by Eric Meyer
Rachel came up with the sole suggestion. "I can do it. I have the Sig you gave me tucked under my shirt. All I need do is walk in there, find the General, and put a bullet in him."
He was appalled, but Col Stern was adamant she wasn't to try it.
“Even if you got in, and even if they didn't search you and find the gun, the moment you pull that trigger, they'll kill you. No, it won't work."
"It will work." She spelled out her plan, and it was hard to fault it. She removed the handgun from where she’d tucked it into the waistband of her pants and slid it up inside her shirt. The barrel rested in her cleavage, and the butt just below, "You know what these Arabs are like. They'll be all over me, and the first place they'll want to put their hands is on my breasts. And that's the first place they'd expect me to refuse to allow them to touch. Once I get inside the villa, I'll find Youssef and kill him."
"Like I said, the moment they hear the shot they’ll find you and kill you."
She looked at Stern, seemingly amused by his attitude. "Not if you staged a diversion. If you attack the moment you hear the shot, your shooting coming from the front will confuse them. Hit them with as many bullets as you have, and while they're looking to the front, I'll be over the wall at the back."
She stared at Nolan, as if pleading with him. "Kyle, I don't want to die, and I don't want anyone else to die. Including my fellow Israelis, who would be caught up in any nuclear exchange. Youssef is the key. He has to go down. When we've made our escape, we can contact the Syrians, and tell them what Youssef has been up to. If they want proof, all they need do is look in the basement for those bombs and on the roof of the parking lot. That will be all the proof they need."
He wavered. Looked at Stern, and looked at the others, and no one was able to find any flaw in the plan.
Of course, it could fail. Any plan can fail, but do we have anything better? I hate having to agree, but sometimes a man has no choice.
"Okay, we’ll go for it."
She turned so she had her back to the men and was facing Nolan. His eyes almost popped out of his head as she unbuttoned her shirt, tucked the barrel of the Sig Sauer beneath her bra between her breasts, with the butt hanging below. He’d seen those firm, luscious breasts before, in the bus when they made love. But here, almost in public, it was an experience.
When she was ready, she grinned. Almost like she was looking forward to it.
“Give me ten minutes to get in there and find him. As soon as you start the assault, I’ll put a bullet in him, and get out the back way.” She leaned forward and gave him a swift peck on the cheek, “Ten minutes, don’t be late.”
Then she was gone, strolling out of sight on her way to the gates of the villa. He watched her, out of sight of the sentries, her bravery astonishing him. Everything about her astonished him, including the way they’d got together. He didn’t want to lose her. Not for anything. After the long months and years of isolation and loneliness, with nothing to look forward to, no one to go home to, Rachel meant more than anything to him. He admitted to himself he’d walk through the fires of hell to get her out of any situation.
She chatted to the sentries for several minutes, and then she disappeared inside. He checked his wristwatch. “Five minutes, then we hit them. Make them think the Seventh Cavalry is riding into the attack.”
Custer scowled. “Aw, leave it out. All my life it’s been hell with that name.”
“Like a boy named Sue?” Bryce smiled.
“Worse.”
They locked and loaded, found firing positions, and waited. He counted down the final minutes, and then the seconds. As the sweep hand on his watch hit twelve o’clock, he shouted, “Open fire!”
They blazed away, and the first bursts took down the two soldiers on the gate. More bullets swept the courtyard, and men were diving for cover, several clutching their wounds as bullets tore into them. Nolan didn't feel any remorse. These guys were actively taking Syria on a path toward nuclear war, and they’d do whatever it took to stop it happening. Rachel was inside the building, and he hoped she'd be safe from their fusillade. After the initial burst, they switched to single shot, continuing to pepper the courtyard with bullets. But not swamp it with so many they’d soon run out of ammunition.
The Syrians took their time responding, but after the first three minutes, several assault rifles opened fire, the muzzle flashes like bolts of lightning in the night. Then they brought in a machine gun. They tucked in behind cover, and let the shooter spray the buildings harmlessly with a hurricane of bullets. They had no shortage of ammunition, and the fire became heavy and continuous. He was still checking the time, and a half-minute before ten minutes had elapsed, he held up his hand.
"That’s it. We're skirting around the back to pick Rachel up. Follow me, and watch out for that machine gun.”
He was worried he’d left it too late. Because of the curtain of gunfire pouring from the villa, the narrow alleyway they had to cross was alive with flying lead. They waited for precious seconds until the magazine ran out, and while the gunner was changing, they ran across, skirting around the rear perimeter wall. She wasn't there. He felt a heavy feeling in his guts, worried something had gone wrong, and he forced himself to stay calm. She may need a few more minutes, but he made up his mind to give it no more than another five. Fifteen minutes should allow her ample time to carry out the hit, and if she wasn't out by then, she wasn't coming out. Once again, he felt the fear of losing her, so soon after he'd found her.
If anyone has laid a hand on her...
Again, he fought to stay calm.
It won't help her by conjuring up images of tearing into the enemy and turning them into shreds. I need to keep a cool head if I’m to help.
Fifteen minutes came and went, and still she wasn't there. "Will, I'm going in. Give me a hand to get over the wall."
