Counter Caliphate (A Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller Series Book 11)

by Trevor Scott

  Eventually a few men decided to head up toward Jake’s position, moving from covered positions up the ridge toward him. But they had plenty of new rocks to hide behind.

  Jake and Jean Paul picked their targets wisely, dropping each terrorist before they could get within fifty yards of them.

  But Tucker was having his way with the Barrett rifle. His accuracy was astounding. Terrorists in black were piling up throughout the compound.

  An hour into the firefight, the shooting had slowed somewhat as the targets became more difficult to find. Jake got on his mic and said, “Choctaw two, how’s the ammo?”

  “A bit low, my friend,” Tucker said.

  “Okay. Hold off for now.”

  Jake scanned the camp with his scope. Then he set his rifle down and pulled up his binoculars, checking the outer perimeter to the west for the men General Graves had sent. With the color of their clothing, it was almost impossible to find many of them, but he finally saw a couple behind rocks. What Jake didn’t know was the status of the hostages, or if they were even in this camp. He hated to do so, but he knew he had to move in closer. Tip his nose under the tent. He went over the mic and said he planned to move in alone, giving Tucker the order to watch his back.

  Then Jake unloaded anything he didn’t need to carry with him to the camp, taking only the M-16, his Glock, and extra magazines.

  “You’re not going down there alone,” Jean Paul said.

  “I need you to cover my ass from here,” Jake said. “How much ammo do you have left?”

  Jean Paul checked his bag. “Four full magazines, plus about half in the rifle.”

  “Excellent. Cover me. I’m going down there.” Jake had three full magazines, plus his Glock and multiple magazines of 9mm. He went around the back side of the boulders and jumped over the edge. Then he proceeded along the side of the mountain out of view of the camp. Shots continued to go off sporadically, and Jake could hear Eagle One giving his men direction. Based on what Jake heard, those men General Graves had sent in had to all be former special forces. They were true professionals.

  •

  When the first shot went off, Anna Grasso knew that something was different. She was used to hearing gunfire since arriving at the camp, but this one was much louder. And it wasn’t seemingly random. No, this was special, she knew. This was confirmed when a couple more rounds went off and their two guards out front dropped to the ground.

  She had told everyone to get as low as possible in the tent, hitting the ground and remaining still.

  Then, when the bullets really started flying, Anna could do nothing but cover her ears and cry. She felt the strong arm of Dr. Morgan Cassidy suddenly wrap around her in a tight embrace.

  “They’re coming for us,” Morgan said.

  “I know,” she said. “But it’s not over yet.”

  •

  When Jake reached the far northern edge of the ridge, where the mountain climbed almost straight up like the curve of a bicycle helmet over the terrorist camp, he slowly looked over the top of the ridge.

  Outstanding. He’d have a clear shot along the ridge to the outer tent, and his approach would be covered by rocks and shrubs. A hundred yards to his south, Jean Paul periodically shot his rifle to let the terrorists think their position was still occupied and watching over the camp.

  As quickly as his old legs would carry him, Jake rushed down the side of the mountain, keeping as much structure in front of him as he made his way toward the tents.

  The thin mountain air was heavy on Jake’s lungs as he rounded the back of the first tent. He stepped lightly past the second tent, his eyes keen to movement out on the perimeter where the terrorist hid and shot at Jean Paul, Tucker, and the general’s men.

  When Jake got to the third tent, the one he suspected held the hostages, he hesitated and listened for any sound inside. But all he heard was his own heart beating and the ringing in his ears from all the shots fired.

  He hesitated and shouldered his gun. Then he found his tactical knife on his calf, and with one stab and downward slash, he left a gaping hole in the back of the tent.

  A couple of people gave minor screams. They were all tucked down into the dirt floor.

  Jake put his finger to his mouth and said, “Quiet. Come with me.”

  They all jumped up quickly and headed toward the back of the tent.

  “Wait for me out back,” Jake said.

  A woman in her early thirties approached him. “Are you American?”

