by Eric Meyer
“You know what I mean. If we run into trouble, we’ll need something that can throw plenty of lead.”
He nodded. “I concur. First chance we get, we’ll pick up a couple of assault rifles. And you never know; this State Department guy may be able to help. They have contacts everywhere.”
When they walked out the helipad, the aircraft was waiting for them. The pilots saw them coming, and the rotor blades began to spool up. They climbed aboard for the short flight to the International airport, and after a short wait in the departure lounge they boarded a C-130 cargo aircraft on a cross-country training flight to Andrews. The pilot was a rookie, and his instructor must have had nerves of steel, for the takeoff was enough to make a man wish he’d taken the bus. The rookie pulled back on the column too soon and failed to push the throttles forward to maximum. They almost stalled as the instructor took over and put the nose down, ignoring the need to gain altitude while he fought to keep the aircraft in the air.
Eventually, they reached cruising height, and the rookie took over. The flight was uneventful until they began to descend for the landing. Somehow, he failed to use sufficient flap, and the big four-motor aircraft was in danger of overshooting the runway, until the instructor applied emergency brakes and full flaps. They climbed under the aircraft, and Ryder grinned at Nolan.
“I guess that was the most dangerous part of the operation. How do you feel after that experience?”
“Stirred, but not shaken.”
They went inside the terminal, passing the military checkpoints, and went to the agreed rendezvous next to the gate. He had no doubt they were in the right place. Four MPs with bulldog faces were standing there, weapons drawn, next to an unmarked aluminum flight case. Nolan approached the officer in charge, a lieutenant.
“Kyle Nolan and John-Wesley Ryder, we’re here to meet the State Department courier.”
He grunted a brief reply. “Show me your IDs.”
They handed them over, and he took several minutes to scrutinize them, comparing them with a clipboard he had under his arm. Finally, he nodded.
“They seem to be in order. The civilian said he had to make a call. He’ll be back soon. You’re armed?”
“We are.”
“Okay, we may as well hit the road now you guys have taken over. So long, guys, and good luck with the courier.”
There was something in the way he said it, as if he knew something they didn’t. Something bad, but Nolan didn’t dwell on it. They were guarding a huge pile of cash, and they stood over the aluminum case, like it contained the entire gold reserves of a sizeable country. Which wasn’t far from the truth. Several minutes elapsed, until a man approached them. He walked up to Nolan holding up his State Department credentials. But the SEAL wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at something else. The guy had three vertical, parallel scars on his face. He blinked and looked again. Feeling an intense hatred welling up inside him. He saw Ryder’s expression change, and he knew he was about to commit a real murder here inside the Andrews departure building. He was mumbling a biblical verse, and he strained to hear what it was.
I will inflict you with seven more disasters for your sins. I will release wild animals that will kill your children and destroy your cattle, so your numbers will dwindle and your roads will be deserted.
“Not now, John-Wesley, not now.”
He didn’t blame him. His mind was whirling with images of Helen Shapiro lying in a pool of blood, murdered by this man standing in front of him. Ryder was almost losing it, and he had to do something fast. Like the Admiral had said, they were in enough trouble, and they had to keep their noses clean. And despite Ryder’s obvious determination to take revenge, to extract an eye for an eye, he knew this was the wrong time and the wrong place. He was a serving officer in the United States Navy, and the mission had to come first. His and Ryder’s feelings would have to come second. Although he wasn’t sure how long they could bottle them up.
Chapter Three
They were still trying to take in what Custer had told them. Killing the bad guys was SOP, and they’d done it plenty of times before. But this was different. An assassination of the head of government was serious stuff. More than one war had started after such a killing, although Bryce reminded himself there was already a war going on inside Syria. Several wars, if you did the math.
But still, there were plenty of questions, and he put the most important one to the Lieutenant.
“Lt, what’re the reasons for taking him out? I mean; it’s not small potatoes, taking out a Head of State.”
