DARK ZEAL (COIL Book 5)

by D. I. Telbat

  "Run!" Corban ordered the Palestinians. They hobbled quickly away. "And don't look back!"

  "We should've killed them," Titus said. "They would've killed us, and now they'll fetch their friends."

  "They don't know who we are or where we're going." Corban hurled all three rifles onto the nearest roof. "Besides, they were just kids. You don't kill kids, do you, Titus?"

  "Why'd you throw those guns up there?" Titus leaped for the awning of the roof, but it was too high. "I needed those!"

  "Oh, so you can get us caught in a gun battle?"

  A Saraph gunship thumped overhead, urging Corban down the street. Titus ducked as large caliber bullets split the stucco wall over his head.

  Ten minutes later, Corban climbed over a rock wall and dropped into the courtyard next to a familiar archway. Titus tumbled over the wall, landing next to Corban.

  "You don't look like you're in this good of shape, old man." Titus panted for air.

  "Maybe I'm just scared. Come on. Third floor."

  Corban climbed the stairs two at a time and rushed to the safe house door. Using the key from the door frame, he unlocked the door and closed it behind them as Titus dove inside.

  "We made it!" Titus laughed hysterically, checking his body for wounds. "Did you see that military unit to the west? They're coming this way."

  "We'll let them pass in the darkness. Besides, you could use the rest before we leave."

  Titus didn't answer, and Corban knew the younger man was seeing things a little differently already. Danger had a way of clarifying one's purpose. Letting Titus rest on the floor, Corban closed his eyes and prayed for safety. Every minute alive in that neighborhood was a gift from God. With so many needs crying for his attention, he couldn't die tonight.

  *~*

  Chapter Seven

  Ashkelon, Israel

  "Colonel Kalil Yasof adjusted his black beret and brushed bunker dust off his decorated uniform. His subordinates glanced skeptically at the ceiling, which had just taken a direct hit from a Hamas Grad rocket.

  After serving with honors in the Mossad, and through two conflicts in the IDF, Yasof was once again in charge of the Gaza incursion. Militants needed to be arrested, and missile launch sites and tunnels needed to be bombed. He wasn't sure if he should be happy about the assignment, or if he should start penning his resignation. The situation wasn't improving in Gaza City, and things were only getting more complicated if Chloe Azmaveth was really on her way.

  "Was that a lucky shot or are Hamas rockets getting more accurate, Captain?"

  "I'm sure it was luck, Colonel. We'll keep the pressure on them."

  Yasof nodded, dismissing one of his logistics officers, and stepped up to a large console. He fit a headset over an ear to listen to the communication channel of Aleph Team in Northern Gaza. That one encrypted channel wasn't jammed; contact with the ground forces needed to be carefully maintained. The fighting had been particularly harsh the last few nights, and Yasof knew why. Everyone was on edge and concerned about the rumors. Hamas had a biological weapon, and they had a way to launch an unprecedented attack against Israel. It was supposed to be a game-changer, but none of their informants or prisoners knew the details. The Shin Bet Security Agents had been applying every tactic to discover what the militants were planning, but the current Hamas military leader, Crac Hassad, was keeping his intentions quiet.

  Because Yasof believed the threat was real, he had convinced Central Command of his need for more troops in Gaza. Twenty more Merkava battle tanks and ten more Saraph gunships had been placed under his command.

  Beit Lahai, the Northern Gaza town where the majority of the rockets had been originating lately, was under bombardment by the Israeli Air Force, so Yasof had been able to focus his attention five miles south to Gaza City. As if his troops didn't have enough to deal with by trying to locate Crac Hassad and the biological weapon, he now had to find Chloe's missing American operative. Anyone who had been connected to intelligence circles the past twenty years knew of Corban Dowler. Yasof would have enjoyed helping the veteran agent any other week, but this week, with other urgent priorities, the pressure was almost too much to manage. He simply couldn't deal with another dilemma right now.

  Yasof scratched at the nubby knuckle of his missing left pinky finger. He narrowed his eyes at the console which bore images from their high-flying drone. A large force of men was moving south through the City of Gaza.

