Killing Ground

by Eric Meyer

He left, but the memory of that body stayed with him for some time. When she emerged from the shower, she said she needed to lie on the bed for a short time.

  “To recover, not for anything else.”

  “I never thought otherwise. I’ll find the men, and we can talk about where we go from here. Say, Rachel, why is this Waverley business so important to you?”

  Her eyes flickered twice. “It’s not him. Like I said, it’s the money, getting it to where it’s needed.”

  He didn’t entirely believe her, but a moment later, she was asleep. Her breathing was heavy, and she was restless, tossing and turning. When he put a hand on her brow, she was hot, almost like she’d caught a fever, and he went next door. Stern was already there, talking to Bryce and the others, and he told them about Rachel.

  “She needs a doctor. I’m worried. They hurt her badly. They must have given her more of a beating than we thought. She’s a brave girl, trying to cover it up, but she may need treatment.”

  Stern looked concerned. “We need someone local to find a doctor, someone who knows how to be discreet. Misha’s in the lobby.”

  He was sitting in an armchair, and Nolan told him what she needed. “What’s important is he knows how to keep his mouth shut. Is it possible to find a Jewish doctor?”

  “There are no Jews in Syria.”

  “None?”

  “None. The Arabs drove them all out, like in other Arab countries. As for the other thing, there’re only two ways to make sure a man keeps his mouth shut. I assume you don’t intend to kill him?”

  “No.”

  “In that case, it’ll have to be the other way.”

  “We’ll pay.”

  He returned after an hour with a man in tow. He was tall, and for an Arab, he had an honest face. “This is Dr. Mahmoud,” Misha said, “He is a good man, and he will make a small surcharge to cover his silence.”

  “That’s good of him. A real healer.”

  He looked over Rachel, who was still sleeping, using a stethoscope. He took her blood pressure, checked her temperature, looked in each eye, and prodded her all over, causing her to groan. When he’d finished, he made tut-tutting noises.

  “She has a fever, perhaps blood poisoning brought on by the injuries. I will give you antibiotics, and an injection to fight the infection. She will need a week of rest before you move her.”

  “A week?” Nolan was aghast. He was about to say they didn’t have a week, but he stopped himself, “If that’s what she needs.”

  “It is.”

  He used a hypodermic to inject her with the antibiotic and gave him a packet of pills. “Give her these, five times a day for a week. Don’t forget, plenty of rest.”

  “I got it. Doc, you were never here.”

  “I understand.” He held out his hand, like he’d just carried their bags up to the hotel room. Nolan paid him twice the going rate, and he left. When he gave them the news, they weren’t over enthused.

  “We don’t have a week,” Bryce rumbled, “That bastard Waverley could get away, and besides, we’re on the run from the Syrians.”

  Stern coughed. “I spoke to one of my contacts earlier, and by now he will have spoken to the Syrian government about what Youssef was planning. They’ll check the roof of the parking lot and the villa, and they’ll find all the evidence they need. I doubt they see chasing us as a priority.”

  “Thank Christ for that. I was gonna suggest one of us gets Rachel out of Syria, which would have been a risk. But if the heats off, we have time to look around. We’ll work from here, quartering the city until we find him.”

  “If he’s still here.”

  He looked at Custer. “Lieutenant, if he’s gone, he’s gone. We can’t help that.”

  He didn’t look convinced. “Finding him will be impossible.”

  “Difficult, but not impossible.”

  “One man, in a city this size?”

  “Not just one man. We’re looking for a white Toyota Land Cruiser. Find it, and he won’t be far away. Misha, you know your way around. We’ll start right away quartering the city. And double pay if we find him.”

  “What pay?”

  He smiled. “We’re gonna pay you when this is done, and that’s a promise.”

  “When do I start?”

  “Right now. We’ll leave one man here to guard Rachel, and the rest of us start looking.”

  “I’ll take care of her.”

  He glanced at Custer. “You’re okay with that?”

  “I did a first aid course when I joined the Navy.”

