“It’s that or we wait here for them to kill us.”
“You can’t be sure. What if it’s a rescue party?”
“Trust me. I know these people…”
“Know these people…?” she repeated as the truth began to sink in. “Who are you, anyway?” Corbett stared at her but said nothing. “You’re obviously not just some visiting archeology professor… So, who the hell are you?”
Before she could continue, Corbett set down the light pointing it so that its reflection illuminated the immediate area. Staring back toward the strange voices, his eyes probed the cavernous darkness behind them. Then turning, he nodded toward the roiling current racing down into the earth.
“Tariq,” he said, speaking with renewed urgency. “Gotta do it.”
Glancing around, Tariq could hear the voices as well and nodded as if accepting his fate. Having finished his prayer, he took off the baseball cap and tossed it aside. Then gripping Corbett’s hand, he stepped forward into the black rushing water. Crouching in the stream, he laid back and looked at Corbett one last time.
“See you on the other side,” Corbett managed a grim smile.
“I’ll be waiting,” Tariq said quietly. “Like old times.”
Then releasing his hold, Tariq allowed the current to whisk him away. Down the dark channel, in an instant he was gone.
Corbett turned to Ella, “Your turn.”
“No… I can’t.”
With no time to argue, Corbett grabbed her, physically scooping her up in his arms.
“Please don’t do this...” she protested.
“Deep breath,” he commanded.
“No... please.”
Without warning, the sound of the Kalashnikov opened up somewhere in the darkness, bullets pounding into the rocks just to their right.
“Deep breath…!” he repeated. Then forcefully placing her into the channel, he took her right hand and placed it over her nose and mouth. “Mouth shut. Hold your nose. On three…. Ready?” Her eyes widened unable to fully accept what was about to happen.
“One…” he started. Then before she could object again, he released her into the torrent watching as she was swept away.
More gunfire stitched its way toward him just above the waterline. Snapping off the LED light, Corbett quickly stowed it in the zipper pocket of his cargo pants. Then dropping feet first into the water, he drew a deep breath and let himself go, riding the swiftly moving rapids down into the bowels of the earth.
The current was fast and frigid. He held his arms tight against his body to avoid striking the rocks as he was propelled along the dark underwater passageway. Time seemed to stand suspended. His lungs began to ache as the seconds slowly passed. Then, just as he began think he might pass out, he suddenly broke the surface where the river emerged from the mountain. Gasping for air, he managed to latch onto a boulder and hold tight as he dragged himself out of the river.
Just beyond the riverbank, the night was aglow with the flames from the burning tents of the base camp. The sounds of sporadic gunfire punctuated the eerie silence as the terrorists roamed through the campsite, systematically making certain there would be no survivors. Crouching low, Corbett began to move along the bank in search of the others.
*****
As the kerosene torch finally flickered and went out, Jarral cast it aside. Left to feel their way forward, the two Jihadis were on the verge of panic when Jarral spotted the thin beam from the American’s handheld LED flashlight perhaps a hundred meters ahead. Barely able to make out any details, he caught a glimpse of Corbett as he assisted Tariq into the swift moving channel then turned to help the woman. Instantly, he shouted to Raif to open fire. But in their haste, their shots had been off the mark. A moment later, the American extinguished the flashlight and vanished into the dark water, leaving the Jihadis once again to their own devices. Relying wholly on sound and touch, they felt their way toward the swift moving stream. With only the sound of rushing water to guide them, they urgently picked their way across the rock-slick surface of the cavern floor. Reaching the underground river at last, Jarral shouldered his Uzi and plunged his hands into the rapidly flowing torrent, attempting to get some measure of its width and depth.
“An underground channel,” he shouted. “They are escaping. Quickly! After them….”
Despite his fear of the raging current, Raif obeyed without question. Embracing the Kalashnikov, he swung his body up and into the water. In an instant he was swept away. Clutching his Uzi tightly to his chest, Jarral did the same. The water temperature was colder than he expected, causing him to suck air into his lungs. A moment later, he felt himself being swallowed beneath the surface, his body racing into the void.
