by D. I. Telbat
A gunship circled the apartment building, hunting. A ground RPG zipped through the air, sending the gunship east.
"If you knew I was out of bullets all day . . . why didn't you do something about the canister I had on my shoulder?" Titus' throat felt dry. He guessed it was guilt, but he brushed it off, resisting what he figured were Corban's mind tricks. "You had to know what was in the canister."
"Do you really believe the Israelis would permit a biological weapon into their protectorate?" In the darkness of the safe house, Titus flinched when Corban placed his hand on his arm, but he didn't pull away. "I know many of your clients have been Arabs, and most of them want to wipe the Jewish people from the face of the earth, but I believe you've gambled one too many times. I've realized God has sent me here to reach you. You're spent, Titus, and this is your wake-up call."
"Do you know something about the canister I don't?" When Titus' voice cracked, he guessed he was being as vulnerable as he'd ever been with anyone. He'd done his best to control the scene for himself in front of Annette, but Gaza was clearly Corban's area of expertise. "You think there's some cosmic reason you and I have met? I don't think so. Like you said, I'm not that special."
"Maybe you're blinded by greed, Titus. It's been right in front of you."
"You're bluffing. You're trying to make me paranoid by messing with my mind. You just don't want me to make the sale. Let me guess: you're a Zionist."
"Do you mean, do I stand with the Jewish people? Yes. While I'm a Christian first, I do realize God's plan for His Chosen ones. But I'm here tonight for more of God's people—the Palestinian Christians."
"If the IDF knows I'm in Gaza, that changes conditions for my deal." Titus squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't ready to retire or go to prison. Money was all he had. His whole family was successful. They probably didn't think of him anymore, but deep down, he'd wanted to prove himself to them. "It doesn't matter. It's worth the risk. Besides, Syrian investors already put a down payment on the merchandise."
"Why don't we pray about all these things that are out of our control?"
"What?" Titus shrank away, but Corban kept his hand on his shoulder. "Pray? What is this, Sunday School?"
"Lord God, we are simple, prideful men with many flaws. Even now, we hide like serpents, afraid for our lives. Titus doesn't serve You, Lord, but I ask that You open his eyes as he risks his life to help Christians among the Palestinians. We have far to journey over dangerous ground to deliver the insulin and Bibles, Lord, and we need Your protection. Please watch over Aaron, Oleg, and Annette as well. May they see Your hand, even in this violent place. I ask also that You spare everyone from harm caused by Titus' selfish intentions, including himself. I don't envy the decisions before him, Lord, so direct his heart, I ask. In Jesus' Name, amen."
A mortar round exploded, shaking the building. An infant wailed in an apartment nearby.
"So now we're invincible?" Titus scoffed. "Quit trying to sway me from the deal, Corban. Your mind tricks won't work on me. I heard enough of that stuff growing up in Arkansas."
"Listen. The battle is moving north again." Corban rose to his feet and pulled Titus up with him. "I know your mind is too strong to be touched by mind tricks, Titus, so it must be your conscience getting to you."
Titus moved aside as Corban lit a candle on the table. Their shadows flickered on the walls.
"An empty room? All this for nothing? Look at this place! You've been robbed, old man!"
Corban moved a mattress, then bent low and clicked something against the wall. There was a sound of pulleys straining against a counterweight, and the wall rose to expose a massive cache of weapons and gear.
"Don't touch anything," Corban ordered as Titus stood speechless before the hardware.
Though Titus had safe houses all over the world, he'd never seen anything like this. It was completely unexpected in Gaza City! He watched Corban index the equipment, calling out what they would need. Old man or not, Titus was glad he was with Corban Dowler
Corban selected two machine pistols off the safe house wall and handed them to Titus. To Titus, they felt like toys—and he couldn't wait to play with them.
"These are the NL weapon series. Non-lethal. This is the NL-2. Fully automatic or single shot selector. Two hundred and fifty round clips with a maximum effective range of fifty yards."
Titus raised his eyebrows as Corban handed him a dozen clips.
"What kind of rounds are we talking about here?"
