Goliath

by Richard Turner

Sweat ran like a stream down Jackson’s forehead. The rough ground, strewn with rocks as big as their Rover, and deep holes the same size spread throughout the uneven desert terrain, made driving hard at the best of times. However, driving in the dark with NVGs was proving to be quite the challenge for Jackson.

  It took them close to an hour to cover the ten kilometers from their hiding spot to the sheer cliff rising a hundred meters into the night sky, an impenetrable rock wall barring their way ahead. They were relieved to find that this portion of the desert seemed devoid of people. If the army was busy looking for intruders, thankfully they weren’t doing it in this area.

  Jackson parked the vehicle in a dry river gully, and climbed out of his seat with his shirt glued to his body from perspiration.

  Mitchell grabbed his AK and moved over beside Jackson, who was busy shaking out the tense muscles in his forearms. He removed his NVGs and let his eyes begin their adjustment to the clear, star-filled night.

  “Now, what are we going to do? And please don’t tell me that we’re going to climb that cliff in the dark,” said Jackson, rubbing out the ache in his neck.

  “Okay then, I won’t tell you, but limber up, old man,” said Mitchell as he slung his rifle over his back.

  Mitchell walked over beside Fahimah and said, “Sorry to do this to you, but you’re going have to stay here while Nate and I see what’s going on up there.”

  Fahimah nodded her head in understanding.

  Mitchell moved over and dug under his seat, and then pulled out a Russian-made 9mm Makarov pistol. “Can you work this?” Mitchell asked as he handed the pistol to Fahimah.

  With a wink, Fahimah pulled the slide lever back, chambering a round. “Ryan, I may be an intelligence analyst, but I try to attend all the range practices I can back at the complex.”

  Mitchell smiled at Fahimah and grabbed one of the hard-sided briefcases they had stowed in the back of the vehicle. He opened it and removed something that looked like a child’s toy. In Mitchell’s hand was a mini UAV that looked to Fahimah like a giant insect. It had four rotor blades on arms that extended out from the body of the craft, and a powerful mini-camera that could send back clear or thermal images. Mitchell quickly checked that all of its systems were working before placing it on the hood of the Rover.

  “Let’s see what we can see,” said Mitchell as he moved his finger over the mouse pad of a small control tablet. A second later, the UAV rose into the air. Moving his finger from side to side to get a feel for the UAV’s capabilities, Mitchell looked up at the cliff face and then sent the drone climbing up into the night sky.

  Fahimah and Jackson stood quietly, watching the feed on another small, handheld screen.

  It took the UAV mere seconds to reach the top of the cliff. As it hovered in the dark, Ryan swung the UAV around so its camera could observe and record what it saw. Switching the camera over to thermal, Mitchell scanned the rocky terrain, looking for heat signatures that could indicate if soldiers were moving around up there. When he saw none, Mitchell sent the drone up higher into the night sky. A few seconds later, the brightly lit dig site came into view. The UAV’s distance was limited to one kilometer; it might make it over to the site, but then again, it might not. Mitchell decided not to press his luck. Banking the craft over, he looked for anyone hiding among the rocks, but found that the ground was cold and empty. He had seen enough and quickly brought the UAV back down to the Rover.

  “If we’re not back by first light, get the hell out of here. Don’t linger a moment longer than you have to,” said Mitchell to Fahimah. “Contact Sam and Cardinal, and tell them what we’re doing. If you ever feel that your life is in danger, don’t hesitate. Make your way to their location as fast as you can.”

  Fahimah nodded and then wished Mitchell and Jackson luck as she put the drone away in its case.

  Mitchell grabbed a couple of extra water bottles, closed the door to the Land Rover, and then walked over to Jackson, who was busy jamming as many magazines as he could into his chest-rig.

  “Ready for a little nighttime stroll?” said Mitchell, looking up at the cliff face in front of them.

  “As long as I don’t have to climb a sheer rock face in the dark, I guess so,” said Jackson, knowing that was exactly what they were about to do.

