by Rick Jones
Then he began to prattle off numbers in his head, a countdown. “Two-fourteen. Two-thirteen. Two twelve . . .”
And then it dawned on the Vatican Knights what he was talking about: the Semtex charge.
Kimball got to his feet and addressed Jeremiah. “We’ve a little over two minutes to create a lot of space from this hillside. So, we need to move and move fast. Contact the chopper and have them ready.”
While Jeremiah was responding to Kimball’s commands, Kimball kneeled where the doctors were administering aid to stop Shari’s wounds from bleeding. Then he said: “Give her to me.”
Doctors Gregor and Mayne looked at Kimball quizzically, as if the intrusion was unwarranted. But it was Mayne who spoke. “This woman needs immediate attention.”
“Give her to me.” The way Kimball spoke, it was more of a demand that had a hint of warning to it, something not to contest.
As the doctors rose to their feet, Kimball looked up at them. “We have maybe two minutes to reach a pair of choppers waiting for us at the extraction point. If you’re not out of the blast radius of this hillside by then, you, your nurses, and everyone else will be dead.”
The doctors looked at each other questioningly.
And then from Kimball: “Go!” And then to his team of Vatican Knights: “See the assets through! Get them to the choppers!”
While Jeremiah and the rest of the team ushered the hostages toward the extraction site, Isaiah kept his ground. “What about you and Shari?”
Kimball lifted Shari off the sand gently and into his arms, the man still on his knees. “Go. I’ll be all right.”
“Kimball—”
Isaiah didn’t know what to add but could only assume. Kimball, while carrying Shari, would never make it beyond the blast radius.
Eventually, Isaiah found his words. “We can have the choppers move closer. We can—”
But Kimball was against this. “The blast would take them down. The choppers can’t handle the concussive waves.” Then Kimball pulled Shari close to him, the woman unconscious, but he could still feel her warmth. Unable to look Isaiah in the eyes, he said softly. “Go.”
Maintaining his ground with his reluctance to part from Kimball’s side great, he leaned down and placed a hand on Kimball’s shoulder. “God be with you,” he stated as a whisper, then he raced across the landscape to meet up with the rest of the Vatican Knights.
Kimball, with the crook of his finger, reached down and gently drew back the errant lock of hair that hung across her forehead. Her face was slick with sweat and had a greasy sheen to it, as her eyes remained closed while her chest rose and fell in even rhythms.
We can do this, he thought. You and I . . . Together . . . We can do this.
Kimball rose from the sand, a shape that was tall and large and gifted with unimaginable strength, with a woman who was once his friend, and then a stranger, and once again his friend, within his arms.
Unable to manage to maintain the same speed as those who carried no weight or burden, Kimball did his best to drive as much distance between them and the hillside.
We can do this.
Inside his head, the Semtex timer continued its countdown.
. . . 01:56 . . .
. . . 01:55 . . .
. . . 01:54 . . .
CHAPTER FIFTY- EIGHT
At the opposite end of the tunnel system, Khayyam and Akeem commanded the exit way that was a few kilometers from the ‘Gateway.’ They had set up obstruction stations to contain those who had breached the tunnel system of the camp. Of course, they could be anywhere within the arrangement of mazelike corridors that were too numerous to count. Khayyam’s job was to manage the conscripts who had little knowledge of weapon’s use but were crudely instructed on weapons nomenclature and operation. Akeem had dominion over the veterans as their lieutenant under Ahmed Ali’s orders. And together, the conscripts and veterans had formed a single unit whose sole purpose was containment. Anyone who did not belong was to be terminated with extreme prejudice.
Khayyam paced the corridor that was lit by a string of lanterns with his AK-47 gripped tightly in his hands, the big man ready for battle. Akeem was a little more patient as he perched himself on a stone, wondering if the enemy would show itself as a multi-headed creature in the dress of elite soldiers. After all, the only one seen was the woman, which Ali sent Qadir and Alfarsi to corral and entertain. As far as he knew, the situation may have already been contained.
Along the corridor in the dim lighting, conscripts as young as fourteen and under the keen watch of the veterans, manned rifles that were nearly as tall as they were. They were silent because the ‘virgins of war’ usually were before the fight. In their mind’s eye they saw carnage and violence play out with some level of romanticism. But deep down they also knew the consequences. Paradise, at so young an age, was not as appealing to them as it was to those who had fought and killed and bled upon the battlefield.
While nerves were frayed in some, whereas the psyches of others had prepared themselves for such moments, no one knew of the catastrophe that was about to befall them. The hillside had become a storage facility of high-end, military-grade explosives. And these catacombs underneath, these darkened warrens, would soon become a mausoleum to many.
* * *
Inside Ali’s chamber where the Semtex was rigged to blow, the meter continued its countdown.
In red LED numerals, the timing unit making its way toward zero hour.
. . . 00:03 . . .
. . . 00:02 . . .
. . . 00:01 . . .
Detonation.