He didn't argue, understanding the extent of his anguish. Stern tried to stop him. "Lt, she's an Israeli, and I'm an Israeli. Let me do this."
"Not a chance in hell, Col."
He nodded, as if he'd expected nothing less. "In that case, let me go with you. I can cover your back."
"You'd be welcome, but we need to do this now."
Both men slung their rifles on their backs. Will helped him up, and Ryder, surprisingly strong, formed his hands into a stirrup to push Stern to the top of the wall. The other side was dimly lit, with a single security light on the side of the building. He dropped down into the shadows of the wall and waited for Stern.
"We'll go straight in through the back door and start looking for her."
"Do you think she's still alive? She's Israeli, and Arabs don't hesitate before they pull the trigger."
"She's alive," he responded fiercely, "I know she's alive. Let's go."
He unslung his AKSU, Stern tucked his Uzi in his arms, and they ran across the rear courtyard. The door was locked, but they found a window slightly open and climbed inside. The villa was alive with shouts and screams. Men bellowing orders, and he heard two female voices. They'd be Youssef's daughters, probably wondering what the hell was going on, and why the war had come to their home.
He used hand signals to indicate Stern should go to the right and check out the huge kitchen and adjacent dining room. His plan was to approach the living room and look inside, where he was certain if they'd caught her, they'd be holding her; prior to either killing her or imprisoning her in that deep basement room next to the leaking nukes. Which would be tantamount to killing her anyway. Footsteps echoed along the hall, and he went back, waiting around the corner with his knife in his hand. The guy turned the corner and saw him. Too late, he put his hand around the guy’s mouth, his knife blade resting against his throat.
"The girl, where is she?"
His eyes were wide with terror, "Girl? Which girl?"
He let him sample the knife, sliding the blade across his neck and drawing blood. "Where is she?"
His voice was ragged with terror. He pointed to a d
oor. "In the General’s study."
"What're the doing to her?"
He didn't reply, and Nolan knew. Sick with rage, he chopped a hard blow into the carotid artery, and he went down. He almost ran to the door he’d indicated and opened it a fraction.
She was in there, and she was a prisoner. Two men held her, one with each arm, while General Youssef stood in front of, screaming at her to tell him what she planned. They'd already given her hard time in the few minutes since she'd been captured, and one eye was closed, her face covered in bruises, and a trickle of blood showed from her nose.
"Tell me! Why did you come here, was it to kill me? Is that why you had the gun?"
They'd relieved her of the Sig and ripped open her shirt, slicing through her bra in the process. Her breasts were partly visible through the remains of her clothing. He felt the white hot fury of a man whose mate has been injured and assaulted by brutes, and he kicked open the door with his boot. He didn't stop to consider how best to handle it, and popped a bullet into each of the men holding Rachel. Not a quick kill, but a bullet into the belly of each man, so they fell to the floor screaming in agony. Before he could respond, he swung the muzzle around to Youssef.
"You bastard, you've screwed with us for the last time."
"No, no! Don't kill me. I can help you."
"There’s one way you can help me, and that's by dying." He took aim at the man’s head. The bullet left the muzzle of the AKSU and tore into the center, straight into his brain. He went down and stayed down, on his way to whichever hell was waiting for brutes like him. He ignored the screams of the two men he'd shot and put his arms around Rachel.
"Don't worry. I'll get you out of here."
She gave him a weak smile, and he felt a wrench inside after what she’d gone through. "They took the Sig. I'm sorry, I lost it."
He cast his gaze around study, and it was lying on top of a bookshelf. "You didn't lose it. See, it's here."
He took it and pressed it into her hand. "We're getting out now, and don't be afraid to use it."
"Don't worry, I won't."
Her clothes were in tatters. He stripped off his coat and put it around her. "That'll do until we get out. Colonel Stern is in here somewhere. We’ll pick him up on the way out."
He led her out into the passage, supporting her with one arm around her shoulders. They made no more than a half dozen paces before all hell broke loose, gunfire and more. The sound of breaking crockery, pots and pans clattering over the floor, the screams of injured men, and the sound of running feet.
"That'll be Stern. He was looking for the kitchen. I guess he found it."
He was helping her along the passage when he heard them approaching from behind. They rounded the corner, four Syrian soldiers, and he let them have it with the remaining bullets in the magazine. He was out, but the men he'd shot had plenty of magazines, and he helped himself to half dozen, along with a spare assault rifle and an AKM.
"Let's go find him."
They burst through the door into the kitchen, and it was a scene of carnage. Several soldiers had burst inside when one of the cooks had shouted for help, shooting indiscriminately, without caring who was the target of their bullets. The cook and his helper were both lying on the tiled floor, and three soldiers lay close by, shot by Stern. Three more soldiers were hiding behind a huge stainless steel freezer, taking pot shots at the Colonel. Stern was the other side of the kitchen, across the floor littered with bloodstained crockery, glass, and saucepans. Some of them had been full of food, now smeared in the mess, mixing with blood and broken fragments of kitchen equipment.