  Fifteen minutes later, Mitchell rolled over onto the rocky ledge and lay on his sweat-soaked back, staring up at the brilliant night sky as he inhaled deeply, filling his aching lungs with much-needed oxygen. Millions of stars shone in the darkness of space. Across the heavens, a shooting star raced past and quickly disappeared from sight. Mitchell made a wish and then turned back to the edge of the cliff as a hand thrust itself up onto the ledge. Mitchell reached down, grabbed Jackson’s hand, and then helped pull his huffing and puffing friend up onto the top of the cliff.

  “Just for the record, Ryan Mitchell, former U.S. Army Ranger Captain…I hate you,” said Jackson. Rivers of sweat poured down his face as he opened a bottle and took a long, deep gulp of refreshing water.

  “I know, Nate, but don’t forget that we still have to get down the same way we came up,” said Mitchell as he took his AK off his shoulder and cradled it in his arms, ready in an instant, should danger arise.

  Jackson felt every spare pound on his frame. He took another long swig and made himself a promise to lose some weight once this was all over.

  A breeze swept its way across the plateau like an unseen river, bringing with it the smell of diesel. The rhythmic hum of generators, and the glow from powerful lights danced on the horizon just over a kilometer away.

  Mitchell dug a small pair of binoculars from his vest pocket and looked toward the light. He couldn’t see a thing, but his gut instinct told him that Jen was out there somewhere.

  “Come on,” said Mitchell, helping his exhausted friend onto his feet.

  For the next half hour, they cautiously approached their target. They moved using whatever cover they could, constantly on the lookout for any sentries who might have moved away from the dig site. So far, their luck had held. They had yet to see a living soul on the ridgeline when suddenly, Jackson let out a surprised yelp as he tripped over something and came crashing to the rocky ground. Mitchell was about to tell Jackson to be more careful when a shape rose unexpectedly from the ground. Like a ghostly specter rising from the grave, an astonished soldier took one look at Mitchell, fear filling his eyes. In the next second, the man panicked, flung down his AK, and then ran off into the night.

  “Damn it, they’re always in pairs; find the other one,” snapped Mitchell at Jackson, as he sprinted after the fleeing soldier. Mitchell knew that they must have stumbled upon a couple of soldiers who had just come on duty. However, instead of doing their job, they had decided to take a quick nap.

  The uneven ground was strewn with rocks, but that didn’t slow Mitchell down at all. Adrenaline raced through his veins. He had to catch the soldier before he warned anyone else. The escaping soldier was fast, but not fast enough. Mitchell closed the distance to mere meters. The frightened man turned to look over his shoulder, only to strike a rock and lose his balance. Staggering like a drunk, the soldier started to tumble head over heels. Mitchell dove at the man, using his weight to pin him to the ground.

  The soldier soon found himself outmatched by Mitchell’s size and strength.

  Mitchell couldn’t risk the man alerting his comrades. He balled up his right fist and smashed it hard into the soldier’s face, knocking him out cold. Holding still for a moment to make sure they had not inadvertently alerted any other sentries, Mitchell bent down, tore several strips from the soldier’s shirt, and then quickly bound and gagged the unconscious man.

  A few minutes later, with the incapacitated soldier slung over his shoulder, Mitchell returned to where he had left Jackson. Another unimpressed Mauritanian soldier lay hog-tied on the ground. Mitchell tossed his still-sleeping companion down beside him.

  “I found these lying on the ground next to Sleeping Beauty, he
re,” said Jackson, holding up a pair of old-looking AK-47s.

  “We’ll take them with us,” said Mitchell, as he looked down at the tied-up sentries. “I bet these poor sods are out here all night with no relief, and that’s why they were sleeping.”

  “That means they weren’t expecting anyone to come around to check on them, either. The door is wide open. I do love sloppy soldiering.”

  Mitchell looked over at the dig site. “Shall we see what the hell is going on?”

  “Yeah, let’s,” Jackson said, hauling the extra AKs onto his back.