Custer nodded. “I understand why you’re concerned, and I can assure you there are good reasons. A couple of weeks back, the Syrian Defense Minister passed on intelligence about a possible expansion of the war in Syria. He told us the President, Bashar al-Assad, has negotiated an agreement to buy a number of bombs from their allies, the Russians.”
“The Russians are already supplying them with bombs. Plenty of bombs, and no one is complaining so far.”
“These bombs are different, Master Chief. They’re nukes, kind of. They call them dirty bombs, and when they explode, they’ll spread radiation across a wide area, and anyone inside that area is deemed to die a very nasty death. They’re struggling to contain the Kurds, so they plan to drop them on heavily populated Kurdish areas and wipe out the population in a series of strikes. If it happens, the Pentagon estimates it could start a war on a much wider scale. Maybe even nuclear. The only way to avoid it is to knock off al-Assad.”
“Nuclear war,” Bryce breathed, “Jesus Christ, he must be a lunatic.”
“The Russians aren’t exactly sane for supplying these things. So far, it’s a limited number, around four, but the rest are on the table.”
“Have they lost their marbles?”
Custer grimaced. “There’re those who say they never were in possession of their marbles. Not lately.”
“That’s true. Where’s the LZ?”
“Outside Damascus. The Defense Minister has arranged for some of his people to meet us there. They’ll find us a place on Assad’s intended route. We lie up until he comes past, and then we take him out. After that, the Defense Minister will take over the country and cancel the order for the bombs. He’ll also arrange to get us out of the country.”
“Why can't his people do it themselves?”
“Because they don't know who to trust. If anything went wrong, al-Assad would crucify him.”
Will nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. This arrangement to get out of the country, what is it?”
“After the hit they’ll supply us with an SUV, and we skip south into Israel. The Israelis will meet us after we cross the border and escort us to Tel Aviv, where we'll catch a regular flight back to the States. There’s one more thing Master Sergeant. We'll operate exclusively at night, and I insisted we wear our uniforms. We’re not spies, and we fight as soldiers.”
Bryce shuddered. It was the worst idea he’d ever heard.
Maybe he wasn’t wrongly named. The guy wants to ride into enemy territory, flags flying, and bugles trumpeting the advance. He’ll soon find out it’s a fast route to an unmarked grave beneath the sands of Syria.
“That's not a good idea. If anything goes wrong they'll recognize us a mile away.”
His face adopted a stubborn expression. “That's my decision, so that’s what we’re gonna do. I think that’s enough for now. The General's people will meet us at the LZ, and they’ll take us into the city.”
He paused as a crewman came aft from the cockpit. “Forty-five minutes, gentlemen.”
Custer acknowledged. “Okay, saddle up.”
Bryce winced.
Saddle up! Who does he think he is? No, I don’t need to answer that one. I know exactly who he is. A man named for a heroic but flawed leader who’d led his men to their deaths. Not this time, pal. Not on my watch. You have some strange ideas about SEAL operations, the kind of ideas that get men killed. If I think you’re leading us into disaster
, you’ll get the first bullet.
They were running out of time, and Will made sure they’d checked their equipment. Parachute harnesses, oxygen supplies, altimeters strapped to their wrists calibrated and confirmed, and the all-important weapons loaded with full magazines. Some of them carried Hector and Koch HK417s, some M4A1s, Zeke Murray a SAW, or Squad Automatic weapon, and Vince Merano an SWS Mk 11 sniper rifle with a mounted Leupold Vari-X Mil-dot riflescope. Normally, they’d use two snipers. But this time Kyle Nolan, the other Bravo sniper, was on the bench. Not allowed to leave the United States, until the little matter of two murders had been cleared up.
* * *
If Waverley noticed anything amiss, he didn’t mention it, although he looked unhappy about having an armed escort.
“There was no need. A pair of armed guards will only attract attention. It would have been better if they’d kept this as a solo effort. Low-key.” He gave them a sour look; “Still, as you’re here now, you may as well make yourselves useful. I have to find somewhere quiet to make a call. It’s official business, not for your ears. You know what’s in that case, so don’t take your eyes off it.”
