Donovan's War: A Military Thriller (A Tommy Donovan Novel Book 1)

by W. J. Lundy

  The ambush was effectively over, the gunfire silenced, and only pops of the burning vehicles and the screams of the wounded man still filled the air. The moment of surprise was gone and the men would soon be recovering from their shock. If given enough time they would eventually rally, and put their advantage in numbers against him. He looked over his shoulder toward the villa on the hilltop. The gate was still closed, but he knew a reaction force would be mounted soon. Looking back, Tommy saw that one of the guards had grown brave and was making a dash toward the Mercedes. Tommy raised and fired off several rounds at the running man, hitting low through the man’s pelvis, causing him to tumble into the road. The injured man screamed out in what sounded to Tommy like Chechen.

  Another man rose from the shoulder and fired blindly into the hillside, the rounds impacting far from Tommy’s position. Tommy shifted his sights and fired several rounds, missing high before clipping the shooter’s shoulder and head. Brains and blood splattered the fat man, who was now alone. Tommy watched the man crawl toward the mine field.

  Tommy took careful aim and put two shots into the back of the crying man with the missing leg, killing him. The fat man yelped and changed direction back to the road. He called out to the man with the destroyed pelvis, asking for help. Tommy allowed them to exchange a few words before putting the wounded man out of his misery, leaving the Hyena on his own.

  The man cowered in the gravel, attempting to crawl back to the shelter of the armored vehicle. Tommy saw a small pistol in the man’s hand. He aimed for his shoulder. The round went wide, causing the Hyena to roll. Tommy fired again, this time catching the man just below the elbow, shattering the bone. The pistol flew free.

  Looking back at the villa, Tommy saw that the gates were now open and a large truck was in the entrance with a smaller technical leading the way. His time was running out. He dropped the rifle’s magazine and loaded another before leaving his hole. Tommy jogged down the hill, keeping his eyes on the Hyena, who was holding his injured arm and looking for a place to hide.

  The man scrambled to his side as he saw Tommy approach, then clawed toward the dropped pistol with his good hand. Tommy raised the rifle and fired again, striking the downed man in the back of the leg, halting his crawl. The Hyena turned back to face Tommy and screamed at him in Arabic.

  Moving closer, Tommy responded in English. “This is the second time we’ve met.” The sound of the truck racing down the road turned his attention away.

  The Hyena pointed toward the distant gate and snarled. “You should run while you have time. My men will cut you to pieces now. They’ll cut you open and hang you from a pike.”

  With a smile, Tommy fished a phone from his pocket and dialed a number. He focused, waiting for the truck to align with a distant olive tree before pressing the send button. A large explosion rattled the earth and the technical vanished in a plume of orange-yellow flame and smoke while the larger troop truck burst into flames then careened from the road and rolled to its side.

  “Oh, you mean those guys?” Tommy pointed up the hill. “They look busy.”

  The Hyena turned away from him, again on his belly, trying to crawl away.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” Tommy asked. “It was in Syria, a decade ago. You killed my friend but not before he put that scar on your fat head.”

  The Hyena stopped and rolled to his back, gulping air. “That’s why you are here? For an old vendetta?” he gasped.

  “No.” Tommy shook his head, leveling his rifle at the Hyena’s face. “I came here for my sister.”

  “The American brother? You’re supposed to be dead,” the Hyena spat back.

  Tommy scowled. “Yeah, so are you.”

  Tommy leveled the rifle and placed several rounds into the man’s stomach. The Hyena convulsed and used his good hand in an attempt to hold in his guts. “I thought I’d get more satisfaction out of killing you. But now seeing you, like a hog crawling away in your own filth, I feel disappointed.”

  The Hyena dropped his head, the blood rapidly leaving his body. Tommy spat on the ground near the dying man’s feet. He pulled the trigger, firing twice into the man’s chest and then a third shot into his forehead before dropping the rifle. He turned and walked back toward the abandoned village. Rounding a corner of a destroyed building, he fell to the ground and leaned his back against the ruins. He reached into a side pocket, removed the black satellite phone case, and dialed a number from memory.

