Killing Ground

by Eric Meyer

  Nolan knelt down to him. "Who sent you?"

  He shook his head. "I need a doctor. When you get me help, I'll tell you."

  "That's not the way it works, pal. Start talking, and we’ll call a doctor. Who sent you?"

  He was already certain of the answer, as he was certain the guy was beyond all medical help. "It was Mr. Waverley. He paid us to kill you." He went on to explain how Waverley had seen them on the street quite by accident, and they'd followed them to the guesthouse. The guy groaned in pain, and Nolan fired the important question before he went. "Where is he?"

  This time, he had no qualms about telling him what he wanted to know. He gave them the name and address of the hotel where Waverley was staying, and even the room number and the floor; information vital if they were to catch up with him, and yet something was wrong. His breathing became shallow, his groans of agony grew louder as he lay dying, and instead of the expected look of fear, of regret for his life ending prematurely, there was a different expression on his face. Something unexpected, and it was somewhere between a smile and look of triumph. As if he hadn't been beaten, and even in death he would win.

  He didn't dwell on it for too long. The night was almost ended, the time 04.00, and they had to get to Waverley before he discovered his plot to kill them had failed. He looked up, and they were watching.

  "You heard that. We have to leave now and nail the bastard. I'll check on Rachel, and then we're leaving."

  Stern said he would stay with her. "There's a hotel around the corner, the Oasis. While you were in the next room, I called them, and the night clerk answered. They have a room ready for us, 412, and I'll help her to get there."

  "We’ll lend you a hand, then we have to catch Waverley before it's too late."

  They helped him carry her down the staircase, out into the street, and around the block to the hotel. The reception clerk was waiting for them, and Stern handed him a bundle of notes in return for the key. They went into the elevator, and Nolan was satisfied they'd be safe. He went back out into the street. Will had already informed Misha they were moving, and the Patrol was waiting outside. They climbed aboard, and he drove them to the address in the wealthier area near the Presidential Palace.

  He parked around the back, and they went inside the hotel, the Damascus Desert Spring. The lobby was deserted, and they were able to climb the staircase unseen to the second floor. Waverley's room was at the rear, number 218. Nolan was thinking about how this would be the end of a long, hard chase. He was sure to have the money close. He was that kind of a guy. He'd promised Rachel not to kill him, but he knew Ryder would struggle not to slice him into pastrami for his crimes, especially the murder of Helen Shapiro back in Washington. A few minutes more, and it would all be over, except for carrying that precious aluminum flight case back to Aleppo, to deliver it to the intended recipients, the Kurds.

  * * *

  He was restless, lying on the bed, trying to relax, but knowing he could never relax, not until his shooters reported back with the news they'd killed Nolan and the others. Then he could go anywhere, safe in the knowledge they'd never find him. He'd been lying with his eyes closed, but now he flicked them open, looking around the room. His bodyguards were awake, which reassured him, although after a few minutes more, he gave up trying to sleep and climbed out of bed. He went out onto the balcony to get some fresh air, carrying the precious flight case with him, never letting it out of his sight.

  He breathed in the night air, away from the stink of body odor emanating from one or other of the Syrians. Probably both. He looked down over the city, and it was peaceful. A few lights were on, light traffic on a nearby highway, but otherwise peaceful. To the side of the balcony was the fire escape, and he made a note to mention it to his bodyguards when he went back inside. If anyone came for him, and God only knew several million dollars in cash was a huge temptation to almost every Arab inside of a hundred miles, the fire escape would be a way past his defenses. But for now, he was able to relax. Thinking about all those things he'd be able to buy with his money, every luxury imaginable, and then some. A luxurious villa, a hunting lodge, maybe a fast motorboat, German sports cars, it was all his for the taking. He was starting to get anxious about the shooters when he heard a knock on the door.

  "Room service."

  Strange, I haven't ordered anything, and especially not at this time of night. It could be the shooters, although I’m not sure.

  "Abbas, did you order anything? An early breakfast, perhaps? Tell me you haven't been buying booze."