  "Captain, who is that force west of Omar Mukhtar Street? If those are Palestinian Police Forces, I want our troops to stay clear of them. Most of them are loyal to Hamas factions, but we've agreed to give them space to police their districts if they're active."

  "No, Colonel. They have no police units anywhere west of Omar Mukhtar Street all the way to al-Nasser. The fighting was too bad last night, sir. They pulled out and asked for armored support."

  "I want confirmation that it's a Hamas army, Captain. Then I want a two-by-two Saraph sweep from east and west. If that's a Crac Hassad force, I want to cripple and pin him down. He could be transporting more rockets to fire on us. Just tell the pilots to watch out for RPGs. We can't afford any downed planes, not in that beehive."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Sir?" A sergeant appeared at Yasof's elbow. "I've arrived from the airport with Chloe Azmaveth and her associate."

  "Associate?" Yasof stood tall and turned to see Chloe at the door of the Forward Command bunker. At fifty, he was five years older and had always enjoyed the confident beauty from his younger days. She had avoided his advances since she was married, but he still held out hope.

  He marched toward Chloe, scoping the lanky man with black eyes behind her. The man gave Yasof a chill, and he was reminded that Chloe continued in the covert arena even though she'd left the Mossad. Yasof knew she still had military contacts, old friends higher than he was, even if he was her IDF contact since her departure. Zvi, her husband, was no slouch, either, when it came to influence in Tel Aviv.

  "Shalom, Chloe." He shook her hand. "Welcome back to Israel. I expected you to come alone."

  "I'm Francis Malvao, Colonel," the gaunt man said, though he offered no hand. He chewed a giant wad of gum, visible as he chewed with his mouth open. "You'll hardly notice me."

  "Of course. Welcome." Yasof made a mental note to have the man's file reviewed immediately. He turned his attention to Chloe, gazing into her daring brown eyes. "I was just speaking with my father last week about the Lebanese operation so long ago, how my unit's invasion distracted Hezbollah and the media for you to extract the hostages."

  "I'm certain I was never in Lebanon, Kalil." Chloe glared at him. "And even if I was, it never happened, remember?"

  "You should stay up on your Knesset briefings, Chloe." He winked and smiled. "That operation was declassified last year. You're a hero. Maybe if you visited more, we could—"

  "We are not visiting, Colonel." Francis Malvao spoke firmly, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. "This is an urgent matter."

  Yasof grit his teeth. This was his command post. He did the pushing. No one pushed him, and no one ever, ever interrupted him. But, he felt crippled by the unknown, the mystery of Chloe's presence and her dark-eyed friend.

  "Did you find Corban Dowler?" Chloe asked. "Please tell me you've found him and we can get out of your hair."

  "Our men on foot in Gaza are hunting Hamas terrorists, not checking identifications, Chloe, unless they come across a corpse, of which there are plenty. My units are spread thin across twenty-five miles. When they see someone armed in the street, they know it's an enemy. It's all I can do to keep them from killing civilians, especially since Hamas regularly uses the residences of loyalist families to launch attacks. Hamas loves a high body count. Besides, Corban isn't exactly in Gaza legally, so this is difficult."

  "He avoided protocol to get into Gaza to deliver medical supplies," Chloe said. "If you're checking identifications of the dead and you haven't come across Christopher Cagon, then Corban is still alive."


  "But still, as you said, he avoided protocol. Chloe, he was smuggled somehow through our blockade. He entered illegally to distribute unauthorized equipment. To whom?"

  "I don't like what you're insinuating, Kalil! COIL only helps civilians, especially the Christians, the non-aggressors in this war. He had a safe house somewhere in Rimal, but he was moving east on foot after he went to the safe house."

  "East of Rimal?" Yasof walked to the console. "The whole city is east of Rimal. How do you expect us to find him if he doesn't want to be found?"

  "At this point, he wants to be found. It's procedure to make contact any way possible on schedule. He's missed three check-ins now. If he hasn't been found dead, he's been captured."

  "We did have our share of kidnappings early yesterday. We're still missing those two UN personnel from an ambushed convoy. Luc Lannoy and Annette Sheffield. That was here, in Zeitoun." Yasof pointed at the screen. "West of there, about here, we lost an infantry soldier named Aaron Adar, sometime last night. We have to assume they've all been kidnapped. Crac Hassad is the leading extremist across the city. Nothing happens in Gaza without his knowledge. Having said that, no demands or prisoner exchange offer has reached my office."