  Romanov’s cold, uncaring eyes stared at Jen and Mrs. March, as they on a bench outside the tent, with a warm blanket draped over them. He had no doubt that Jen would soon deliver what she was expected to, so there was no real need to keep her mother alive anymore. He had thought about killing Jen, too, but decided to keep her around a little while longer, just in case he needed her. The question was not when, but where he would have Mrs. March killed. Picking up his Motorola, Romanov called for his daughter Nika and Teplov to join him.

  Mitchell slowly crawled up beside a large boulder that looked like a coyote howling at the moon, and brought his binoculars up to his eyes. Below him, he could see the brilliantly lit dig site. He let out a low whistle as he surveyed the area. Hundreds of soldiers frantically worked away, removing the sand and rocks as fast as they could. It reminded Mitchell of an old black-and-white Hollywood film, in which a pharaoh used an army of slaves to build the pyramids. Mitchell zoomed in on several jagged pieces of the metal superstructure projecting out of the sand. It looked to him like the carcass of some large animal after the buzzards had gotten to it. Mitchell noticed a couple of large tents near the dig; he could see well-armed mercenaries walking back and forth on guard in front of the tents. A chill descended on Mitchell; they were not Mauritanian conscripts, but well-paid mercenaries. They would be much harder to deal with than the poorly trained soldiers guarding the outer perimeter of the site.

  Jackson maneuvered his large frame in beside Mitchell. “See anything?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

  Mitchell handed him the binoculars. “We’re in the right spot, but things just got a whole lot more difficult,” he explained as he pointed out to Jackson the well-armed mercs patrolling the inner perimeter.

  “I see fifteen of ’em,” Jackson said, lowering the binoculars. “Those odds aren’t great.”

  He knew Jackson was worth a dozen men in a fight, but tonight they needed to be quiet. Rushing in with guns blazing would not help their cause. “No, those odds aren’t spectacular. Fifteen or more well-armed mercs against two poorly armed former Rangers? I pity them.”

  Jackson turned to his friend. “Seriously, Ryan, what do you want to do?”

  Mitchell thought about it for a minute. “Well, we didn’t come this far not to look around. I want you to stay here and cover me. If I’m not back in an hour, make your way back to Fahimah and then link up with Sam and Cardinal.”

  “No way, I’m coming with you,” protested Jackson.

  Mitchell looked into his friend’s eyes. He knew Jackson would move heaven and earth for him; his loyalty and friendship were never in doubt. “Nate, two of us snooping around out there are more likely to be discovered a hell of a lot quicker than one. I need you to cover my back and come up with something to get us out of here, should things turn ugly.”

  Jackson knew Mitchell was right but did not want to admit it. “Okay, you win this one, but you had best get your butt back here in an hour, or you’ll have to answer to Master-Sergeant Jackson. You got it?” said Jackson as he shook Mitchell’s hand.

  Crawling like a thief in the night, Mitchell vanished into the shadows.

  Mrs. March lay in Jen’s arms, fast asleep. The toll of the past few days had caught up with her. Jen sat, rocking her mother back and forth while she. Looking up, Jen felt a horrible chill crawl down her spine the instant she saw Nika and a tall man walking toward Dmitry Romanov. She stared at the man, fighting to stifle a scream. Fear instantly knotted her stomach. He was the same butcher who had killed Professor Laurel in cold blood, and tried to kidnap her in Charlotte. She looked around for a place to run, to hide, but she couldn’t move. Jen knew she could never leave her mother alone with these monsters.

  Nika Romanov was dressed in a formfitting, tan, one-piece outfit. She chatted in hushed tones with her father for a moment. Seeing Jen, she left her father’s side and, with a menacing smile on her face, strolled over to where Jen was cradling her mother in her arms. Nika looked down at Mrs. March; her face was devoid of any emotion.

  Jen’s skin crawled just looking at the younger Romanov; she thought the woman had the cruelest eyes that she had ever seen.

  “She looks exhausted,” said Nika. “Let’s put her down on a cot in my father’s tent.”