  "We didn't order anything, Mr. Waverley. It must be a mistake. I'll deal with it. "

  “Make it quick.”

  They were opening the door before he realized his mistake. A churning in his guts told him his plan had all gone wrong. They'd failed to kill the SEALs, and now they'd come for him.

  "Close the door!"

  They were already pushing through into the room, and it was too late. He turned on his heel, grabbed his flight case, and leapt over the railing onto the fire escape. He was running down as fast as he could go, and already he could hear the shots from inside the room. It would delay them for maybe a minute or more while they killed his bodyguards, and that could give him enough time to get away. He pounded down the iron steps, his heart in his mouth, at every step expecting the shout from above telling him to stop. And then the shot smashing into his back, and it would all end here in this stinking city. But the shot didn’t come. He reached the bottom, crossed the street, and disappeared around the corner. He was racing toward the underground parking lot where he’d left the Land Cruiser out of sight.

  * * *

  They stormed into the room, and the two Syrians inside stood no chance. Maybe they were half asleep, or maybe they'd swallowed the story about room service. Either way, the SEALs went in shooting, and they went down in a volley of gunfire. Neither of them got off a single shot. Nolan ran inside, searching for the target. The man this was all about, the State Department thief who'd carried off the millions of dollars intended for the Kurds. A man who abandoned them without transport in the middle of Nowheresville, and left Rachel beaten and bleeding on the ground.

  I promised not to kill him, although I’m sorely tempted to put a bullet in the bastard and rid the world of his foul schemes. Not that it matters. He isn't here.

  He ran out onto the balcony and saw the fire escape, but there was no sign of him. He stayed there for several minutes, in case he was hiding in the shadows, sheltering in a doorway, hoping he might emerge. He didn't show, and he went back inside the room. Will wandered past him to look outside.

  "We missed him."

  "Shit!" Ryder gritted, "I was looking forward to a long and painful conversation with that guy."

  "You'll need to get into the queue, but that's not going to happen."

  He felt the acute sense of failure.

  I missed Waverley, which means I missed the money. That all-important cash, and those poor bastards in Northern Syria are going to be up against it. No money means no food and no weapons.

  In the distance, he heard a car driving away, and Will rushed back into the room.

  "I don't believe it. I just saw a white Land Cruiser driving away. He’s heading out of Damascus, and now we don't stand a chance of getting him."

  "Shit." They heard shouts from downstairs, and he started toward the door, "We'd better get out of here before the cops turn up. This isn't some sleepy guesthouse in a remote suburb. It's a luxury hotel in downtown Damascus. If they find us here with those two bodies, our troubles are about to get worse."

  They raced down the staircase and out into the lobby. The blue lights of cop cruisers showed in the street, and they turned to exit the hotel from the rear. There was no one around, and they circled several blocks to come up on Misha's Nissan Patrol. The old guy was starting to take an interest in the hunt, and his eyes sparkled.

  "Did you get him?"

  "Did we hell?" Nolan grumbled, "The bastard got away. T
ake us to the Oasis. We need to see how Rachel is doing."

  He started the engine and drove away. Outside the hotel, he let them out, and once again drove around the block to leave the vehicle out of sight. The SEALs went into the lobby, and already the place was waking up for the day’s trade. A clerk stood behind the counter, and unsurprisingly regarded the four armed men entering the hotel at that time of the morning with suspicion.

  "Can I help you?"

  "A man and a woman checked in here about an hour ago. Which room are they in?"

  His eyebrows rose. "Room? They never went inside. The night porter told me they'd arrived and paid for the room, but they never used it."

  "Listen, pal, we saw them go into the elevator. They have to be here. Check the register."

  He sighed and opened the book on the counter. "No one checked in. I promise you they never used the room. The night porter told me they'd use the elevator, but they came straight back down and left." He eyed the guns warily, "I promise you, if I knew any more, I’d tell you. They're not here, and that's all I know."

  "What was the room number? I want to check for myself."