  “Did you pass?”

  “Second time, sure.”

  They left her asleep, with Custer posted just inside the room and instructions to guard her with his life. “When I say your life, believe me, that’s what’s at stake. And don’t forget her pills if she wakes up.”

  He shifted nervously. “She’ll be fine with me.”

  * * *

  They drove Edward Waverley to the bank, like they’d done twice already. He felt secure, riding in the big Toyota with the flight case full of cash he never let out of his sight. Protected by two bodyguards, as well as four more riding shotgun in a rented Jeep Cherokee behind. His purpose was to transfer the money in small sums to an offshore account. To launder it, ready for his flight, but it was a long and tortuous negotiation. So far, he’d set up the accounts and made two trial deposits of one hundred thousand dollars each. He was still waiting for confirmation they’d reached their destination before he transferred any more.

  The beat up Nissan Patrol caught his attention for some reason. Maybe it was because he recognized the passengers as Westerners, and he caught his breath. Recognition came as a jolt, a harsh jolt, and a stab of pain in his chest. He was puzzled for a few seconds about the identities of the other men, but if they were with Nolan and Ryder, they were his enemies. He leaned forward and tapped Abbas on the shoulder.

  “Those men riding in that vehicle, it’s them.”

  “Them?”

  “The men who want to kill me.”

  “I see.” He used his cellphone to make a call to the men in the pursuit vehicle and gave them the description of the Patrol. “Follow them, find out where they go, and kill them.”

  “How many?”

  “Four Westerners, no make that five. There’s also the old man who’s driving. He won’t be a problem. Do not return until it’s done. Mr. Waverley wants them dead, no matter what it takes.”

  Waverley grabbed the phone. “A five thousand dollar bonus for each man when it’s done.”

  A chuckle came through the earpiece from the car behind them. “For five thousand dollars, we’ll kill a score of Westerners. The American President if you wish.”

  “Just those men, that’s enough.”

  “It’ll be a pleasure.”

  From the other end, he heard the metallic sound of automatic rifles being cocked, and he relaxed.

  The job is as good as done. Soon, I’ll be free and clear.

  Chapter Nine

  The city of Damascus was vast and in parts severely damaged by shellfire and bombs. Roads closed and patrols were everywhere, cops and military searching for rebels, the so-called Free Syrian Army. They had to stay off the main highways, and frequently Misha drove off the road to allow convoys of trucks carrying soldiers to go past. They saw no sign of the Toyota Land Cruiser, and no sign of Waverley.

  The State Department courier had vanished, which was no surprise in such a large place. Several times they spotted white Land Cruisers, but each time it wasn't the right vehicle, and at the end of the day, when the light began to fade, they returned to the guesthouse, tired and dispirited.

  “Did you find anything?"

  "Not a damn thing. This search could go on for a long time, and every day we fail to find him is a day he has to fix up to get out of Syria. How is she?"

  "She's been asleep most of the day, and she keeps tossing and turning. I guess she's in a lot of pain. Twice she woke up, but she didn't kn
ow where she was. I suppose that's something to do with the drugs the doctor gave her. Almost straightaway she went back to sleep."

  He grunted an acknowledgement. "If it gets worse, we'll have to call the doctor back."

  "I think she'll recover, given time."

  "Did you come to that conclusion after your first aid course?"

  He flushed. "Nothing like that, but I have two younger sisters, and one had an accident once. The symptoms were the same, and all she needed was time to recover."

  “Time we don't have.”

  He spent a while with her, stroking her hair, and hoping that her eyes would open so he could see how she felt, but she stayed asleep. They were all hungry and thirsty, and he got Will to call down to reception for meals for all of them.

  "Tell them to bring up a pot of coffee. No, two pots."

  They crowded into the room with Rachel, and as he ate the meal, he shot frequent glances at her. Thinking how he'd fallen for her, and how he'd do anything to help her recover.

  Is there any possibility of a future for us? It would be a wrench leaving the U.S. Navy and relocating to Israel, but for her, I think I’d do it.

