trying to understand politicians, this has to take the cake. Like a Kurdish rebel is going to go talk to al Assad. He’s been trying to butcher the Kurds.”
“He wants to try to broker a peace deal.”
“Holy mother of God,” Darius breathed. Then he spoke louder. “Was he planning on going to dinner with a family that might have some rebels there?”
“How’d you know?” the male aide asked.
“It’s our job to know things. You would have thought that before walking into this hellhole you would have done some homework.”
“I hope to God you do know,” the cameraman spoke up. “My partner, Shelley is stuck with the senator. We were assigned to this mess, it would be a Godsend if you knew where she was and could rescue her.”
“I should go with you. The senator needs my expertise,” the little pissant spoke up. Clint felt a headache coming on.
“All three of you are staying here. The last thing we need is more of you to go missing.”
“But—”
“Drake, you will stay with them.” Mason grinned at his second in command. “Coordinate with Clint what needs doing. He’s coming with us.”
Drake crossed his arms and stood up straighter. Suddenly he doubled in size. “Gladly.”
Thank God, no babysitting.
Clint quickly explained what was going on with Felix and gave over his tablet and headset to Drake. “Good luck with the ‘experts.’” He grinned. Then he, Dare, and Mason headed on down into the crowds.
It took Dare fifteen minutes to find Rebin, which was fifteen minutes too long in Clint’s opinion.
“Doctor!” the kid yelled in Arabic. He ran up to Darius and grabbed his hand. “Mama has made dinner. There are many guests.” As he attempted to pull Dare along with him, he then saw Clint and Mason following along.
“Who are they?” he asked.
“They are here to help. They also know medicine.”
Which was true, Clint supposed.
“Good, good,” the kid grinned. “Come, come.”
He wound them through many twists and turns in the back alleys of Idlib to get to his home. Clint took up the rear and surreptitiously marked the way with chalk and prayed that Rebin’s male relatives wouldn’t be eating dinner there, because if they were, this was going to be a total clusterfuck.
The only good thing they had going was that the kid was moving at breakneck speed. They might just outrun the Hayat Tahrir al-Sham at this rate. If they threw salt over their shoulder, knocked on wood, and kissed a leprechaun.
Door after door lined one long wall, indicating different people’s homes. At the seventh door, Rebin stopped. As soon as the boy opened the door to his home, all thoughts of luck went out the window.
“Papa, no!” Rebin cried.
Clint didn’t have a real good view, but he could see a little past Dare and Mason and it wasn’t good. An older man in a tight turban and robes had a man, who Clint assumed was the senator, held against his chest. He had a gun to the man’s temple.
Clint stepped backwards so that his back was to the outside wall of the home. “Finn. Jack. We’ve found them,” Clint said into his mic. “Get back to the apartment building with Drake. We’re bringing them in.”
“Do you need back-up?” Finn immediately asked.
“Negative.” Hell, one more person in this situation would blow it apart for sure. He knew Finn, Drake, and Jack would be quiet as they listened in to what was going on with their situation.
While he had been talking to Finn, he’d also been listening to Mason talk to the Kurdish rebel in Arabic. “This isn’t going to accomplish anything. You need to let the man go.”
“He’s spying on us.”
Clint rolled his eyes. The senator was too stupid to be a spy.
“He wanted to do a news story, not spy. You need to take all of their cell phones away from them to make sure no pictures were taken.” Mason said.
One woman’s voice immediately began protesting. She must be the aide named Priya who Clint knew spoke Arabic.
“You can’t take our phones away from us. We need them,” she practically shrieked.
God, are none of these people reasonable?
“What’s going on?” A man asked in English. His voice had a distinct tremor. It was probably the senator.
“They want to take away our cell phones,” Priya answered.
“Here,” another woman said. “You can have mine.”
Hallelujah, another smart journalist!
He blew out a breath.
“Don’t give your phone to them. We need to have a record of this,” the senator protested.
“Sir, do you want to get out of
this situation alive, or not?” Dare asked in a calm voice.
Obviously, Mason had given Darius point on this since he had already established a rapport with the mother and son.
“What did you say?” the young boy asked.
“I am telling this man to cooperate with your father,” Darius said in Arabic. “Nobody here is a spy. My friends and I were sent to help people like you and your mom. We were also sent to find these people and take them home. They are not spies, they are journalists who need to hand over their cameras and notes so that your family is protected.”
“Son, these people cannot be trusted.”
“Yes they can, Papa. He fixed my arm. Look.” He shoved up the sleeve of his shirt and showed a bandage that Darius had applied. “He helped a lot of people,” he said as he pointed to Dare. “Please Papa, don’t hurt them. He is my friend.”
Clint watched as the man looked at his son. For just a moment his eyes cut over to look at his wife. He must have seen something in her eyes, because he started to talk to Darius.
“I will release them, if they relinquish their phones and notes, as you have suggested. But they must leave Idlib immediately. The enemy is headed our way, I must get my family to safety.”
“What did he say?” the senator demanded to know.
“Give me your cell phone and any notes you took,” Mason said, holding out his hand.
“No.”
Clint walked in, holding his rifle at his hip, his expression fierce. “Lieutenant, I’ve gotten word that the Hayat Tahrir al-Sham are on the move. They are looking for the senator. If he’s taken, they’ll make an example of him. We have to leave now.”
“Rebin’s father won’t let them go until they relinquish their notes and phones. They seem reluctant. Maybe we should just leave them,” Mason replied.
“Not me,” the reporter spoke up. “I handed over my cell phone. Here’s my tape recorder, and all my notes.” She thrust them at one of the other men who were standing beside the Kurdish rebel who still held the senator by his throat. “If you had any sense, you would too,” she said as she looked at Priya and the senator.
Her Unbroken Seal: A Navy Seal Romance Page 2