He stalked away, and the two SEALs exchanged glances. Ryder grimaced. “He’s pretty snotty for a junior desk polisher from State. He won’t look so pleased with himself when he finds out what I have in store for him.”
Nolan knew it had been coming. Ryder was at times a loose cannon. His code of conduct had been breached in a major way, and in his world, there was but one remedy. He felt the same way, for Helen Shapiro had been an exceptional person. Saving their asses that time in trouble, and the night afterward they’d spent together was stamped in his mind. She was brave, she was beautiful, and she was dead. He had no issues with seeing Waverley go down. But not yet. The mission had to come first, but afterward, then it would be different. He looked at Ryder.
“I agree, but not yet. Not until we’ve made sure this cash reaches the people it’s intended for. After that, who knows? The Mideast is like an Islamic version of the Wild West, except a lot worse. At least in the West, they weren’t prepared to commit mass slaughter, and punish and hound women to death for the crime of being female. Wait until we’re done. There’s something else you should think about, getting him to face justice in Washington would be the right thing to do.”
“Not according to the Book.”
He’d spoken in a murmur, keeping his voice low, but from that moment on, Nolan knew he’d have to work mighty hard to keep the mission on track. Which although it grated on his conscience, meant keeping Waverley alive. For now.
They boarded a C-17 for the long overwater flight to the Middle East. Nolan reflected they were following the route of his Team. Except while they were carrying out the operation which he should have led, his job was to babysit an accredited State Department official and murderer. The flight was monotonous, and they sat in the uncomfortable folding seats in the cargo hold. Him and Ryder on one side, and Waverley on the other. Between them, almost like an unexploded bomb, the aluminum case packed with cash. He had another thought, that amount of money could only attract trouble, and he turned to Ryder.
“If the Kurds know the money is on the way, the word could have spread. We need to stay alert. If the wrong people know about it, we could hit trouble from the moment we land.”
John-Wesley had been staring at Waverley with a fixed intensity, but he jerked his gaze away.
“I hear you, but sidearms and combat knives won’t be enough if we get into a firefight. We need assault rifles and any other hardware we can get our hands on.”
He was right. “I’ll see what I can do.”
They landed at Incirlik, carried the aluminum case down the ramp, and Waverley told them to fetch the vehicle from the parking lot.
“It’s a white Toyota Land Cruiser, and you’ll find the keys tucked under the front fender. Bring it here, and load the case in the trunk so we can get on the road.”
He was handing out orders as if they were no more than unskilled laborers, at his beck and call. Nolan fought himself to ignore the insult. The mission took first priority, not his personal feelings. They followed the signs in Turkish and English for the parking lot. The only white Toyota Land Cruiser was parked on the far side of the lot at the side of a concrete store, so it was almost out of sight with just the hood poking out.
“That must be it. Let’s grab it and get this show on the road.”
Ryder strode ahead, as if he was even more eager to get started, or maybe more eager to get finished, so he could deal with Waverley. Although Nolan was skeptical, he couldn’t blame the guy for the way he felt. He felt the same way. It was just he had an idea it could be the wrong move, and he recalled Admiral Jacks’ warning not to kill anyone else. Ryder reached the vehicle and slowed. Nolan walked a few more paces and stopped. Two men had appeared from behind the vehicle, and they weren’t mechanics making sure the vehicle was ready for the journey.
Not unless mechanics had taken to carrying assault rifles. He’d identified them as American M-16s at the same time as he was preparing to meet the threat. At first, he assumed it was simple robbery, a street mugging. He was working out how to handle it, whether to hand over his wallet first, or jump them before they sensed their two victims didn’t plan to remain victims for long.
Ryder has slowed, but he was still walking toward them when one man shouted in English. “Stop, put up your hands or we kill you.”