  “Yes. Along with some others. Now get out back.”

  Suddenly, a man in black clothes rushed into the tent, a surprised look immediately upon his bearded face.

  The terrorist aimed his AK-47 rifle at Jake.

  29

  Before the terrorist could pull the trigger, Jake stepped in closer and simultaneously shoved the gun barrel toward the tent ceiling and kicked the man’s right knee inward with a resounding snap. Then Jake slashed his knife across the man’s neck, twisted around the guy, and planted the knife blade into the man’s spine, dropping him immediately to the dirt floor.

  Jake returned the knife to the sheath, picked up the dead man’s AK-47, and ran to the back of the tent, where the woman held the canvas open for him.

  “I’m guessing you’re the American, Anna Grasso,” Jake said. “Former Air Force nurse. Do you know how to use this rifle?”

  She took the gun from Jake and said, “Safety is off. Point and shoot?”

  “You’re hired.” Then Jake clicked on his mic and informed the others that he had the hostages and was bringing them in. “I’ll need heavy covering fire in about thirty seconds,” he told them.

  Jake moved the fifteen medical workers along the back of the tents until he got to the most dangerous part of their escape—an open area that they would have to cross.

  He ordered them to run to the edge of the ridge and jump over the top, waiting for him to come for them.

  “Go,” Jake ordered, and then trained his gun toward the position of the remaining terrorists nearest to their position. He could have easily taken out a couple of them, but didn’t want to alert them to the escaping hostages.

  Instead, Jake slowly moved across the open area behind the running hostages. The American woman, Anna Grasso, held her AK-47 at the ready just ahead of Jake.

  Firing from Jake’s friends increased, occupying the terrorists.

  Just as most of the hostages made their way over the top of the ridge, one of the terrorists turned and noticed they were getting away. The terrorist opened fire at the escaping hostages with one burst, but then Jake and Anna opened up on him, dropping him in place.

  “Run,” Jake yelled at Anna.

  She took off and rushed toward her friends.

  By now Jake was in the brush and rocks with some cover, but still not out of danger. He needed to wait for Anna to go over the top before he joined her.

  Another terrorist turned and fired at Jake, with bullets striking the ground next to him. Diving behind a rock, Jake then raised his rifle and found his target—firing a three-round burst and spraying dirt next to the man. Before Jake could fire again, the man’s head blew up completely.

  “Yeah, that was me,” Tucker said in Jake’s ear. “You’re welcome. Now get your ass back to your position.”

  Jake got up and ran, swerving through the brush and around large boulders, and then jumped over the ridge. The fifteen former hostages were huddled together. Two workers huddled over a third man on the ground, patching up a bullet wound.

  “Is he all right?” Jake asked.

  “He’ll be fine,” a man said with a British accent.

  Looking at the wound, Jake saw that it was a through and through to the man’s right upper arm. “You wouldn’t happen to be Spanish,” Jake asked.

  The man grit his teeth. “Yes, I am.”

  Great, Jake had damn near gotten the billionaire’s nephew killed. But this wasn’t over yet. “Let’s go. Patch that wound quickly. We need t
o move out. I hope you’re up for a little hike.”

  Glancing about the group of medical workers, Jake saw scared and glazed-over eyes. He needed to be forceful with these people to keep them all alive. He looked back over the ridge and saw that none of the remaining terrorists were willing to poke their heads up again.

  Jake turned and said, “Follow me.” He took off at a slow pace and they eventually reached a spot just below Jean Paul’s position. He hurried up the hill and caught the Frenchman putting on his backpack. Jake slung his own pack over his shoulders.

  “Nice work,” Jake said. “Now let’s get these people off this mountain.”

  Jean Paul smiled. “Absolutely.”

  The two of them went to the former hostages.

  “Jean Paul will lead you down to the exfil point,” Jake said.

  “What about you?” Anna asked.

  “I’ll take up the rear and make sure we aren’t followed. Now go.”