  He lay back and closed his eyes tightly, listening as the phone rang several times before being picked up. He heard a groggy O’Connell struggling to form words as his head cleared. “Tommy, is that you?”

  “It’s over,” Tommy whispered.

  “Tommy thank God, I thought you were dead. Your friend Elias, had contacted me through Ali, he said you’d gone missing.”

  Tommy ignored the comments, his eyes pressed shut he took in a long breath then said. “I’m done, done with all of it. Sarah is dead. I’m all done here.”

  “No—Tommy, she isn’t dead! We got her.”

  Tommy paused, catching his breath, trying to hold back the shock and calculate a response. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard correctly or if it was the fatigue and exhaustion setting in. “It’s not possible, sir, I saw her body; she’s gone.”

  “I assure you she isn’t, Tommy. We received proof of life a bit over an hour ago. A timestamped photo of her face,” O’Connell said.

  Tommy paused and swallowed hard, remembering the hood. He’d never seen the woman’s face. “She’s really alive? Where?”

  “I did as you suggested and reached out to Simon Arnet. He has been very helpful. He forwarded the information about Sarah. The Vatican, the man Simon, they’ve managed a deal directly with the Badawi Brigade. She will be handed over to his people within the next forty-eight hours, at an undisclosed location. She wants you to be there when they bring her home—Tommy, where the hell are you?”

  There was a long pause on the line as Tommy processed the information and what it would mean for his current situation. “But you’re sure she’s safe? I thought…”

  “I know, Tommy. Simon assures me that she is okay and under armed escort. They hope to make contact and arrange her release very soon. But there’s more to it.”

  “How much more?”

  “The new friends you are making down there, the pressure you put on them—it worked, but it has to stop now. I told you it’s causing a lot of problems. It all has to stop.”

  “He’s dead, sir. The Hyena is gone.”

  There was a brief silence at the end of the line as the colonel considered what he’d just been told. “The Hyena? You’re sure?”

  “Positive. I put bullets in his brain myself.” Tommy pulled the phone away and looked at his battered and beaten body. He squeezed the phone in his hand then put it back to his ear. “Sir, I need to see her.”

  “Get to a secure spot and call me with the location. We’ll get you to Sarah.”

  32

  The Cyprus studio apartment was decorated in ornate woods. Although of new construction, the design made it feel ancient. A balcony that overlooked the ocean connected to the main room. There was a small kitchen and a master bedroom farther in the back. Fayed paced the floor near the balcony, waiting for his mobile phone to ring. The last twenty-four hours had been hectic, but ironically, it was exactly the type of thing Fayed had been trained for. There were still plenty of things that could go wrong while he juggled several entities, but his confidence was building as the pieces all came together.

  He would still have Abdul to deal with but most of his power was regional, and he wouldn’t do much to go after him anyway. He could try to have him killed, but Fayed had plenty of information that would easily move Abdul to the top of an American drone hit list. Once he told Abdul that he could have the information released in the event of his death, they would rebuild a mutual trust. And, hell, maybe one day—long from now—they would be able to work together again. And t
here was always the ransom money to help smooth things over. Even though far less than what Abdul had wanted, it was still better than nothing.

  Early the previous evening, he’d made the phone call to his director and notified him that he would be traveling from Syria with the American girl. There was a money demand, of course, and Fayed gave them the details of a designated serial account where the funds were to be deposited early the next day. Once the money transfer was complete, Fayed would give them their address and hand over the girl.

  Although highly suspicious, the director had bought Fayed’s story that he had somehow negotiated his way into the Badawi Brigade and was now acting as an official liaison to assist in freeing the girl. He was there as an arbitrator of sorts, only traveling with the girl, guaranteeing her safety until the Badawi Brigade agreed to her release. The director made the phone calls and the Vatican had agreed to the ransom request.