*****
Emerging in the blackness beneath a moonless sky, Ella struggled to stop her momentum as the water catapulted her out into the summer night. Fighting against the current, she managed to drag herself out of the water and onto the embankment.
A few meters ahead, Tariq clung to a log, soaked and struggling. Spotting him in the darkness, Ella made her way to his side. His head was bleeding where he had struck a rock. Seeing this, Ella attempted to apply pressure and staunch the flow of blood. But having only encountered her in the darkness of the cave, he found himself disorientated and confused by this strange woman suddenly attending to his wound. Overwhelmed by a sense of panic, he released his grip on the log and started to slip back into the river. Grabbing him by one arm, Ella helped him crawl his way back onto the riverbank away from the fast-moving current.
“Listen to me,” she said, her voice raw and filled with frustration. “God damn it, stop it...! Let me help you.” But refusing to listen, Tariq continued to resist.
A short way off, a young Jihadi named Yousef had suspended his rampage long enough to allow him to reload his Glock .45. Only three rounds left. He would have to make them count. Hearing a woman’s voice, he glanced toward the riverbank. Spotting something moving in the darkness, he turned and moved toward the water’s edge.
Ripping the left sleeve from her shirt, Ella was attempting to bandage Tariq’s head when she heard someone approaching from behind.
“Michael…?” she said, starting to rise and turn toward the sound. But instead of Corbett, she found herself staring into the intense gaze of the young terrorist as he grabbed her by the arm and hurled her roughly to the ground. Then setting down his pistol, he ripped open her shirt and began to tear at her thermal top exposing her breasts. Excited now, he was grabbing at her tights attempting to pull them off as well when Ella’s hand found the rock.
Grasping the once rough fieldstone worn smooth by the passage of time and rushing water, she swung it with all her might striking the Jihadi just above his left temple. Stunned, he toppled sideways clawing the air as he fell. Pulling herself free, Ella scrambled to her feet. Still clutching the rock, she turned to face him. His now bloodied face filled with lust and rage, he hurled himself at her again. Refusing to back down, she lashed out with the rock once more catching him hard in the mouth. Seemingly unfazed, her assailant shook it off smiling back at her through broken and bloody teeth. Then drawing a knife from his belt, he began to circle her searching for an opening.
Gripping the rock, Ella stared defiantly waiting as the Jihadi feinted left then reached out attempting to grab her by the hair. Dodging away, Ella lashed out hoping to dislodge the blade from his hand. But the man evaded the blow then rushed her once more. Slamming the rock into his groin with every ounce of strength in her body, she heard him groan as he grabbed her by the arm. But as he drew back the knife to slash her throat, emerging from the darkness, Corbett hit him full force from behind knocking the blade from his hand. With practiced efficiency, Corbett snapped the young terrorist’s wrist while delivering a sharp elbow to the throat, then another breaking the bridge of his nose. Spotting the Glock lying a few feet away, Corbett snatched it up emptying the final three rounds into his chest. Ella stared down at the pulverized face of her attacker.
&nb
sp; “I’m going to be sick,” she whispered aloud.
“No time,” Corbett replied, tossing the empty pistol aside as he moved to Tariq. “Help me get him up.”
As the two of them struggled to half-walk, half-drag Tariq along the riverbank, Corbett spotted one of the Land Rovers parked beside a small copse of trees 30 meters away.
“Over there,” he pointed. “The Rover.”
Turning, they started toward it, carrying Tariq between them. As they reached the driver’s side, Corbett opened the rear door and helped Tariq crawl inside. At the same time, Ella started for the passenger side only to cry out as she pulled up short. Hearing her, Corbett moved quickly to her side. There on the ground lay Gorka, his eyes fixed, mouth caught in the rictus of death, his carbine still clutched in his left hand. Feeling a twinge of emotion, Corbett knelt beside the old Basque, saying a silent prayer as he lowered the old man’s eyelids. A familiar rush of vertigo swept over him. The searing memory of his sister’s anguished cry. Denying himself the need to mourn, he forced his mind to focus.