  “It’s okay. If you don’t mind, I’ll hold onto her for now,” replied Jen.

  “I wasn’t asking,” Nika said.

  Jen nodded and allowed one of Chang’s men to pick her mother up in his arms. The soldier carried Mrs. March over to an adjoining tent and delicately put her down on a green army cot. Jen carefully covered her with a warm woolen blanket.

  Nika waited until Jen was finished and then stepped forward until she was mere inches away from Jen’s face. “I think my father puts too much faith in you,” said Nika, her loathsome eyes boring into Jen’s.

  Jen wanted nothing more than to smash her fist into the revolting woman’s face. Keeping her head held high, Jen stood her ground and pushed back. “I suspect your father has more faith in me than he does in you or your sister.”

  A flicker of anger rippled across Nika’s face. “Your time will come soon enough, and I’ll see to you personally,” snarled Nika, before turning on her heel and storming out of the tent.

  Jen stepped over to the entrance of the tent. She looked out into the cool darkness and ran her hand through her hair, letting out a deep breath. She wondered if the night could get any worse.

  Mitchell moved carefully, until he was about one hundred meters away from the dig site. Throwing his AK over his shoulder, Mitchell stood up and sauntered forward, deciding that it would be best if he tried to hide in plain sight. If he kept out of the light, Mitchell thought he might be mistaken for one of the guards. He walked toward a couple of Jeeps parked just outside of the searchlight’s glare. He quickly checked the vehicles, and was relieved to see that they both had keys in their ignitions. A sigh of relief escaped his lips; so far, fortune was still smiling on him. Mitchell was about to go and check out a couple of tents in a nearby depression, when he froze in his tracks. Barely fifty meters away, illuminated in the entrance to a tent, was Jen. His heart raced, and a smile crept across his face at seeing Jen alive and unhurt. Mitchell knew he had to get closer. He dug through the back of the vehicles until he found a discarded kaffiyeh. Mitchell wrapped it freely around his head to mask his face as best he could. With his AK held loosely by his side, Mitchell walked toward Jen.

  The night air was starting to get cold. A shiver crawled down Jen’s back. She wrapped her arms around her chest to keep herself warm. She took one more look into the night, seeing nothing but the dark, empty expanse of the desert. She was about to step back inside the tent to warm up, when she saw one of Romanov’s hired killers appear out of the dark. Jen thought it was odd, but it looked like the man was walking straight toward her. The hair on the back of her neck went up; something was not right. Jen was about to take a step back when the man lunged at her. In a flash, he threw a hand over her mouth and another around her waist. Jen, her heart pounding in fear, fought desperately to break free. She struggled for all she was worth, but found herself dragged into the dark. Jen felt herself pulled down onto the hard, rocky ground. A thought flashed through her mind. Was this what Nika had meant when she left? Was she going to be raped and killed now that she was not of any use to the Romanovs anymore? If she was going to die, she was not going to allow her attacker to get away u
nscathed. She turned her head, lashed out and dug her teeth deep into the man’s hand. A second later, she could taste the warm, coppery taste of blood in her mouth.

  “Goddamn it, Jen, that hurts,” said her attacker in English.

  Mitchell pulled down his scarf and looked into Jen’s deep-brown eyes. He had never been so happy or relieved in his life to see someone alive. Mitchell raised a finger to his lips, telling Jen to be quiet.

  Jen’s eyes lit up; she couldn’t believe it. She let go of her pent-up emotions, threw her arms around Mitchell’s neck, and pulled him in tight.

  “Easy does it, Jen,” said Mitchell, trying to pull Jen away from his neck. “You’ll choke me if you keep it up.”

  Jen let go and looked into Mitchell’s blue-gray eyes. “How on earth did you find me?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

  “It’s a long story, but we have to get moving before we lose the cover of night,” Mitchell said, as he went to stand.

  Jen hesitated.

  “What is it?” asked Mitchell, helping Jen stand.

  “I can’t go without my mother,” said Jen.

  Mitchell swore. “She’s here with you?”