  Fayed knew there would be questions to answer, and reports to file, but his time in the apartment allowed him to plan for those eventualities. The girl was in the next room over, asleep atop the bed, a small travel bag by her side. Fayed walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of water from a stone pitcher. There were two men in the room with him—the two bodyguards that had yet to suspect anything, and so far were happy to be along for the ride. He looked at them, one smoking and laughing with the other, no concerns, as if they were on vacation. Fayed closed his eyes, tightly pushing away the tension. The phone rang and his heart skipped a beat as he clicked the receiver, accepting the call from his director.

  “Inspector Fayed?”

  “Yes, sir, it’s me. Is everything done, has the money been transferred? I am ready to make the exchange.”

  “Fayed, slow down.” The director’s voice was electric, far from the monotone Fayed was accustomed to. “Don’t panic—but I have to ask you, are you still being escorted by men from the kidnappers’ group?”

  “Yes, of course, they are both here until we make the exchange.”

  “Fayed, listen closely. The situation has changed and you must act accordingly.”

  “I don’t understand,” Fayed said. He looked toward the entryway and could see the two bodyguards were still joking, nonchalant. They were paying no attention to him.

  “Have you heard from your contact at the Badawi Brigade?” the director asked.

  Fayed’s heart skipped a beat as he worried that his plan was falling apart. Did they know he was lying? Did Abdul tell them that he was working on his own? He bit his lip and shook his head. No, Abdul wouldn’t report him through official channels. That would be something he would take care of personally.

  “No, of course not, not until I can confirm that the money has been transferred.”

  “Just listen. The man that we believe leads the Badawi Brigade in Syria is dead. His convoy was ambushed by militants early this morning.”

  “You’re certain of this?”

  “Yes, intelligence channels are lighting up. He was killed in a roadside bomb this morning along with his security entourage. The Israelis are confirming the information that Abdul Nassir is dead. If the guards with you have not yet responded, then they must not yet be aware. But who knows for how long that will last. We need to get you out now. Are you armed?”

  He let his hand slip to the small pistol under his left armpit. He knew that if he was really a third party working for a kidnapper, that probably would not be the case. They would have forced him to surrender his weapon. He held his breath then released it and spoke into the phone. “No, of course not. They took my weapons when I negotiated her release.”

  “Listen, tell us where you are and we’ll come for you.”

  Fayed clenched his jaw and shook his head. He couldn’t allow the guards to be captured; they knew too much about him. He turned away from the men. “No, if you try to enter the room, they’ll kill her, and probably me as well.”

  There was a pause on the line before the director spoke again. “You’re right, you have to do something then, anything, to get away. If they find out about the attack, we’re not sure what will happen. You must act quickly—take the girl and get away. Find a public place and call in. We can’t risk the guards turning… or something worse. This will be interpreted as a double cross.”

  “But, sir, who—how did this happen?”

  “We don’t know yet, but time is of the essence. You must move quickly.”

  “I understand,” he said, ending the call and returning the phone to his pocket.

  Fayed walked across the room to a large picture window overlooking the sea. Casually, he reached into his jacket and removed the Glock 17 from the shoulder holster. Even though he knew it was the case, he pulled back the slide to confirm a round was chambered. He turned back around, now holding the pistol behind his back.

  The guards were weary from the voyage. Samir now sat on a wooden chair just beside the door as Omar leaned against the frame, repeating a story Fayed had already heard several times on the voyage over.

  Samir looked up as Fayed approached and smiled at him. “When will this be over so we can get some women? I’d like to see some of this island before we return,” the man joked.

  Without giving any indication as to why, Fayed pulled the pistol from behind his back and fired twice into Omar’s head. He heard the girl scream behind him as he pivoted on the balls of his feet toward Samir, who already had his hands in the air pleading for mercy. Again, Fayed fired twice. The man’s body slumped from the chair with the impact of the second round. Acting quickly, Fayed reached into the men’s pockets and removed their passports and wallets.