"Water-soluble tranquilizer pellets that vaporize on impact. The target needs to inhale the vapor. Knockout time won't be longer than twenty minutes for a grown man." Corban picked out two assault rifles, the size of M-14s. "This is the NL-3. You can select between fully auto, five-round bursts, or single shot firing. Five-hundred-round magazine. Same load as the NL-2. This'll get us through the troublemakers down on the street within one hundred yards."
"Nice, but what's that?" Titus' arms were full with four NL weapons and clips, but he still managed to point at an even more impressive rifle on the wall. "It looks like a fifty-caliber!"
"That's the NL-X1 sniper rifle. Twelve-round magazine, five tranq darts within each round with a spread of five feet at one thousand yards. Figure a one hour knockout time for these biodegradable tranqs."
"One thousand yards? A non-lethal sniper rifle. Huh. Who would've thought?"
"Can't figure on accuracy after one thousand yards." Corban adjusted the cylinder on top of the sniper rifle. "A 4x20 scope with night vision adapter. I'll bring it along, but most of what we have to do is close street fighting."
"I . . . don't know what to say." Titus set all the weapons on the floor to familiarize himself with them in the candlelight. "I've heard of these, but didn't believe they were real."
"They'll do in a pinch, and the target only wakes up with a little hangover." Corban selected two packs off the wall and packed them with medical gear, emergency rations, and water containers. Finally, he took a spare sat-phone off the wall and turned it on. Titus heard the dial tone. "Listen! Israel stopped jamming!"
Titus clutched an NL-2 machine pistol and aimed it at Corban's face. But when Titus looked down at Corban's other hand, he saw the old man was already aiming an NL-3 at Titus.
"Put it down, Corban! I swear, I'll shoot you!"
"Back off, Titus." Corban dialed with his thumb. "We don't know how long communications will be up. This might be our only chance to save Aaron and get Annette to safety."
"Put the phone down!"
"It's already ringing. When your deal goes south, I'm the only thing standing between you and an Israeli Tavor assault rifle. And we need each other for what's ahead."
Titus pressed his lips together in frustration. Nothing was right about this. Corban was supposed to be his prisoner. Finally, he lowered his weapon. Conceding to anyone was so foreign to him. He was the Serval!
"Just because these are non-lethal weapons doesn't mean I won't hurt you if you say anything about the deal. Don't say anything!"
"Be quiet." Corban turned his back on Titus, but Titus still put his head next to Corban's to hear everything. "Chloe? Are you there?"
"Corban! Thank God! We have three more minutes of jammer-free time. I'm at Forward Command in Ashkelon with Francis Malvao."
"I'm at the safe house in Rimal. Jachin is dead. I'm going to his place to make the insulin drop. Keep your eye on Francis Malvao."
"Actually, Francis has already disappeared. Sorry. I should've never let him tag along. IDF Colonel Kalil Yasof wants me to ask you if you came across a guy named Crac Hassad or rumors of a biological weapon."
"Um . . . Paul has connected with an Athenian with the idol." Corban paused, and Titus clenched his teeth. It was some code between them. "It's all covered."
"You're sure? The threat is real?"
"I doubt it. Paul was in the idol's presence and witnessed an advocate of King David nearby, so I'm assuming the idol is a fake to catch the governor."
"
Governor?" the woman named Chloe asked. "Okay, I understand. Praise God. We're nearly out of time."
"Tell your colonel I have Aaron Adar and Annette Sheffield south of the Old City. Aaron is wounded but stable. He needs—Hello? Hello, Chloe?" Corban clicked the phone off. Titus moved away, uncertain of how much Corban had jeopardized his deal. "Lost the connection. Didn't even get a chance to call in an extraction for Aaron and Annette."
"Fine by me." Titus shrugged. "You would've only led them to Oleg. What was that about Paul and some idol?"
"Just Bible talk. You ever read the Bible, Titus? You mentioned Arkansas."
Corban held up one backpack. Titus thrust his arms through the shoulder straps, then tightened the torso belt.
"Sure, when I was a kid. I did the Sunday School thing with my brother and little sister."