  He shrugged and handed over a key. "That's no problem. You're welcome to look."

  He took the elevator up to the fourth floor and went inside the room. The man hadn't lied. The room was untouched. For some reason he couldn't work it out. And he had no idea where they'd gone, or why they'd run. He went back down to the lobby and looked at the others.

  "He's right. They were never there. We need to go back to the vehicle and work out our next move."

  They sat inside the vehicle, and he felt an acute sense of loss. The girl he'd fallen for had gone, and he couldn't work out why.

  Has Stern taken her away for some obscure reason? They’re both Israelis, who knows what their agenda is? Has he kidnapped her? She’s worth kidnapping, that’s for sure. No, that’s ludicrous. Colonel Stern’s an Israeli Army officer, Sayeret Matkal. The idea he's done something like that is beyond ridiculous. Or has someone taken them? The clerk didn't say anything about anyone else. It was just the two of them. Then again, he didn't actually see them. It was the night porter's word.

  "She's gone."

  He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud, but Ryder gave him a sympathetic glance. "Boss, we're in the middle of enemy territory, and I doubt anything untoward has happened to her. There'll be a damn good reason, and sooner or later we'll find out what it is. Until then, shouldn't we stay on mission?"

  He looked up. "You mean find Waverley? We don't have a chance in hell. The guy’s gone, and that's the end of it."

  "I saw him leave in the white Land Cruiser,” Will said, "That must give us a start. How many white Land Cruisers are there in Syria?"

  "Hundreds, thousands, probably."

  Misha was shaking his head. "What does this Land Cruiser looked like?"

  "White."

  "I meant the markings. Did it have UN written on the side, or maybe UNHCR? Some other NGO?"

  "Nothing, just plain white."

  He took his eyes off the road for a second, and he was smiling. "In that case, there are not many vehicles of that description in this country. Almost all white Land Cruisers belong to an agency, and if it's plain white, it should be easier to find.”

  “Misha, there’s no way. We don’t have any idea where he’s gone, or which direction he was heading in. The obvious place would be west to cross the border into Lebanon, but he’s not that stupid. He’ll know that’s the first place we’d look. Forget it.”

  He was still shaking his head. “You don’t understand. I am a taxi driver. That is my profession, and I have many contacts through the union.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He was grinning now, and Nolan had to warn him to keep his eyes on the road. “The All-Syria Non-Aligned Union of Taxi Drivers and Miscellaneous Transport Workers.”

  “That’s a mouthful,” Zeke murmured from the rear.

  “It sounds better in Arabic. What I mean is I can put out the word for my union brothers to watch for this vehicle. When they see it, they will call me, and collect the reward.”

  “Reward?”

  A shrug. “They are men with families. They will need payment. They have to eat and buy fuel for their vehicles.”

  He thought quickly, and the answer was obvious. The same agreement they’d made with Misha. “Whoever calls it in gets the Land Cruiser.”

  He jammed on the brakes. “I will make the call. For that much reward, they will search night and day.”

  “We don’t have night and days, Misha. He’s getting away, and soon he’ll be out of the country.”

  He ignored him and spoke rapidly in Arabic. “It is done. In one hour there’ll be an army of cab drivers scouring Syria for their prize. We have some time to wait. I can find a hotel if you wish to rest.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. The men in back chuckled. “We’ve had enough of hotels to last a lifetime. Just take us somewhere we can grab an hour’s shuteye. Close to a coffee shop, something to wake us up when we need it.”

  He found a coffee shop with a parking lot out back, just in case the cops had seen them with the vehicle and were looking out for them. They dozed, grabbing the much-needed rest, and he was praying Misha’s ‘union brothers’ came up with something. His phone remained silent, and eventually his head fell forward and rested on the table. He fell into a deep sleep, and he was running along a hotel corridor, chasing a bunch of Arabs who were carrying away Rachel Dayan rolled into a rug. He couldn’t shoot for fear of hitting her, so all he could so was race after them. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he swung around, bringing up the AKSU.

  “Lieutenant, it’s me. Misha.”