  “Yes, she’s fast asleep in that tent,” Jen replied, looking back toward the canvas structure.

  “Can she run?” asked Mitchell.

  Jen shook her head. “She’s exhausted, and wouldn’t make it ten feet before we were both shot by the guards.”

  Mitchell bit his lip in anger. He could not believe that he had come all this way only to have to turn back without Jen.

  “Ryan, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave without me,” said Jen.

  “I can’t leave you here, not after finding you,” said Mitchell, tightly holding onto Jen’s hands.

  “Ryan, I trust you with my life. You’ll just have to find me again,” said Jen, with tears welling up in her eyes. “A man called Dmitry Romanov is financing this dig. He has an oil refinery just to the west of here. I have no doubt that Mother and I will be there by tomorrow evening once he finds what he’s looking for out here.”

  Mitchell started to say something when Jen leaned forward and gently placed her lips on his.

  Jen took a step back, a weak smile on her face. “Get going, Ryan, and find a way to get us home. Do you hear me, mister?” she said, fighting back the tears.

  Mitchell let go of Jen’s delicate hands and took a step away from her. He struggled to keep his emotions in check. He couldn’t believe his bad luck. To make it this far only to have to turn back tore at him. Mitchell knew that Jen was right; he had to leave her and try again.

  Mitchell gently wiped a tear from Jen’s face. She grabbed his hand for a second time and then let it go. Without saying another word, she turned her back and quietly walked back out of the shadows heading back to her tent.

  Mitchell wanted to run after her but knew that it would be pointless. He had to get going. A rustling noise from behind made Mitchell spin around. He found himself looking straight into the face of a startled guard. Without hesitation, Mitchell swung the butt of his AK up and struck the man in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The man doubled over in pain. He brought up his rifle and swiftly brought it down hard on the man’s head, knocking him to the rocky ground. Mitchell did not care if he had killed him or not. Unlike the Mauritanian conscripts, this man chose to be here. He was someone who killed for money, and that made him a target. Mitchell dropped to one knee, brought up his rifle, and quickly scanned about to make sure that he was alone. He decided that it was time to head back and join Nate. Mitchell’s stomach dropped when he heard the distinct whooshing sound made by a flare arcing up into the night sky. He flung himself to the ground. A second later, the flare popped open, bathing the desert in an eerie mix of bright-green light and long dark shadows, as it rocked from side to side in the wind, slowly descending from the sky. He raised his head slightly. Mitchell could see armed men running to the spot where he had left Jackson.

  After a few seconds, the flare burned itself out, plunging the world back into darkness. Jumping up, Mitchell sprinted toward the empty Jeeps.

  Shots rang out into the night; Jackson was being hunted.

  Teplov heard the flare rocketing up into the air. He snatched up his Motorola and screamed into it, demanding to know what was going on.

  Only confused and garbled messages came back over the Motorola.

  Cursing, Teplov threw the Motorola in the corner of the tent. He grabbed his AK and ran to the open entrance to see another flare floating through the air.

  Automatic gunfire filled the air. Tracers shot back and forth in the dark.

  “Stay with Romanov and the women,” snarled Teplov at the two closest mercenaries, as he sprinted off in the direction of the gunfire.

  Mitchell ran as fast as his legs would carry him. As he turned a sharp bend in the trail, Mitchell saw the Jeeps. An armed man had already jumped in the nearest vehicle and was trying to start it. He did not bother to slow down. Leaping over the back of the vehicle, Mitchell landed beside the startled driver. A solid right hook sent the man tumbling out of the Jeep. Jumping over into the driver’s seat, Mitchell released the parking brake, changed gears, and then slammed his foot on the accelerator. Like a hunting dog straining at a leash that was suddenly released, the vehicle leaped forward, churning up sand and rocks behind it, as Mitchell sped off into the dark.

