Killing Ground

by Eric Meyer

  “Yeah, top security.”

  They helped themselves to brand new, factory fresh AKMs. Nolan took an AKSU still coated with grease and wiped it clean. Bryce and Ryder found something even more lethal, a box of grenades, which they shared out between them. They went into the living room, and Nolan considered the best way to handle it. It was clear the decision was his, even though it was Custer’s operation. The Lieutenant had sunk into a shell, a man out of his depth, and longing to be back inside the safe confines of his office.

  "We have a choice, to wait here for him to come back, or go out there, find the shooters, and take them down before al-Assad arrives."

  Stern raised his eyebrows. "You'd do that for a brutal dictator?"

  Nolan shook his head. "I'd do all that to prevent a nuclear war.”

  They walked outside, and they found the Nissan. To their relief, Misha hadn’t driven off, which he’d half expected. They climbed in, a tight squeeze, and Custer, huddled in the rear, tapped him on the shoulder. “About the radiation. We must have absorbed a strong dose, and I’m worried. I’m thinking about a decontamination shower and a change of clothes.”

  He stared at him in disbelief. “Custer, are you seriously suggesting we knock on the door of the Syrian Atomic Research facility, and ask them nicely to use their facilities?”

  “Well, uh, I’m not sure.”

  “You can forget it. As for the duds, I’m not sure whose stupid idea is was to wear American uniforms.” Custer reddened in embarrassment, “But the sooner we get you out of those camos, the better. Forget the decontamination. If you’re worried, there’s a river runs through the city. Go for a swim.”

  “You think that would fix it?”

  “Nope, but they say the current is fierce, so you’ll probably drown. Then you won’t need to worry.”

  He didn’t reply. Misha drove to the nearest street market, of which there were plenty in Damascus, and they purchased new clothes. If anyone noticed the foreign camos, they didn’t mention it. Men with guns discouraged people asking questions. The SEALs stripped off in a makeshift canvas changing room behind the market stall and tossed the contaminated gear in a dumpster. Nolan began to relax. They looked like civilians, less likely to attract attention, and the irradiated gear had gone. They’d have to wait for the shower. If they didn’t stop Youssef, the entire region would be at risk of fatal contamination, maybe the entire Mideast.

  Misha took them to a wealthy area even closer to the Presidential Palace. They were in time to see Youssef drive away in a government limo, and they let him go. The priority was the man pulling the trigger the following day. Youssef they could save for later. They reached their destination, a multi-story parking lot. Five floors were already complete, the sixth still under construction. They could see cement mixers close to the edge and heaps of concrete blocks piled high. For a shooting stance, it would be perfect. Perfect in every way, except to assault it would present more than a few problems.

  To minimize the risk of thefts and attacks in an area no stranger to frequent thefts and attacks, they'd enclosed the gaps between floors with ornamental concrete blocks. To further improve security, they'd installed heavy steel security doors at the entrance and exit to the building. No doubt because of the impending drive past of President al-Assad, the steel doors were securely locked shut, with additional heavy steel chains wrapped around them.

  “I can pick them,” Zeke said, “And I’ve no doubt Colonel Stern could handle them, but they’d notice when they made further checks. My guess is the shooters got in before they locked them, and after the hit, they’ll abseil down from the rooftop.”

  Nolan looked up at the solid, unyielding face of the building. Short of climbing, there was no way in. And if they climbed, it’d have to be at night. Any attempt during daylight would expose them to passing patrols.

  “There’s something we should consider,” Colonel Stern said, “When Youssef gets back to his villa and sees we escaped, he could change his plans. The guy who gave us the location of this place is sure to tell him, and he could see that as a danger.”

  Nolan shook his head. "You're forgetting something. If Youssef finds out the guy has told us the location, he'll cut off his balls. No, that guy will keep quiet. The Minister won't know what we know. If we can get inside that place, we can take out the shooters and stop the hit. But in the meantime, we need to find somewhere we can stay out of sight until tonight."