  Jake waited for all of them to vector around the edge of the mountain out of view of the terrorist camp. Sporadic gunfire continued to break the silence.

  Clicking on his radio, Jake said, “Choctaw Base, Choctaw One, over.”

  “This is Choctaw Base,” Sirena said.

  “Got the package. Heading to exfil Alpha.”

  “Roger that. ETA?”

  Jake checked his watch and considered the slow pace the medical workers would be making down the rough terrain. It would be nearly two miles to their primary exfil location.

  “ETA in thirty. Make that forty-five.”

  “Roger that.”

  Then another voice suddenly broke in. “Eagle One here. Let us know when you’re one click out. We’ll keep the bastards busy.”

  Confused, Jake said, “Will do. Thanks for the help Eagle One.” Then he hurried to catch up to the group making their way down the mountain.

  Tucker came over Jake’s headset. “Got your back on retreat.”

  From time to time Jake would hear the large report of the Barrett rifle, and he would smile at the .50 caliber bullet that more than likely hit its target.

  Over a kilometer away from the camp, Jake got back on the radio and said, “One click out.”

  “Roger that, Choctaw One. Plug your ears.”

  Although they were far enough away, Jake had the medical workers take cover on the ground and cover their ears. In thirty seconds the terrorist camp exploded in multiple spots. Jake knew exactly what that was, but he was surprised nonetheless. Something had dropped a number of cluster bombs on the camp. Considering the fact that Jake had not heard an aircraft, he had to guess it was a drone.

  The medical workers cheered universally.

  “Coming in,” Tucker said over the radio.

  Anna pulled her gun up and nearly shot Tucker and the priest, but Jake pushed down the barrel.

  “They’re with us,” Jake said.

  Tucker had the Barrett rifle in the pack on his back and only a handgun for protection. He took the AK-47 from Anna and said, “Thank you, young lady. I’ll take that off your hands.”

  Anna looked relieved to not have the weapon.

  “All right,” Jake said. “We still have more than a mile to the exfil. Let’s move out.”

  On their way down the mountain, Jake got word that Sirena was airborne and heading to their pickup location in a small clearing.

  After an uneventful hike, they entered the opening and Jake could hear the helo cruising in slowly from the south. Finally the chopper rose up over a ridge and then moved in at a slow pace, settling into the dirt. Jean Paul led the way, making sure all of the medical personnel got safely aboard.

  Suddenly Jake saw movement coming from the west. He raised his gun, but kept his finger off the trigger. In his scope he saw two men in desert camo approaching. Both men wore long beards and their exposed skin was dark from sun exposure.

  Over Jake’s headset he heard a familiar voice. “Hang on, cowboy. It’s Eagle One.”

  Jake closed the distance to the two former special forces personnel and shook both of their hands. They were tough-looking SOBs, Jake thought.

  “So, you’re Jake Adams,” Eagle One said over the din of the helo rotors.

  “That’s a fact,” Jake said. “Thanks for your help. We couldn’t have gotten these folks without you.”

  “Thank your old friend, General Graves. He’s the one who also got the drone overhead so quickly and armed it with cluster munitions.”

  “Where are the rest of your guys?” Jake asked.

  “Up at the camp mopping up. They found one guy still alive, but barely. They’re interrogating him now. So far he’s told them about the leader who left the camp yesterday. Maybe you can ask the medical workers about him.” Eagle One pulled out a cell phone with a cracked screen and found a picture on it. “This is the guy. I hear you have contacts at the Agency. They might be able to do face recognition and I.D. the guy.”

  Jake took the phone and thanked Eagle One. “We better get going,” he said.

  “Roger that,” the man said.

  The three of them shook hands again and Jake hurried back to the chopper. He got in and Jean Paul closed the sliding door behind him. Then he climbed up into the cockpit with Sirena. Jake replaced his tactical headset with the helo version.