The Semtex went off as directed by the timer, the plastique erupting with a colossal explosion that set other crates off in domino effect. From above the terrain, the earth rose and fell from the expansion underneath like a terrestrial burp, before the hillside began to collapse into the ground like a crevassed fault line, the landscape forever scarred.
* * *
Khayyam, Akeem and everyone else inside the tunnel felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere as a pressure so great raced through the tunnels with such intensity, the walls cracked, broke, and then heaved upward and outward before imploding, the ceiling and walls caving inward to crush everyone underneath.
For people like Khayyam and Akeem, Paradise came early. For others, either the sense of romanticism had ended, or their fears were finally over.
* * *
. . . We got this . . .
. . . We got this . . .
Kimball continued to goad himself along with Shari in his arms. His strides were strong as he continued to draw distance from the hillside. Then looking down at Shari as she wavered to and from consciousness after the doctors were able to bind the wound of her arm but not her leg, he wondered if any of this mattered.
. . . Are we still too close? . . .
. . . Or is it just a matter of time before the hillside goes and takes us with it? . . .
It was these questions that he pondered over as the clock in his head had wound down to zero hour with no results of the Semtex going off. Either the explosives had failed to go off, or his internal clock was off.
It was the latter.
Suddenly, the earth beneath them seemed to roll and pitch, which nearly cost Kimball his footing. And then the ridgeline along the hillside, that linear and pointed crest, erupted and pitched rocky debris skyward with some stones as large as Volkswagen Beetles and as small as a man’s fist. Either way, Kimball and Shari were within the trajectorial range of falling rubble.
As stones began to rain down, Kimball instinctively hunched his shoulders as if it would help avoid the showering of stones as he ran. Upon the impacts, the terrain shook seismically. Then boulders began to strike close by, all missing but not by much. Just as he was about to reach the periphery of the radius, a gargantuan size rock hit the surface about ten feet away with the impact creating an impression in the sand. The crashing effect lifted Kimball off his feet and carried him through the air with Shari goi
ng in one direction and he another. When he landed, dust exploded from underneath him and added to the floating granules that were already wafting about. Everything was yellow-brown and difficult to breathe, the air cloyingly thick. Though he turned in every possible direction, he could not find Shari. Soon the color of floating dust began to turn purple as the edges of his sight began to close inward, and then from purple to black.
Fading back into the dust of desert sand, Kimball slipped into complete darkness.
* * *
Above, the blurred image of a great bird flying overhead.
And then darkness.
Once again, the bird.
And once again, darkness.
As Kimball was coming to, the bird was no longer flying above him. But a moment later as blurred faces and recognizable voices leaned over him, he realized what he had seen was the chopper as it hovered overhead.
. . . You’re going to be OK . . .
. . . We got you . . .
. . . Everything’s going to be all right . . .
After being lifted into the bay of a chopper, he did not see Shari. Turning his head, just as the bay’s door was being slammed shut, he caught a glimpse of the second chopper but could not see its occupants.
Just as he was about to speak, darkness eclipsed him once again.
PART FOUR
WHEN ONE DOOR CLOSES
ANOTHER ONE OPENS
CHAPTER FIFTY- NINE
The Medical Facility
The Green Zone
Baghdad, Iraq
Two Weeks Later
By the time Shari Cohen became fully aware of her setting, she realized that she was back inside the Green Zone, though inside a medical center. She was propped up in bed at an angle with heavy bandaging around her arm and thigh. And because infection had set in, she was also tethered to an IV line that was connected to an antibiotic sack.
“Good morning.” The voice sounded vaguely familiar to her as her sight began to focus. Sitting beside the bed with his legs crossed and wearing a suit was Dominic Abernetti, who was a leading principal from Langley’s division that governed operational assets in the Middle East. He was someone who governed his resources from behind a desk or skyped commands through TV monitors. What he was doing here perplexed her.
“Mr. Abernetti.” The man was now in perfect focus.
“How are you feeling?”
She raised her heavily bandaged arm and glanced at her leg, which was also heavily wrapped. Lowering her arm, she said, “I’ve seen better days.” And then: “Why are you here?”
Abernetti maintained his smile. “I suppose you can consider this a personal briefing.”
“All the way from Langley. I don’t know if I should be impressed or frightened by what you’re about to tell me.”
Shifting position in his seat, he said, “The principals who witnessed your operational performance had questioned your ability to work in the capacity for which you were commissioned for. This, of course, coming after you failed to take down your target.”
Here it comes, she thought.
“However, you went above the call when you recognized the training camp as being more than just that, a training camp. It was a depot that housed high-grade military hardware and explosives that were to be shipped through shipping ports in the United States and the United Kingdom. Since shipping ports are poorly scrutinized due to the high volume of crates they receive, the chances of the Semtex getting through undetected was high but not foolproof. But shipping the items didn’t stop there. We were able to glean massive amounts of intel from the documents you sent back to us.”
Shari continued to look on with interest.