  Misha assured them he could find a suitable place, a diner where they could get food and good coffee and stay off the street for several hours. He drove to a shabby-looking diner, and parked the Nissan out of sight in the next street. They sat on ripped plastic upholstery and waited while the waitress, a sour-faced older woman took their orders and brought them coffee. The coffee was drinkable. The food wasn't so good. An unappetizing mix of leathery meat, almost certainly mutton, in a watery stew, but it was hot food, and they gratefully spooned it down.

  When they finished, they ordered more coffee and started to relax. The place was dimly lit, and the windows so streaked with grime impossible to see inside from the street. Nolan felt good, confident they'd be able to save al-Assad. And prevent Youssef from seizing power and starting what amounted to the preparations for nuclear war inside the Middle East. He even started to doze, feeling his eyes start to close, until several shouts from the doorway brought him back.

  They were the kind of men a person could encounter anywhere in the world. Street thugs, dressed in a mix of Arab and Western clothes, hair greased back, and the expressions on their sneering faces no less greasy. He ignored them at first, although kept a wary eye on them. They looked like they'd been smoking weed or some other drug, and were also passing a bottle of liquor between themselves. The trouble started when without thinking Rachel murmured something to Stern in Hebrew. Four heads jerked around, and the sneering expressions became belligerent.

  Two of the thugs climbed to their feet, throwing their chairs backward and advanced toward their table. They were staring at Rachel, and suddenly everything in the room went quiet. Like they'd discovered an unexploded bomb, and people were waiting for it to detonate. They didn't have long to wait.

  “Are you a Jew?" the smaller man snarled. He spoke English, like many people in the Mideast, and of course they'd have overheard them conversing in English.

  She gave him a casual glance. "As I'm female, the correct term would be Jewess. But in fact, I’m an Israeli."

  He took another step toward her. "We don't like Jews in here. They make the food taste bad."

  He was angling for a fight, but Rachel stayed calm, unfazed by the aggression. "Personally, I thought the food already tasted bad, but that's just my opinion. We wouldn't put up with it in Israel. You really ought to visit sometime."

  He spat on the floor. "I don't like being in the same room with Jews. You should get out while you still can."

  Stern rose to his feet intending to intervene. Nolan winced, knowing it was the wrong move. They were in enemy territory, and the last thing they wanted was a fight that may bring the cops.

  "Listen, why don't you leave her alone? She’s not doing any harm."

  He glared at Stern. "Are you a Jew as well?”

  “As a matter of fact I’m an Israeli, too. Why don’t we all cool it? There’s no need for any violence.”

  “There’ll be violence if you don’t get out and take this fucking Jewess whore with you.”

  Nolan resisted the urge to put the guy on his back, still cautious about doing anything that may endanger the mission. The others remain patient, and even Stern kept a calm expression on his face, although inside he must’ve been boiling.

  Ryder wasn’t calm. It wasn’t in his DNA, in his blood, and his upbringing. He slowly climbed out of the chair and strolled toward the two men, stopping in front of the one who’d been doing the talking. He fixed him with a hard gaze, and if the guy had any sense, he’d have taken the hint. He didn’t. Ryder was scrawny, no more than av
erage height, and looked anything but threatening to those who didn’t know him. Nolan almost pitied the mouthy Arab.

  “Apologize to the lady.”

  Perhaps it was the way he looked, and the way he spoke that at last began to send warning signals to the two Syrians. But they weren’t about to back down. “To a Jew? Never.”

  “Like the lady said, she’s an Israeli. I won’t say it a third time. Apologize, or you and me are gonna fall out.”

  Nolan was tempted to try to stop him from taking further, but he knew it would be like trying to stop an express train.

  The Syrian glanced at his bigger companion as if for reassurance, at the other two men still sitting table, and back at Ryder. “Are you serious? Step back, or you’ll find yourself out in the street waiting for an ambulance. Back off, and if you know what’s good for you, you will take these Jews out of here and never come back.”

  Ryder sighed. “Like I said, I won’t tell you a third time.”