“Gotta move,” he firmly urged Ella as he picked up the carbine. There was an edge to his voice. Removing the bandolier of ammunition from around the old man’s neck, he stepped to the driver’s side door.
At the same time, another Jihadi named Rahim came running out between the burning tents. Spotting them near the Rover, he called out in Urdu as he raced toward them: “They are over here…!” he shouted. “I have found them.”
Turning toward the sound of Rahim’s voice, Corbett raised the carbine and shot him dead in his tracks. Glancing back toward the spot where the river emerged from the mountain, he could see yet another Jihadi stagger out of the water, an Uzi clutched in his fist. No time to waste. They had to go now.
Opening the door, Corbett tossed the carbine and the bandolier between the seats. Then slipping behind the wheel, he checked for keys as Ella climbed into the front seat beside him. Locating the key behind the visor, he jammed it into the ignition and cranked the engine. The Rover coughed without catching as they came under fire. Without warning, the driver’s side mirror was struck by gunfire, exploding as he turned the key again. The engine struggled then roared to life. Leaving the lights off, Corbett dropped it in gear and stepped on the accelerator. Fishtailing toward the gravel path, they headed down the mountain.
*****
Finding himself propelled through the black water, Jarral had gripped the Uzi with both hands as it if were a lifeline. Emerging from the channel with the brackish taste of the river filling his mouth and nostrils, he gasped, sucking in the cool night air as he washed up along the rock-strewn riverbank. Pulling himself out of the water, he started to crawl over the stones only to discover Raif’s body, his head protruding at an unnatural angle, neck broken from striking a boulder.
Moving onto all fours, he managed to stand erect just as a voice in the darkness shouted in Urdu that he had found them, followed by the crack of a rifle. Instantly, Jarral turned his attention toward the sound of gunfire. There in the darkness he could just make out what appeared to be the American as he slipped behind the wheel of the Land Rover. Tariq was getting away. He had to be stopped.
Rushing forward, Jarral raised the Uzi in rage, wildly spraying the vicinity of the Rover with bullets as the sound of the starter motor continued to grind without catching. Dropping to one knee, he took more careful aim and opened up again sending another barrage. As the driver’s side mirror exploded, the sound of the engine finally roared to life. Seeing the Rover’s darkened silhouette swerving across the empty field, he watched with mounting rage as it reached the gravel path and headed south. No time to waste. “Quickly, quickly…” he began to shout, rallying the others to follow him back down the slope to where the pickup and Jetta stood waiting beside the darkened farmhouse.
TWENTY-EIGHT
T hey drove in silence down the gravel road toward the highway. Troubled by a capacity for violence she never knew she possessed, Ella had been clearly shaken by the ordeal. Staring into the darkness, she said nothing as the Land Rover finally left the gravel path behind and made its way onto the paved surface of the roadway.
But this time, instead of taking a left and following the blacktop back down to the village of Xeria, Corbett turned right and headed for the sea. Finally snapping on the headlights, he put his foot to the floor, guiding the Rover through the first series of switchbacks, its tires protesting.
“You all right?” he asked, stealing a glance at her as he downshifted then accelerated out of the last turn. Obviously upset by what she had been forced to do, Ella managed a nod.
“Back there…,” she began, but lapsed into silence.
“It’s okay. Just take a breath. You only did what you had to,” Corbett attempted to allay her troubled thoughts.
“I couldn’t help myself, Michael,” she whispered. “I wanted to kill him…”
“I know.”
Turning, she watched him drive in silence, still unable to come to terms with a part of herself she had not known existed. “How can you be so calm…? You just killed a man.”
“He didn’t leave me a choice. He was going to kill you. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Staring at him, she realized: “That’s it, isn’t it? This wasn’t the first time. You’ve done this before.”
Corbett said nothing.
Hearing Tariq groan, Ella turned in her seat. Seeing him begin to stir, she glanced at Corbett: “Back there he said they were after him. Why? And why did he come to you?”
“Too many questions,” Corbett glanced in the rearview mirror. “How’s he doing…?”