“The documents, Shari, were future strategies of major-event targeting in London, Washington, D.C., The Hague, Tel Aviv, Berlin, all listed with a number of political and intel heads of institutions named as key targets for assassination.” Abernetti’s smile finally faded. “You did well, Shari. Not only did you undermine Hassad’s plans, you also took down an entire facility even within the scope of physical limitations. What was impressive is that you saw the facility for what it truly was . . . and you were willing to take it down at the cost of your own life because you believed it was the right thing to do. And it was. There is no greater value than that of self-sacrifice. But that’s not all. The global events that were to take place under Hassad’s watch is only part one of what you uncovered.”
“What’s part two?”
“The actual process,” he answered. “The recruits were being groomed to enter these countries under student Visas. And since they would not be under the Watchlist radar because they’re too young to have a history, the premise behind the thought was for them to regroup inside these countries as off-the-grid cells and position themselves to strike against these targets in a coordinated effort.”
“That’s why the conscripts were so young, to avoid detection.”
“Arabs are a patient people. The process might have taken years to achieve. But the conscripts they pulled from the villages at such an age had reason behind it. But the time they fully committed themselves to the ideology of the Islamic State, they would have been old enough to be completely seasoned and fall completely beneath the radar. They would have no history, but they would have all the tools of the ISIS trade.”
“And this is why you came all this way, to pat me on the back?”
“Partly,” he answered. “I’m also here because you’re being designated to an area the Company believes is more suited to your strength.” And then: “You’re not wired, Shari, to perform assassinations. Maybe it would come to you in time, but the principals doubt it.”
“I thought I could see Ahmed Ali in the same way that I saw those who murdered my family, and those who held the same ideology that killing innocent people was acceptable. But I can’t and you’re right. I’m not wired to be like that, and I don’t think I ever will be.” Then she cocked her head in an inquisitive manner. “Since Company people are required to take a life when it’s considered in the best interest of the nation, what could Langley think would be best for me?”
Abernetti’s smile returned. “How’s your Russian?”
“Passable.”
“According to your records, it’s flawless.”
“Perhaps.”
“We have operatives inside the Russian state. What we need inside are operatives who can appropriate data and intel, and then forward them to our contacts in Prague. There’ll be no promoting of data by computer or other technological means. But by courier. And you, Shari, would be the courier. No killing. I promise.”
“Unless I’m protecting myself?”
“You’ll still be armed, yes.”
Shari looked at Abernetti with an odd look as if she was contemplating the matter. It was the perfect solution and answer of her inability to summarily execute somebody at will. Then her thoughts gravitated towards Kimball Hayden as she wondered how he was able to kill a man if he considered that person to be a cancer to the world, regardless if he carried weapons or not. Some people were simply built differently from others, she guessed.
“You seem perplexed about something,” Abernetti intuited.
“Just wondering, that’s all.”
“About?”
“Do you know what happened to Kimball Hayden?”
Abernetti shrugged. “He’s probably off doing whatever the Vatican Knights do, I guess.”
“Then he’s all right?”
“As far as I know.”
Shari was suddenly washed with overwhelming relief. “That’s good.”
After Abernetti reached over to pat her healthy arm and told her to get well, he rose and started for the door.
That was when Shari called out to him. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Abernetti turned with his hand on the doorknob. “About what?”
“I’m not one who handles failure easily. So, what I’m saying is that I’m sorry that Ahmed Ali got away.”
&nb
sp; Abernetti’s gave her a chuckle and said, “Are you sure about that?” Opening the door and exiting the room, he left Shari to wonder about his last statement.
CHAPTER SIXTY
Somewhere in the Syrian Theater of Operation
Just as Dominic Abernetti was singing his praises about Shari to Shari, Daryl Jacoby was sitting at his desk watching the overhead view of the desert landscape from a geospatial satellite that was closely monitoring a convoy of vehicles.
On his desk was the satellite phone that Shari had confiscated from Ali’s chamber. After forensics examined the unit and realized that the phone had only one purpose, which was most likely to contact Hassad directly since he was Hassad’s lieutenant, and that the unit only had one number committed to its memory, Jacoby picked up the device and dialed the fast-dial button.
Easing back into his seat, Jacoby put his feet on the desk and listened as the phone dialed once, twice, and then three times before someone picked up.
In Arabic, the man said ‘hello.’
Jacoby, while watching the screen and its overhead view, smiled broadly.
* * *
Hassad was quite displeased with Ahmed Ali, as they sat within the air-conditioned Mercedes. The vehicle was moving eastbound to a different set of coordinates where Hassad could reevaluate the situation. Gone were the recruits. Gone were the stockpiles of weapons and plastique that would have been so valuable to the cause. Gone were the plans of the future to have his people skate beneath the Watchlist radar to penetrate deep inside hostile territory.
“Tell me, Ahmed, just give me a good reason why I should not have you killed and made an example of. That’s all I ask, since I’m this close to removing your head myself.” Hassad, making his point, held his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.
Ahmed, who appeared as humble as any man could possibly be with his head bowed and his eyes cast to the floor, said, “Many pardons, my brother. May you in the wonderful graces of Allah please see that I have a chance to prove myself to you both.”