  The Arab started to open his mouth, but Ryder seemed to sway forward, and in a lightning move locked his wrists around the guy’s throat, using his considerable strength to force him to the floor. His eyes were bulging as he struggled to breathe, staring up at the implacable face above him, “If I twist any harder, I’ll break your neck. I’m running out of patience, so what’s it going to be? You want to say you’re sorry, or do I have to spell it out for you?”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” He looked at Rachel, “Please, I didn’t mean anything.”

  It should have stopped the trouble, but the big guy with him thought otherwise. His face red with anger, he glanced at his pals. “Get them!”

  They jumped to their feet, knocked over the table, spilling their drinks to the floor, and the three men rushed at Ryder. It was enough, and Nolan and Stern jumped up to meet them. Custer snarled at the other SEALs to stay out of it. It became a brawl, and Nolan took on the big man who’d been so enthusiastic about getting into a fight. He was strong, powerfully built, like a heavyweight boxer or wrestler, and he got in a hard punch to the SEAL’s belly that took the wind out of him. But he’d been in plenty of fights over the years, and he reflexively twisted away to avoid the flurry of punches that followed.

  After a second to recover his breath, he went on the offensive. Dodging more punches by swerving backward, he bent his knees and ducked beneath the guy’s flailing fists and began taking him apart. A hard, three-punch combination into the kidneys caused his breath to whistle out in pain, and as his hands came down to protect himself, Nolan decided he’d had enough. It was time to finish it before they completely destroyed the diner.

  He ignored the upturned tables and chairs, the glass and crockery that had smashed over the floor, and bored into the big Arab. His head was vulnerable, and he slammed a hard uppercut into his chin, grabbed hold of his hair, following up with vicious punch that smashed his nose. The guy was screaming in pain, trying to disentangle himself from an opponent he’d miscalculated. A man he’d assumed would be no problem, and now the American was beating the crap out of him. Blood was pouring from his ruined nose, and he held up his hands to favor the damage.

  Big mistake, Nolan hammered in two low punches, and a final swinging blow to the groin. This time, he squealed in agony, cowering back from the man who was causing so much pain.

  “Please, don’t hit me again.”

  Nolan hit him again, a left uppercut that connected with his chin. His feet left the floor, and he sailed back into a mess of broken crockery, glass, and uneaten food. The other men were finishing up. Stern had used Krav Maga, the Israeli system of unarmed combat, to demolish his opponent who was unconscious on the floor. Ryder was just finishing with the man who’d attacked him, and the only one left was the one who’d started the fight. And he intended to finish it.

  He started forward, pulled a knife from his belt, and held it high, ready to plunge down into Ryder’s body. “Infidel, you deserve to die!”

  Almost casually, he blocked the downward thrust with his left hand. His right went under his coat, and the huge combat knife appeared in his hand. He slashed up across the other man’s wrist, and almost immediately blood poured out on the floor. His face mirrored his pain and disbelief as he dropped his knife, clutching his wounded wrist.

  Ryder stared at the bloody wound dispassionately. “I warned you, pal, but you wouldn’t have it. I suggest you get out into the street and wait for the ambulance.”

  He stared at the woman who’d been serving the food and was standing behind the counter. “This guy needs an ambulance. He’s hurt bad. He’ll be waiting outside.”

  She began shouting and screaming into the phone in Arabic. She could have been calling an ambulance, but the likelihood was she was calling the cops, and seconds later, they heard the wail of a siren in the distance. They were all on their feet, and Custer shouted at them to get out while they still could.

  It was sensible advice, and they left the diner in a hurry. Misha was waiting with the Nissan, and when he saw them coming, he started the engine. They drove away, and he took a roundabout route away from the diner.

  “I heard the sirens, so I assumed the cops discovered where you were.”

  “Just a misunderstanding,” Will Bryce rumbled, “I don’t know why these guys get so riled.”

  He nodded. “I’ll find somewhere else we can wait.”

  He threaded his way through the streets, finally stopping inside an abandoned shell-damaged bus station. The place was eerie, with the buses still inside, all of them damaged. He turned off the engine, and everything was quiet.