  They talked in low tones about the next stage of the search, and Zeke called in Misha to discuss it. He had a detailed knowledge of Damascus and suggested the best places where they could go looking. Places where a man with a case full of the cash, a liking for luxury, and yet the need to stay out of sight, would be likely to hole up. When they'd finished, the Yazidi returned to the Nissan.

  "This is a dishonest place, and I'll sleep in the vehicle. Otherwise, we could find it stolen when we go down in the morning."

  He left, and Nolan set up a sentry routine for the night. "I'll take first watch, one hour each."

  "I'll take the next one," Stern said.

  They agreed the rest of the roster, with Bryce, Ryder, Merano, and Custer taking the subsequent watches. It meant each man would get plenty of sleep, ready for the next day. They left the room, and Nolan stayed inside the door of Rachel's room, with his AKSU tucked under his arm, the selector on burst mode, and the safety off. If anyone tried to get inside, he'd have a surprise in store. No one attempted to enter the room, and after one hour he called Stern. The Israeli took up his post inside the door, weapon out, and Nolan crossed to Rachel's bed. After a last check to make sure nothing had changed, he laid down on the floor to get some rest. Stern cocked an eyebrow.

  "That doesn't look very comfortable. In fact, it looks damned uncomfortable."

  "I've had worse."

  He awoke each time the sentry changed, checked on Rachel, and managed to get back to sleep. In the early hours of the morning, Custer entered the room for his spell on watch. Like the rest of them, he stayed inside the door with his weapon ready. Nolan got straight back to sleep, satisfied the room was still secure, and he was dreaming about her when something made him open his eyes. A scratching noise on the door, and he leapt to his feet, weapon out. He pushed Custer aside.

  "Did you hear that?"

  He looked uncertain. "I'm not sure. Maybe."

  He selected full auto, safety off, and in a single move jerked the door open. The passage was dimly lit, but there was sufficient illumination to see it was empty. Custer was behind him. "I expect it was a guest walking past."

  He waited a few more seconds, but it seemed the most likely explanation. "You could be right.”

  They went back into the room, closed the door, and he lay down once again next to the bed. But he couldn't sleep. That tiny noise outside the door bugged him.

  * * *

  The man returned to the lobby, which was empty. The other three men were waiting for him. He'd found the room number earlier, after offering the clerk a small bribe. In the middle of the night, when he considered the time was right to make the hit, he'd left them to make final reconnaissance, looking for any sign of a guard. There was none. When he checked the door, he'd found it locked, but that would present no problem. He nodded to his men.

  "They're there, but the door is locked." He looked at the biggest man amongst them, Farouk. "I trust that won't be a problem."

  "No problem," he growled.

  "Good. Then we go."

  They walked toward the staircase, assault rifles ready, all AK-47s, the weapon that had killed more men worldwide than any other, bombs and shells included. Their footsteps silent as they ascended, and when they reached the floor, they tiptoed along the passage. He pointed to the door and gestured for Farouk to go in. He nodded and launched himself at the door. The woodwork split seconds before it started to bulge open. Fingers on triggers, they rushed toward the open doorway.

  * * *

  Nolan was still worried, and he glanced at Custer. The Lieutenant was obviously battling to stay awake. At times sitting on a chair inside the door, then climbing to his feet and pacing around the room. As he lay there, he heard noises again, outside, in the passage. Faint noises, as if someone was working hard to prevent anyone hearing them. Custer heard it to this time, and he gripped his AKM, slid back the charging bolt, and put his hand on the door handle to go out there and check it out. Just as the door splintered with an enormous crash, it bulged, and flew open. Four men were standing outside in the passage, four Arabs, each armed with the ubiquitous AK 47. Nolan was quicker on the uptake. He threw the AKSU up to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The selector was still on burst mode, and a stream of bullets hissed past Custer toward the attackers.