Something was wrong. This wasn’t a classic robbery. It was more like a hit. His Sig Sauer was on his hip under his jacket, and he mentally prepared to make a grab for it. He was still working out the timing when Ryder moved. His hands went up, and in a move that would have done justice to a stage conjurer, where there had been just ten fingers; all of a sudden he was holding a knife. His arm went back in a flowing movement that was almost graceful, nothing to alarm the guys with the rifles. They probably hadn’t even spotted the knife or understood the danger.
The arm went forward, the knife flew a short distance, embedding itself in the chest of the man who’d ordered them to put up their hands. Ryder was already running forward before the knife struck, arrowing straight at the second guy. He nearly made it. The man with the knife sticking out from his chest was dying, and in his death throes he threw out a hand that by coincidence collided with the SEAL’s face and over his eyes. For one vital second John-Wesley was blinded. The other man had time to bring up his rifle and aim at his head.
Nolan had no choice. In a draw that would have done justice to a 19th century gunfighter, he pulled out the Sig, took aim, and fired. A single shot intended to take him in the head, but his aim was off, and the bullet tore into his throat. He dropped his rifle and still on his feet, clawed at the gaping wound. His mouth was open, and lips moving as he tried to scream through his ruined voice box. Nolan ran at him and dragged him to the ground.
“Ryder, get the other guy behind the vehicle. We need to get them out of sight. This is a NATO airbase, and they’ll have heard that shot. In a few moments they’ll be pouring out of the woodwork.”
John-Wesley wiped his eyes to clear them and dragged the first body into the cover of the concrete store. They heard shouts in the distance, and incredibly, someone else was shooting. They were next to the perimeter fence, and about to hundred meters away, a guy was strolling around with a shotgun. He was taking aim at the wild birds of prey, which present a serious threat to aircraft taking off and landing.
Nolan peered out from the side of the Toyota. A squad of men had appeared on the other side of the lot, but one was pointing to the bird scarer and laughing. The rest of them joined in the fun, shrugged their shoulders, and disappeared. He let out the breath he’d been holding.
“That was close, damn close. Help me get these bodies inside the store. It’s the best we can do to hide them. Then we’d better get back to Waverley.”
The door wasn’t locked, and inside the ten feet square room was a clutter of abandoned tools, s
urplus wire from the fence, a number of steel posts, the dented wing from a vehicle, and even several car seats covered in dust. They searched the bodies for their magazines, found two for each weapon, and hid the corpses behind the debris. They hid the assault rifles in the trunk of the vehicle, beneath a tarpaulin. The Toyota started on the button, and they drove back to where Waverley was waiting. He eyed them with suspicion.
“You men took your time. I’ve been waiting here for almost a half hour. What took you so long? Was the parking lot busy?”
Nolan shrugged. “Not really, it was dead. No one around.”
His eyes narrowed. “No one?”
“Nope, not a living thing.”
He didn’t look happy, but they loaded the aluminum case in the trunk next to the rifles. Waverley seated himself on the rear seat, and they climbed into the front. Ryder drove, and Nolan took the shotgun seat. He was thinking about those two men in the parking lot, and something about it didn’t seem right.
Was it a robbery gone wrong, or something more ominous? The first attempt to steal the fortune in cash we’re carrying with us.
He now realized they were far from civilization. All across the Middle East, men were fighting wars. Wars were expensive, and they needed huge sums of money to purchase weapons and ammunition. To pay for soldiers, and invariably for the men behind the wars to take a substantial cut for themselves. Factor in the bribes, which were a way of life in this region, and without cash, the fighting would stop.
He decided to discuss the danger with Waverley. He turned his head, and the State Department courier was lounging in the back, like a billionaire inside his limo.
“Have you thought about anyone attempting to steal the money?”
At first he looked startled. “What are you suggesting?”
“It’s a lot of cash. Someone could learn about it and set an ambush for us along the route.”
“How could anyone know the route we’re taking?”
A shrug. “If they found out about the cash, checking out the route would be easy.”