  Until Rachel snapped at Ryder, “What do you think you’re doing, starting a fight over me? I’ve encountered men like those all my life, and I’ve learned to deal with them. They’re my problem, not yours, so stay out of it.”

  He stayed calm, like he’d stayed since the fight started. “Men hitting on women are my business. And sorry, lady, but it’s the way I was brought up, and I ain’t gonna change now.”

  She calmed a little. “Don’t think I’m not grateful. It’s just that it’s not necessary.”

  “Neither is eating kosher food. But that’s what a lot of folks believe.”

  “Eating kosher is in the Torah, the Jewish Bible. Where did you get your ideas from? Not the Christian Bible, I’ll warrant.”

  A shrug. “I read the Bible, always have, but you’re right, that’s not where I got my ideas.” He tapped his head, “They’re all up here, lessons I learned when I was brought up. I don’t need no written book to tell me what’s right.”

  She didn’t reply at first, digesting what he’d said, but finally gave him a gentle smile. “Thank you, John-Wesley. You’re an old-fashioned gentleman. Not many of them around these days. But next time, I’ll handle it myself.”

  He didn’t reply, and the SEALs knew there was a snowball’s chance in hell of him staying silent when a man was treating a woman badly.

  They climbed out of the Nissan and began to explore the derelict bus station. Rubble lay everywhere where the roof had caved in from the shelling, falling on the buses, damaging them beyond repair.

  Ryder caught up with Nolan. “She’s a feisty one, that girl of yours.”

  It took him by surprise. “That girl of mine?” He was surprised anyone had noticed, “What makes you think she’s mine?”

  He chuckled. “Because I’m not blind, Boss. Every time you look at her, I see the expression in your face. You’ve fallen for her. I don’t blame you. She’s some woman.”

  “She’s an Israeli. They make them tough over there.”

  “Amen to that.”

  They split up and continued exploring the building, climbing over the heaps of rubble from the fallen roof. Some of the buses were completely submerged beneath fallen concrete, but others no more than partially damaged. Nolan found one almost intact, although the roof was severely bent beneath the weight that had landed on top of it. He went inside, and to his surprise the seats were mostly undamaged, apart f
rom a fine layer of dust. He turned when Bryce poked his head through the door.

  “I’ve posted Zeke on sentry, so we should be safe enough. I’ll relieve him after the first hour. Ryder’s next, and how about you take the fourth watch?”

  “No sweat. Will, I’m thinking about bedding down here for an hour or two. I could do with the shuteye. We could have a long night ahead of us.”

  He nodded. “A long night and a long fight, all depends what we find when we reach that parking lot. I’ll leave you to get some rest.”

  He left, and Nolan piled some of the loose seat cushions on the floor. He lay down, but his thoughts were racing. Thinking about the assault on the parking lot. It would be a hard climb to reach the top without ropes and grappling hooks. They’d have to manage it, and he tried to visualize the location of downpipes and any other means of climbing to the top. Although even if they managed to take out the shooters waiting for al-Assad, they still had a long way to go before they could safely conclude the mission they’d come to Syria to carry out. Waverley. He was the bogeyman. The guy who single-handedly had deprived the Kurds of desperately needed funds. A man who’d left them for dead, assaulted Rachel Dayan, and intended to profit from the misfortune of the Kurdish fighters in the north. Yet the chances of locating the bastard were almost infinitesimal.

  There was at least one other problem, and that problem had a name. Lieutenant George Armstrong Custer, an unfortunate name for a man who was nothing like his famous predecessor. He smiled to himself, thinking what the Lieutenant would have done at Little Bighorn. Probably the guy would send an interoffice memo to Crazy Horse, suggesting they meet in three months’ time to discuss a negotiated settlement. He sighed, realizing he’d be up against to get them back to San Diego without suffering serious casualties, to stop General Youssef from turning the Middle East into a nuclear inferno, and complete the assignment from Admiral Jacks. And then there was the shit waiting for him if he failed.

  A tough mission, but isn’t that what I signed up for?