  Moving into the kitchen, he placed the wallets and passports in the stainless-steel sink and doused them with cheap alcohol before setting them ablaze. He moved swiftly through the apartment and into the bedroom, taking the woman by her arm. He looked her in the eyes and spoke methodically. “Something has gone wrong with the exchange. We are in grave danger. If you want to go free, you must do everything I say. Do you understand?”

  Sarah nodded her head swiftly and rose to her feet. Fayed led her back into the main room, now filled with smoke from the burning wallets. They passed the dead men in the doorway on their way out of the apartment. In the hallway leading out of the building, they could hear shouting from other apartments, inquiring about the gunshots. In the distance, a police siren already wailed. Fayed looked at his watch and shook his head at the efficiency of the local police. He led the woman down a back staircase and into a crowded street, where they fell in among tourists moving toward a busy open market.

  He walked, pulling her closer to his side to appear to be a couple, until he found a quiet café. He moved through a low fence and entered an open-air patio, smiling at a waitress as they found a small table in the shade, close to the building. He ordered espresso for them both as he watched his back trail to ensure they hadn’t been followed. When he turned back to the woman, he was surprised at her composure. Instead of falling apart, she was sitting strong, sipping the beverage, looking as if she’d just had a leisurely stroll on the beach.

  “What happened?” the woman asked.

  “Not here, nor now; we can speak later.”

  Fayed sipped the espresso and suddenly began to feel great relief. Somehow things were happening in his favor. If the rumors were true, Abdul Nassir was dead, and the last two remaining men connecting Fayed to Abdul now lay dead on an apartment floor by orders of his own superior. He’d planned to kill them anyway, but this made it less complicated. He was now in the clear.

  Once he turned over the girl, the case was solved. Perhaps he would be the hero. He fished the phone from his jacket pocket and dialed a number. Looking at the menu on the table, he retrieved the name and address of the café. Yes, he had succeeded once again, and again he had come out on top of it all.

  The call was made and the address confirmed. Just after ordering a second espresso, he watched men in khaki pants and dark jackets enter and scan the café. The m
en’s eyes locked on Sarah, probably having studied her photograph non-stop for the last forty-eight hours. One of the men spoke into his shirt cuff while the rest closed in around Sarah and Fayed. The men swept them to their feet just as two dark vans raced to the curb and the side doors opened.

  Fayed was forced into the first van and separated from the woman as she was escorted to the second. Tourists scattered as they watched the scene unfold, completely unaware as to what they were witnessing. Only seconds after Fayed had spotted the first of the men, they were on the road and moving north toward the island’s main airport.

  A man looked back at Fayed from the passenger seat of the van and extended his hand. “Inspector Ziya Fayed, I presume? Congratulations on a job well done,” the man said.

  Apprehensively, Fayed accepted the handshake. “And who might you be?”

  “Charles Davis of the US Consulate here in Cyprus. Sorry we couldn’t have been of more assistance, but I was just read into the situation mere hours ago. We really owe you a debt of gratitude, Inspector. I would appreciate a full debrief when you have the time.”

  Fayed nodded his head and sat back against the walls of the van. “I would like that… after I have a chance to prepare a full report, of course.”

  The man pursed his lips then smiled. “Take all the time you need, we’re just extremely grateful to have her back.”

  33

  Tommy was still asleep when the BMW 320 sedan pulled onto the shoulder of the narrow road in front of the small Catholic church on the outskirts of Keratea, Greece. His phone rang on the seat, and startled him awake. His eyes opened sharply and he looked around the cabin of the car. He was alone except for the driver who had retrieved him from the airport in Athens. He was dressed in clean slacks and a short-sleeved polo shirt. His wounds were cleaned and dressed, but bruises were prominent on his face and neck. He reached for the phone and recognized O’Connell’s number before pressing the answer button.