The stainless steel freezer gave them good cover, and it was thick enough to absorb the impact of Stern's 9mm bullets. But they'd made a bad mistake. Three men in a building under attack by an unknown force were enough for the need to cover their backs. Yet they were so eager to kill the Israeli, they ignored the danger from elsewhere in the excitement and determination to be in on the kill; an Israeli, a Jew, something to boast about when they got backs to their barracks.
He had other ideas, and they didn't include returning to their barracks. He inserted a fresh magazine in the AKSU, selected full auto, and pointed it at the three Syrians. He squeezed the trigger and didn't let up until the firing pin clicked on empty.
There were no screams, no attempts to escape. The colossal force of the bullets ripped into them, and they stood no chance. The three bodies hit the floor, and Stern emerged from cover. He looked relieved until he saw Rachel. He rushed forward, his face filled with concern.
"What did they do to you?"
A shrug. "They were Arabs, what do you think they did?"
He winced. "We'll get you fixed up soon as we get out of here. Lt, we need to get out now."
"You're not kidding me. Take Rachel, Col. I'll cover our backs. We’ll go out the way we came in."
They were about to leave when he heard more footsteps approaching. He retraced his steps to the corner and almost ran into the two daughters.
The pretty one said, “You have come to kill our father, General Youssef?”
“He’s our enemy, Ma’am. If he wasn’t stopped, the war in the Mideast is about to get a whole lot worse. I’m sorry, but if it’s necessary, that’s the way it is.”
The ugly one pushed her sister aside. “Mister, you don’t understand. If you get the chance, we want you to kill him.”
“Excuse me?”
“Omar Youssef is evil. He treats us like chattels, as gifts to be given to one of his subordinates in return for favors. He has promised me to the deputy head of Syrian intelligence.”
“Is that right?” In his opinion, she’d be lucky to find someone to marry.
“He is sixty-eight-years old, and about to retire because he is a permanent invalid.”
Maybe not so lucky.
“My sister has yet to learn of her fate, but it will not be pleasant. In addition, he...he does things.”
She reddened, and she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Ryder had joined him, and his face was growing red with anger. “Ma’am, don’t worry. We’ve already taken care of it.”
“Thank you.”
“Cursed he who holds back his sword from shedding blood.”
She looked puzzled. “What was that?”
“He said ‘no problem,’ Nolan said, “We have to go.”
They ran, sprinting to the perimeter wall, and Will Bryce jumped down to help lift Rachel over. They were quickly over the other side and made their way to where Misha waited patiently in the Nissan. He started the engine the moment they were all inside and drove away through the darkened streets. Behind them, men were firing, and it sounded like a gun battle was still raging inside the villa. He smiled to himself.
They'll be spooked, shooting at each other, too busy to worry about who started the fight, and whether they’re still inside.
"Where do you wish to go now? We should get out of Damascus."
Before he could answer, Rachel replied, her voice fierce and filled with fury. "Not until we catch up with Waverley."
He glanced at her. "I thought you said he wasn't worth it."
She looked at him and swallowed, "I meant the money. It must reach the Kurds."
"You think he'll still be inside the city?"
"He'll be here," Stern said, "Waiting for the hunt to die down. He won't move until he knows it's safe."
Nolan wondered how he'd arrived at that conclusion, and it seemed to him the Colonel knew more about the mission to the Kurds than any outsider should know. Then there was Rachel. She'd taken it to heart, getting the money to them. He decided it was because she regarded the Kurds as allies of Israel.
They’re Muslims, sure, traditional enemies of the Jews. But they’re also the sworn enemies of the Syrians, who themselves are avowed enemies of Israel. The logic’s simple. The enemies of my enemies are my friends. That has to be it.
In the meantime, Misha drove them to a small eight-room guesthou
se on the edge of the city.
"It's run by an old friend of mine. We served together in the Army. He's a Syrian, but he bears no hatred toward the Kurds."
They checked in, and Nolan carried Rachel up to the double bedroom they'd automatically assigned to them. The others shared two other bedrooms. He lay the girl down on the bed and refused to allow her to get up.
"You've been badly hurt. Let me attend to the cuts and bruises first."
She slumped back down without further objection, and he went to work, improvising with torn strips of cloth to wipe off the worst of the blood that smeared her. She was still in shock after the beating, and he left her for a few minutes to order coffee and food from the reception desk. She was grateful for the hot, sweet coffee, and he spooned several mouthfuls of food into her. His tender care, or maybe it was the coffee and the food, made a difference. She finished and demanded he let her take a shower. He helped her undress and get into the bathroom. The water streamed over her splendid, firm body, and he stood watching. She shampooed her hair and gave him a coy glance.
“Are you going to stand there while I wash?”
“I don’t want you to fall or anything. You were badly hurt.”
“Is that the only reason?”
He smiled at her coquettish tone. “Sure it is. Well, other than the fact I’m enjoying it. Which man wouldn’t?”
“As long as it’s just you. This isn’t a public show, you know.”
“If you change your mind, I’ll start selling tickets.”
The bar of soap flew through the air and hit him on the chest. He grinned and handed it back to her. “Was that some kind of a hint?”
“More of a warning. I’m okay now, so you can get out of here.”