  Mitchell did not bother with the headlights; he knew they would only draw unwanted attention and gunfire. Turning the wheel hard over, Mitchell headed in the direction of the gun battle, his AK resting close by on the seat next to him. As he drove cross-country, the borrowed vehicle bounced up and down like a bucking bronco, as Mitchell seemed to hit every rock in his path. Driving like a madman, Mitchell knew that he had to close the distance to his friend before it was too late.

  Another flare flew through the night, again illuminating the desert for all to see. Mitchell could see muzzle flashes coming from all around Jackson’s position. A soldier who had tried rushing forward was cut down. Another soldier popped his head up to take a shot only to have it shot off instead. Jackson was a crack shot and was proving it tonight.

  Teplov stopped in his tracks. His anger boiled over. He could not believe his eyes. There was Mitchell, barely a hundred meters away from him, driving a stolen Jeep out of their secure camp. He didn’t even bother to aim. Teplov, firing from the hip, emptied his entire magazine in the direction of the vehicle before throwing the empty weapon away in a fit of rage.

  From somewhere out of the night came two soldiers running, frantically trying to get Mitchell’s vehicle to stop. Paying them no heed, Mitchell kept his foot jammed all the way down on the gas pedal. One of the men rushed out in front of Mitchell, waving his hands, trying to get Mitchell’s attention. Without even bothering to slow down, Mitchell rammed the vehicle straight into the man, sending him spinning over the top of the Jeep like a rag doll, his body landing behind the vehicle in a bloody and shattered heap. The other soldier, seeing what had happened, stopped in his tracks and went to raise his rifle, only to be dropped by a well-aimed burst of automatic fire from Jackson.

  The sound of rounds flying overhead sounded like a whip cracking right next to his ears, but Mitchell ignored them as he quickly rounded a tall boulder behind Jackson’s hiding spot and then slammed on the brakes.

  “Move your ass, Nate!” yelled Mitchell.

  A long burst of automatic fire ripped from Jackson’s AK, pinning several men in a gully below him before he jumped up and sprinted down the slight embankment. He did not so much jump as tumble into Mitchell’s waiting Jeep.

  “Drive,” muttered Jackson, as he tried to catch his breath.

  Mitchell changed gears and thrust down as hard as he could on the aged vehicle’s gas pedal.

  Another flare streaked across the night sky, opening up right above Jackson’s old fire position. Gunfire erupted as a group of soldiers stormed the abandoned position.

  Jackson
pulled his seat belt over and locked it in place. He looked over his shoulder and saw long shadows creep along the desert floor as the flare burned itself out. They were safe for now in the darkness, as they drove away from the dig site.

  “That was a bit too close for comfort,” said Jackson, slapping home a fresh magazine into his AK.

  “What happened?” asked Mitchell as he finally slowed down, trying not to hit every boulder and rock on the ridge.

  “One of our sleepy-headed soldiers must have gotten loose. Before I knew it, there were people crawling all over my position. I had to do something, or I was going to get caught,” explained Jackson. “What about you?”

  Mitchell looked over at Jackson. “I found her.”

  “So where is she?” said Jackson, looking in the back of the empty Jeep.

  “She wouldn’t come,” said Mitchell.

  Jackson sat there, speechless for a moment. “What do you mean, she wouldn’t come?”

  “Her mother is with her. She wouldn’t leave without her. We just have to figure a way to get them both tomorrow from Romanov’s refinery,” said Mitchell, his mind racing as he tried to determine his next course of action. He needed a plan to get Jen and her mother back. “Get a hold of Fahimah on your satphone, and tell her to pull back immediately and RV with us in Ouadane.”

  Jackson nodded, dug out his phone from his chest rig, and passed on Mitchell’s directions to Fahimah.

  In the distance, Teplov ground his teeth, knowing that his quarry was escaping him yet again. “Not this time!” swore Teplov. Turning on his heels, he saw the answer to his problem. A smile broke on his face. In the distance sat an MI-8 helicopter, its crew already warming up its engine in anticipation of taking off. He grabbed a radio from a passing soldier and gave a set of orders to Chang. His eyes burned with hatred. This time, there will be no escape, thought Teplov.

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