  “Glad to see you made it,” Sirena said. “Are we ready?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  Sirena lifted off and picked up speed simultaneously, the helicopter heading toward the southwest back toward the river valley. They would need to make a stop at Agadir-al Massira airport southeast of Agadir, Morocco again to refuel. Then they would head out over the Atlantic for the Canary Islands.

  30

  Santa Cruz de Tenerife, Canary Islands, Spain

  They flew in low over the Atlantic and Jake could see the island of Tenerife ahead. With the overcast sky, the lights of the city glowed like a hallow over the settlement. All of them had been up all night, so they had to be dragging. He looked back and saw that the medical workers were all asleep. They had been so since leaving Morocco. Even Jake had dozed off for a little while, the shaking of the chopper lulling him to sleep.

  “Are you okay?” Sirena asked Jake.

  “Yeah. I’m just getting too old for this crap. Ops like this are for twenty to forty-year-olds.”

  “You’re in good shape, though,” she said.

  “Not like I used to be,” he admitted. “Will ATC give us any crap?”

  “No. While you were sleeping I made a SAT phone call to Gomez. He already knew about the success of our op, but said he would clear us to land.”

  “I could get used to that man’s pull,” Jake said.

  “I hear that.” She smiled at Jake. “And especially his jet, which he’ll have waiting for us on Tenerife.”

  As they approached the south island airport, Jake’s SAT phone went off and he clicked on. “Jake’s summer house. Some are here and some are not.”

  “Outstanding job, Jake.” It was General Graves. “Not only did you get all the hostages back alive, you helped kill more than fifty terrorists. Our men found intel at the camp showing the terrorists were ready to attack Moroccan locations. They planned to distribute the medical workers as slave labor to patch up their wounded fighters.”

  “I kind of thought that might be the case,” Jake said. “Any word on that photo I texted you from Morocco?” He had sent the image to both General Graves and Kurt Jenkins, who had forwarded it to the Agency.

  “That’s why I’m calling,” the general said. “This is not over. We need to capture or kill the leader of this faction. Somehow he left the day before.”

  “I signed up to secure the release of these hostages,” Jake said. “We accomplished that.”

  “I know. We tracked the guy to Fez, where he picked up a flight to Malaga, Spain.”

  Sirena slowed the helo as they approached the south airport.

  Jake said, “What does this have to do with me?”

  H
esitation on the other end. “The Agency wants you to team up with Sirena to hunt down this terrorist, along with Spanish Intelligence.”

  Looking at Sirena, Jake said, “I’m guessing the Agency will eventually contact Sirena and make this formal.”

  “That’s my understanding,” the general said. “I hope you’ll help her finish the job.”

  He still wasn’t sure why the Spaniards couldn’t take care of this. Maybe the Agency didn’t trust their counterparts. They were usually short on trust.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Jake said, without actually saying yes. Then he hung up and shoved the phone into his outer cargo pocket.

  Sirena expertly brought the helicopter in for a perfect landing outside the hangar where they had first picked up the chopper. “Everything all right?” she asked Jake.

  “Not really. Expect a call from your boss.”

  As soon as they landed, Sirena shut down the engine and the rotors began to slow immediately.

  Jake and Sirena removed their headsets and Jake explained briefly what General Graves had told him.

  “You don’t have to do this, Jake,” Sirena said. “I’ve been working Spain for a while and can coordinate my efforts with our Agency assets and Spanish Intelligence.”

  He knew this. But he also liked to complete a job once he got started. “Let’s sleep on it.”

  Sirena laughed. “You might want to run it past your girlfriend.”

  Jake ignored that comment and glanced back at the medical workers rumbling in their seats. He had Jean Paul, Tucker, and the priest escort them toward the hangar, where a small group of people stood waiting. Luckily it didn’t look like there was any media involved.

  Climbing out onto the tarmac with backpack and rifle over his shoulders, Jake felt the muscles in his legs complain of fatigue. As he wandered toward the hangar, he finally recognized the billionaire, Carlos Gomez, who was embracing his nephew.