"I bet now you wish you would've paid attention, huh?" Corban smiled and shouldered his pack without help. "Then you would've known what I said on the phone to my contact."
"All I know is that you didn't say my name or tell them where Oleg is. How about that Francis Malvao guy you told your contact to keep an eye on? What's his story?"
Corban lowered the secret wall, leaned the mattress in place, and blew out the candle.
"Francis Malvao is a false identity for an ex-assassin from Italy. He's been off the grid for a while, but he's watched my back for years, ever since I didn't kill him when I could have. We've traveled some together. You could say we have a sort of distant brother relationship. You'll want to watch out for him, more than the Saraph gunships if he catches up with us, especially if you still have it in your mind that I'm your prisoner."
"That's all I need. More enemies."
Corban chuckled and opened the door, then stood with Titus to study the dark street below. Far away, choppers traversed the skyline, seen only in strobes of exploding rockets. Strapped over Corban's pack was the NL-X1 sniper rifle. Titus was aching to fire it. An NL-2 machine pistol hung from each of their shoulders, and NL-3 rifles were in their hands—their primary weapons.
Titus hadn't been this well-armed in his life, but around Corban, he was learning that nothing would be easy.
#######
"I'll take point," Corban said to Titus. He was feeling the pressure of completing his mission in Gaza: to deliver the insulin. "Cover formation. Aim for the chest, neck, or chin, or they won't inhale the tranq."
"I get it. But how do we take out the gunships? And those drones will spot us as soon as we step outside."
"Another reason you should be thanking the good Lord, Titus. My contact is in Ashkelon. Now that she knows approximately where we are and where we're going, she'll track us across the city. She'll keep the Saraphs off our backs as long as she doesn't lose us. I can't say the same for any ground resistance, IDF or otherwise. They'll shoot to kill."
Instead of waiting for Titus to respond, Corban darted from the doorway and headed for the stairs. When he was on ground level, he looked up to see Titus hadn't moved, covering him like a pro. Now, Corban covered Titus as he descended. Both men moved like the elite operatives they were, rifles leveled and sweeping only where their bodies faced. Regardless of the danger, Corban couldn't deny the exhilaration of working with a skilled agent, even if Titus wasn't a COIL man.
One block later, Corban held up a fist and eased up to a bombed media store. Titus stepped into the doorway of a shop behind and across the street from Corban, covering him over open sights.
Corban peered around the corner once, then quickly withdrew his head, allowing his mind to process the scene after the fact. Eight to twelve men stood around the corner under an awning where the satellites or drones couldn't see them. That made them non-Israeli, and probably not Palestinian police. He guessed they were Hamas.
With a signal, Corban brought Titus up to a parallel position across the street. As soon as Corban saw Titus moving, he turned his attention back to the men they had to somehow pass. Corban quickly ensured his rifle selector was on five-round bursts, then stepped around the corner. He fired on the nearest men before they saw him. The clicking of the NL-3 chamber and CO2 burst of air was no louder than a silenced pistol. Because there was no obvious gunfire or muzzle flash, there were three men slumped unconscious on the ground before the first man noticed danger was near, and shouldered his AK-47. At that moment, they noticed Corban, but then Titus was firing, his pellets whipping down the street at a cycle rate of six hundred rounds per minute.
Two men managed to fire at Corban, but they were frantically aiming and the bullets spit dirt to Corban's right.
As soon as the men were down, Corban ran forward—with Titus covering—and collected their rifles. There were eleven men down, mostly in their twenties. Since his arms were already full, Corban couldn't carry the rifles away to dispose of them, so he threw them onto the nearest roof and ran back to the east-to-west street. Titus gave Corban a thumbs-up, then Corban took point again. He checked his watch. It was already after ten o'clock. Five hours until Titus' deal with Crac Hassad at the factory. He prayed for God's hand to be upon Annette and Aaron.
#######
South Gaza City, Zeitoun District
Aaron Adar was dreaming. He was six years old, and next to him on the train seat was his father, a hardened Russian Jew. The train ride south was too long for the man. His wife hadn't packed enough food. His shoes were too old to set foot in their new country of Israel. The man seemed to never stop complaining, but not without reason. He held up one foot and wiggled his exposed big toe. Aaron giggled and his father cast him a stern look, shutting his mouth.