  "Isn't that rare?" Francis asked. "No one has claimed responsibility for two missing UN people and an IDF soldier?"

  "It's a bit rare. But the fighting has been extreme and communications have been down."

  "Someone usually takes credit for an abduction by now, right?" Chloe held a palm open, as if begging for something she could use. "You're missing three people in the same vicinity as Corban, with no trace of their whereabouts. That doesn't seem odd?"

  "Maybe. It may mean the obvious as well. Hamas may have them all. Or one of our BLU-109 bunker-busting super bombs disintegrated them. I'm not being insensitive, only honest."

  "If you had to guess," Francis said, "where would Hamas be holding these captives if they did have them?"

  "Perhaps south of the Old City. A large force we think is Hamas has mobilized with that heading. Something is definitely happening. We just don't know what."

  "So the question is," Chloe asked, "why would a bunch of Hamas militants be moving south of the Old City on the most dangerous night of fighting?"

  "We're trying to figure that out. Listen: the district of Zeitoun is swarming with Hamas. This large force is zigzagging, but definitely headed in an intentional direction. Maybe they've been summoned. It must be some of Crac Hassad's men. He's not even Gazan. He's Iranian, which is probably why he's caused more Gazan deaths and Israeli turmoil than anyone since Arafat. Hassad is more vicious than usual. He's kidnapped or imprisoned dozens of women and children, holding them somewhere. We're being blamed for countless civilian deaths or missing people, but it's probably this sadistic commander using the civilians as human shields or slave laborers."

  "You said this force may have been summoned." Francis leaned forward, studying the console. Yasof didn't like him prying. "Summoned for what?"

  "Crac Hassad would probably want to distance himself from any hostages his men may have, but there's word they have a biological weapon. Crac Hassad would want to have that in his own hands. He worked with munitions in Iran. His profile reads like he's a human detonator."

  "So, they're in the district of Zeitoun." Francis stepped away. Yasof was glad the strange man who chewed too much gum was out of his way. Now he could focus more on Chloe.

  "Could you lift your transmission jammer over Gaza City?" Chloe asked. "Corban has a sat-phone. Just give him ten minutes. He may be in hiding, waiting for a way to contact us."

  "Ten minutes?" Yasof shook his head. "That's ten minutes we'd give Crac Hassad to communicate as well. We can't risk such a move. Corban isn't more valuable than the threat of a coordinated biological attack on Israel."

  "What if it meant finding your biological weapon?"

  "What are you talking about?" Yasof browsed the command room. Where was Francis? He pulled Chloe aside to talk quieter. "Do you know something about the weapon?"

  "You know Corban's an experienced field agent. If he got wind of a biological weapon, he wouldn't ignore that threat against Israel. He's in Gaza City, Kalil. He may know where the weapon is. Lift the transmission blockade for just ten minutes. Do you have a better way to find the weapon?"

  Yasof scratched the knuckle of his missing pinky again. He didn't like the espionage factor in this incursion. He preferred guerrilla or urban warfare instead of Chloe's undercover tactics any day.

  "Interpol lost contact two weeks ago with someone who is close to the weapon." Yasof rolled his eyes, uncomfortable about trusting her with such sensitive intelligence even over some of his own people. "If I didn't know you already, Chloe, you'd never hear me say this, but your Corban Dowler is out there. And Interpol is out there somewhere, too."

  "What? An undercover Interpol agent in Gaza? That's how you know the weapon is here?"

  "That's how we know it was scheduled to be here by now, transported by the Interpol agent and an arms dealer called the Serval."

  "Never heard of him."

  "Is Corban resourceful enough to stop a biological threat if he and the Interpol agent worked together?"

  "Corban is the best. If the weapon is local and he's identified it, he'll give his life if he must to stop an attack. The Interpol agent and he can work together, but he'll never know who the agent is if we don't lift the transmission blockade. We have to contact him!"

  "Okay. I may be able to talk my superiors into this." Yasof's eyes searched the room again for Francis. "Where is your friend, Francis Malvao?"