Climbing into the backseat, Ella slipped down beside Tariq. Checking his bloodied and bandaged head, she attempted to make him more comfortable.
“It’s hard to tell. He’s not responding… maybe passed out.”
“What about the cut to his forehead?”
“The bleeding’s stopped, but he may have a concussion.”
“How about you?”
Ella hesitated then quickly assessed her body. Her head still ached from the blow she sustained when she struck her head in the darkness of the cave. But aside from some bruises and minor cuts, she had nothing else to report. She managed a nod. “Other than fighting off a rapist and almost drowning… I’m okay… I think. And you?”
Detecting a slight quaver in her voice, Corbett tried to keep it light. “Terrorists notwithstanding…? It’s just another balmy night in the Pyrenees…”
Ella suppressed a smile. Given all that had happened, the fact that either of them still had a sense of humor seemed somehow reassuring.
They lapsed into silence. It was several minutes before Ella finally spoke. “I just don’t understand,” she tried again. “Can you please just tell me what’s going on. Really… who are you?”
“Better not to know.”
“You mean you’re not going to tell me.”
Corbett again made no effort to elaborate.
“Can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
“There’s a beach down the coast near a fishing village called Elantxobe.”
“And…?”
“You asked where we’re headed. Now you know.”
“Michael, really…?” Her voice reflected a sense of anger and exasperation. “After all we’ve just been through, I think I deserve to know what’s going on.”
“Sorry. You’re going to have to trust me. The less you know the better. The best thing you can do right now is just close your eyes and try to get some sleep. I’ll wake you before we get there.”
Reluctantly, Ella decided to let it drop… at least for the moment. Carefully shifting her body so that Tariq’s head now rested on the seat alone, she leaned back and closed her eyes, attempting to drive the images of death from her mind. Her sheer exhaustion coupled with the motion of the car soon allowed her to slip into a troubled sleep.
*****
Although they had begun their pursuit in tandem, as
the VW and the Ford pickup raced down the narrow, dark and winding road, it was the gray Jetta driven by the terrorist known as Umar that soon proved the faster of the two. As the distance between the two vehicles began to widen, Umar hunched forward in his seat, gripping the wheel with both hands and pressing the pedal to the floor. In the passenger seat beside him, Buttar clutched his American made AR-15 while anxiously drumming his foot against the floorboard.
Lagging a couple of hundred meters to the rear, the battered Ford pickup struggled to keep up. The driver was a Jihadi named of Furag whose eyes never left the road. Beside him sat Jarral, his clothes still damp from the river as he gripped his Uzi. Intensely burning with an inner fury, he stared at the seemingly endless kilometers of blacktop unspooling before them as the VW’s taillights momentarily disappeared around a bend. Riding in the back of the pickup leaning over the cab stood a pair of men, gripping the roof for support. The man named Mamood held a Soviet-built RPG and two fragmentation warheads while the one beside him, who went by the name of Zameer, nervously clutched a battle-scarred AK-47.
Silently reciting verses from the Qur’an beneath his breath as they raced through the darkness, Jarral tenaciously clung to the one truth that had always sustained him. The words as revealed through the Prophet: “Permission to fight is given to those on whom war is made / Because they are the oppressed / And surely Allah is able to bring them victory.” Somewhere ahead, he was certain Allah’s promise would be fulfilled. Blessed be the name of the Prophet.
As the Jetta’s taillights finally disappeared in the distance for the last time, Jarral cursed the darkness, striking Furag with his fist. “Faster. You are losing them.”
Nodding, Furag stepped harder on the accelerator. But having already forced it fully to the floor, there was little he could do. Consumed with rage, Jarral struck him again, harder this time, landing the blow just above his right ear. The pickup swerved wildly to the left, momentarily leaving the pavement and churning through the soft gravel of the shoulder as Furag fought for control. By the time he regained the surface of the roadway, he clutched the wheel in a death grip, not daring to look at the man beside him. Staring straight ahead, Jarral said nothing as the Ford labored on into the dark.
The Exfiltrator Page 25