  The men had yet to open fire, unsure of which target to hit first. They decided on Nolan, who was already shooting at them, and the muzzles swung toward him. Nolan kept firing, and two of the attackers flinched as the bullets tore into them, although none were sufficient to put them down. In the next split second, he knew they'd regain the initiative and open fire. He prepared to throw himself in front of Rachel's bed to protect her while he returned fire, but Custer reacted first. Several bullets spat past Nolan, and then Custer managed to squeeze the trigger. One man fell to his first burst. And then he did something astonishing.

  The attackers were reeling from the unexpected gunfire, when they'd expected to crash into the room and shoot everyone dead. They reeled even more when the Lieutenant charged. One bullet had smacked into his side, and it would have been agonizing. Another tore into his left shoulder, but he didn't appear to notice them. Instead, he screamed what sounded like a war cry, and he went after the Syrians.

  They fell back in the face of the unexpected charge, racing for their lives back down the passage. Custer didn't stop running and stayed on their heels, still firing. But when the attackers reach the end of the passage, instead of racing down the staircase, it suddenly occurred to them it was just one man, and they were three. They turned, and now it was their turn to deliver a stream of lead. The bullets ripped into Custer, and he went down. But not before Nolan ran toward him, firing short bursts, and he wasn't panicked. His shooting was measured and accurate, every bullet hitting its target, and the three Syrians, still focused on Custer, were thrown to the floor. He raced up to them, kicked their weapons away, and went to Custer.

  He looked up at him. His mouth was open, and a trickle of blood came out. "I did my best for her, I'm sorry." His voice was soft, and he had to put his ear close to his mouth to understand.

  "Lieutenant Custer, you're a credit to the SEALs. You saved us all, and when we get back to the States, I'm putting you in for a medal.”

  The lips twisted in a ghastly semblance of a smile. “Better make it posthumous.”

  "No, it's not that bad. You're gonna make it, George. No question, we’ll get you home."

  He coughed, and a spurt of blood emerged. "You know, that's the first time you've called me by my first name."

  "It's not as memorable as your last name."

  The bloody smile faded. "You want me to tell you how many times I've hated being saddled with that name? More times than I…" He coughed again, a fine spray of blood emerged from his mouth, "Never mind that now. It's too
late for recriminations. Do something for me, give my regards to Rachel."

  "George, you can do that yourself. We'll call the doctor to get back here, and he'll soon fix you up."

  "I don't think so. She's a fine girl. You can tell her I did my best to protect her."

  "She'll know that already."

  "Good." The single word was barely a whisper. A moment later, he was still. Nolan closed the staring eyes and stood to look at the other SEALs. He turned back to Custer, stood to attention, and threw up a smart salute. The others followed. They held the salute the several moments and then stood back.

  "When it counted, when the chips were down, he knew where his duty lay," Will murmured.

  Ryder nodded. "A brave man, no question."

  "He died a hero," Zeke added.

  Nolan was thinking along the same lines. "When we get back, I intend to put him in for a medal. He deserves something. What he did back there was the action of a brave man, a man who should be remembered. A credit to the United States Navy."

  They dragged the bodies from the passage back to the room Bryce had been sharing with the others and pulled them inside. There was no question about them staying inside the hotel any longer. The gunfire would attract cops like bees to the honeypot. It was while they were pulling them into the room that Bryce said, "Boss, one of them is still alive."

  "Okay, give me a moment. I'll check on Rachel, and we'll see what we can get out of him."

  He went into the room, and Stern was with her. Gun out, ready for anything. Nolan explained what had happened and glanced at Rachel. She was awake, which was no surprise after all the noise outside the room. He told her about the four shooters, and how Custer had died trying to protect her.

  "I'm sorry. Tell me, why did it happen?"

  "It was most likely Waverley. We were hunting him, but he found us first. One of them is wounded, and I need to talk to him. I'll be back."

  He was seriously wounded, having taken a bullet in the chest, one in the leg, and another in the lower belly, which would have been agonizing. Blood was pumping out of the wounds, and it was obvious he didn't have long.