  #######

  Luigi Putelli spit his gum onto the ground outside the Forward Command bunker and shoved three new pieces into his mouth. He watched an IDF tank commander speak Hebrew to a number of ground troops, fully armed. Luigi didn't know Hebrew, but he could tell fresh foot soldiers were soon to be deployed into the Gaza Strip to reinforce the raging battle at its apex that night.

  Trailing behind a few yards, Luigi watched a lone IDF soldier carry his pack and M-16 assault rifle into a mobile bathroom trailer. The soldier seemed to be about Luigi's height, maybe a little thicker in the chest. Luigi wandered over to the trailer, then glanced back to find the tank commander and his audience paying him no mind.

  Inside the trailer, Luigi counted three toilet stalls. Only the last one was occupied. Luigi washed his hands at a single sink until the soldier emerged from the stall. Luigi cupped his hands and threw water into the man's face. The soldier recoiled at the assault and was about to scream out when Luigi jabbed a fist at the man's unprotected diaphragm. While the soldier gasped for air, Luigi raked the man's hand across the toxic belt buckle. Within seconds, the soldier fell unconscious and Luigi dragged him into the stall and stripped him of his uniform, pack, and rifle.

  Five minutes later, Luigi walked past the tank commander, saluted, and hopped onto the back of a moving Namer heavy armored personnel transport headed toward Gaza. Luigi pulled his helmet down over his eyes and crossed his arms to cover his loose uniform. Twenty other soldiers chatted excitedly as they anticipated their duty in the coming ground assault.

  Luigi blew a bubble with his gum and smiled as the transport jostled over a pothole. How would Corban react at the sight of him? He figured Corban's God was taking care of his old friend, but Luigi hoped he could help Corban in a way that meant something to Corban. After all, Corban had saved Luigi's life more than once. The least Luigi could do was risk his own for Corban.

  *~*

  Chapter Eight

  West Gaza City, Rimal District

  "You saved my neck back there," Titus whispered in the darkness. He lay next to Corban on the floor of the safe house, listening to occasional gunfire in the street. For a moment, he couldn't speak. His heart was beating like a locomotive. Death had never been so near. "Don't think I'm not grateful. Those three boys would've messed up my good looks with a few bullets to my forehead."

  "Don't tha
nk me." Corban paused as a fighter bomber rumbled overhead, its ordnance shaking the neighborhood like an earthquake. "Thank your Creator, Titus. If I were still the man I was before He changed me, you'd be dead."

  "Tough words from a man without a gun in his hand." Titus tapped a finger on his own handgun. "Remember, I'm doing you a favor on this medical run."

  "You're doing your conscience a favor." Corban chuckled. Titus didn't like being laughed at. "And quit threatening me with your gun or I'll take it from you and give you a fatherly whipping with it."

  "Think you could, old man?" Titus felt his pride stepped on, and he was tempted to teach Corban a lesson. "You've got some mouth on you for a Christian."

  "God told me to love my enemies, and I do. He didn't tell me to cower before them, and I never have. I know the weight of a loaded Glock 18, Titus, so just put it away. You've had an empty clip all day, probably since you shot Aaron."

  Titus tested the weight of his handgun in his palm. How could someone know that without touching his gun? He shoved it into his waistband.

  "You're good, Corban. I ran out of bullets last night. You knew it and you didn't jump me. I can't figure you out."

  "I prayed about you. You seem like a reasonable man. God's used greedy crooks before, and I couldn't make this run alone."

  "So, you think you have me all figured out, huh?" Titus' anger started to rise again, feeling like he was talking to his brother, Rudy, who never stopped preaching to him, claiming to know Titus' sinful condition so well. "You don't know me at all."

  "Titus, you're an outcast. You sacrifice everything for the thrill of money and action. At the end of the day, after every job, you're still dead inside, wishing you had just one person in the world who could understand your loneliness, someone you could trust with everything. Twenty years ago, Titus, I was you. That's how I know you. That's how I know you're nothing special, just like I was nothing special. We're just broken vessels without Jesus Christ. You want to feel right inside? You won't find that satisfaction from things in this world. That void has to be filled by Christ."