"Sorry, Papa."
"You may laugh now, Aaron. I will laugh later when these are your shoes." His father smiled, breaking the tension. He ruffled Aaron's hair. "And somehow, even wearing these holey shoes as a man, we will find you a fine Israeli wife, like Eliezer found for Isaac."
"Elizabeth . . ." Aaron mumbled in his fevered sleep. "Elizabeth . . ."
Aaron opened his eyes to an angel, but not his angel. His dream melted away and he focused on Annette, with explosions and gunfire and terror nearby.
"Are you okay?" She mopped his forehead. "You were calling for Elizabeth. Oleg said I should wake you before you draw attention to us. Anyone could be coming up the street outside."
Looking past Annette, Aaron saw the shadow of the stout, ugly man they knew as Oleg. The only light in the deserted factory was from the window, and that light came in strobes from artillery and sweeping Saraph spotlights.
"I was dreaming." Aaron shook his head. "I will never see my Elizabeth again."
"Don't say that. Corban and Titus will be back any minute. They'll get us out of here."
"Titus shot me. He doesn't care if I die."
Aaron turned his face from Annette and squeezed his eyes shut to the battle outside. His breathing made wheezing sounds. He knew he was dying.
"Keep him talking," Oleg ordered Annette. The man's accent reminded Aaron of his father's voice, though he'd never learned English. "I can hear his breathing. He'll die if he sleeps again."
Annette shook Aaron's leg.
"Hey, Aaron. Why don't you tell me about Elizabeth? I bet she's pretty, huh?"
"Pretty?" Aaron rolled his head back to look at Annette. If he were about to die, he didn't mind sharing his happiest thoughts with the strange woman and a Russian arms dealer. "She's the sparkle of morning sunlight on the Jordan."
"How did you two meet?"
"At my work." Aaron tried to inhale deeply, but it hurt too much. "I was a resident doctor of physical therapy. She came to me as her leg was healing after a climbing accident up in Galilee. We had met as children, but now we were meeting as adults. She could've picked another therapist, but she picked me. It was the year we pulled out of Gaza. This was our home. Life was . . . perfect."
"That's a beautiful story. I'm sure your parents are so happy for you."
"Yes. Except they were killed by a Qassam rocket last year. Crac Hassad is committed
to killing all Jews. He started with my parents. I told them they lived too close to Gaza. The Palestinians took our land and now want our blood."
"Not all Palestinians. You know that. Corban said there are Palestinian Christians who love their Israeli neighbors. Where do you plan to take Elizabeth on your honeymoon?"
"Quiet!" Oleg whispered. "Someone is coming!"
Oleg knelt next to the wall and aimed his pistol at the window. The canister was nestled on his back with the strap across his chest. Aaron hardly breathed. If it was Crac Hassad, then he was dead. Everyone knew Hassad had killed other captured Israeli soldiers. Their mutilated bodies had been put on display through the media.
A chickadee whistled from outside. It was a beautiful sound of nature that softened Aaron's face. He hoped this was the sound of the afterlife.
Oleg cupped his hand around his mouth and whistled back. He stood, and Titus and Corban dove through the window, both breathless from running. Aaron sat up with Annette's help, surprised the strange older man and Titus had actually returned with packs full of gear.
"We got everything we need, except a doctor." Corban knelt next to Aaron. He pulled out a bag of fluids and tapped Aaron's arm for a vein. Behind him, Titus gave Oleg and Annette food ration packs. Aaron winced as the needle eased under the skin. "Just relax, Aaron. We'll have that bullet out in a little while."
"Corban, we don't have time," Titus said. "If you want to deliver that insulin, we need to leave now to be back in time for the deal."
"Wait. No." Annette wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Corban, you have everything here. Why would you leave Aaron to die after risking your lives to bring all this? I don't know how to help him!"
"It won't take more than a half-hour." Corban continued to work on Aaron. "I can get that bullet with what we have."