  He opened his eyes and relaxed. The Yazidi was looking down at him. “There’s nothing yet.”

  "That's a big area, Misha. I appreciate what they're doing, but if we're going to find him, we need to narrow the search." He glanced across at Will. "We need to think about this, where was he heading?"

  "Lebanon, I guess." He paused, obviously something had occurred to him, "No, not Lebanon. That's the last place he'll head. It's too obvious, and if he wants to disappear with the amount of money, he'll be looking at something less likely. He could travel southwest into Israel, but Israel is an ally of the United States, so I doubt he'll go that route. Jordan, maybe?"

  He nodded. "It's a possibility, but somehow I doubt it. Again, it's too obvious."

  "One thing's for sure, there's no way he'll head north. That's the last place he'd…"

  It came to Nolan in a blinding flash. "That's it. Misha, get back to your people, and tell them to watch the highways in and around Aleppo."

  They stared at him as if he'd taken leave of his senses. Zeke was already shaking his head. "Boss, he'd have to be crazy to go that way. Heading back into Kurdish territory, and him carrying a bundle of cash intended for them."

  "But they don't know that. And he'll be certain there's no way we'd figure the way he'd come. I'm positive that's where he's going. To Aleppo."

  The Yazidi looked at him, and he wasn't sure. "Are you certain about this?"

  He wasn't, but it was his best guess. And right now, searching for a single white Toyota Land Cruiser across the entire country, his best guess was all he had. "Make the call."

  They were still sitting in the coffee shop when dawn broke, and Misha persuaded the owner to cook them up a breakfast. They ate in silence, every eye watching Misha's cellphone. Waiting for it to ring, and it didn't ring. By mid-morning, the owner of the coffee shop, pleased with the extra business, brought them round a jug of fresh coffee. Nolan drank his automatically, and he was thinking of Waverley, not of the flight case filled with bundles of cash. His mind was focused on Rachel. Wondering what could have happened to her, and how he could find her. No matter which way he looked at it, he had no solutions. They'd entered the hotel, and then disappeared into thin air. Almost vanished off the face of the earth.

  She an
d Stern can't have just vanished. There has to be a rational explanation. No, something happened, something explainable, except I can't explain it. Is it possible Stern has taken her by force to take her back to Israel for some weird reason? No, that doesn't make sense.

  He entertained all kinds of weird theories; including the possibility Stern had captured her and was keeping her as a sex slave, but that was ridiculous. The only answer he could come up with was he had no answer. No place to look, no starting point, no vehicle they could try to trace. Nothing. Maybe it was true. Maybe she had vanished into thin air. His guts felt like they were filled with lead. After being so long on his own, he’d found her, the girl of his dreams, only to lose her.

  He took a sip of his coffee. It was already lukewarm, but he drank it down. Maybe he'd made a bad call about Waverley, because his mind was so preoccupied with Rachel. In fact, he was convinced he'd made a bad call. He’d persuaded Misha to divert all of his resources to Aleppo, and the chances were Waverley was already several hundred miles away in the opposite direction. Which meant they'd never find him.

  Will called for a fresh jug of coffee, and while they were waiting, he looked Nolan. "Boss, we have to do something. It's driving us nuts sitting here, knowing every minute that passes means he's that much further away."

  "I know that, but what do we do?"

  He grimaced. "The sixty-four-dollar question. I just don't know."

  The coffee arrived, and he filled his. It was hot and strong. He felt the caffeine starting to permeate through his bloodstream, but it didn't help them think any straighter.

  Will’s right. We have to do something. The question is what.

  He took another sip of coffee, and his head jerked around. Misha's phone was ringing.

  Chapter Ten

  They followed the highway to Aleppo. Waverley had been sighted inside the city, and their information was he'd rented an apartment on the top floor of a six-story apartment block. He was tense, knowing they’d been incredibly lucky having Misha to use his cab driver union to locate him. He'd given them a final chance to pull off the mission. On the other hand, he was still distraught thinking about Rachel.