The Jewel of Babylon (The Unusual Operations Division Book 1)

by Jacob Hammes

  The once beautiful shadows died with bright LED lights that shone from beneath their weapons.

  Marcus squared off against the men, letting his naked body show. Then he’d had but a few tattoos, so the glare from his fresh skin was bright and clean. Marcus grabbed his wife, pulled her back into him. They only wanted money, he said, be calm and they will leave. Don’t be frightened. It was just a dream, he thought to himself, maybe he could change it.

  She screamed as a man grabbed her wrist and then the light was bright, blindingly bright. The music played louder in the corner of the room, booming over the gunshot. The man’s voice on the radio was asking why? Why did she have to leave?

  He heard her breathe first, before he felt his own chest burn. The bullet had passed through her, right through her heart. It missed his by inches.

  Just then, without another word, she went limp. Like a human being stripped of its soul, she fell in a heap at his feet.

  “Why, why do you have to go?” The music played on.

  Marcus was awake and ready to go, on point with a briefing for the team. He had slept about four of the seven and a half hours. Constant phone calls and text messages from a frantic boss was not synonymous with a good night’s sleep. Not to mention his wonderful dreams. Though groggy, Marcus was used to a stringent schedule of little to no sleep on missions. As they say, this was not his first rodeo.

  He addressed his team before they exited through the back of the plane. The luggage had been offloaded already and was waiting in one of the huge military trucks nearby while two Humvees idled awaiting the team. Cool desert air floated in through the open door, refreshing them. The back of the plane was big enough for everyone to crowd closely together and still have enough room to march a platoon of men around them.

  “All right team,” he said. “The army has supplied us with a place to store our stuff and conduct communications from. It’s a small tent with enough cots to sleep on and a desk or two so we can put our stuff down. Don’t worry about that though because we won’t be sleeping this morning. Once our gear is downloaded, we need to make our final checks and head out.

  “We have another two hour jaunt on a helicopter to a refuel station and then twenty minutes up into the mountains. Dress warm. The local temperature where we will be going is in the forties. Henry and Phillip will be our communications support. Sorry friends.”

  Henry looked up happily. He did not enjoy field work as much as he used to and Marcus knew it. His true passion was computer technologies and communications. He liked to watch the action unfold from a very safe distance. He was as good a strategic controller as could be found and Marcus wanted his best in charge of planning the logistics of the mission.

  Phillip, having recovered from whatever was plaguing him that morning, did not seem to mind either. He was the best communications man the UOD had. Phillip was used to playing the man behind the scenes. He could hack, with the help of the UOD supercomputers, nearly any system, set up a hub network that could relay communications across a web of terminals, or search a vast array of databases for particular information within minutes.

  The team moved down the length of the airstrip to a small room of low rounded barracks in Humvees while the larger truck meandering on behind. Everyone related to the Armed Services of the United States wore thick battle helmets and body armor. They looked like warriors, each sporting a weapon with a magazine full of rounds and another one in the chamber. Very few posts remained in the country and those that did were guarded heavily and under constant threat.

  Even though it was dark, the place was well lit. High powered halogen bulbs ran off generators here and there as lights flashed along the length of the runway. Street lamps shone their dull yellow along the walkways of the barracks and light poured from most of the buildings. Most of the soldiers would be awake already or waking up within the next hour. Though they did not participate in the regular service physical fitness programs while deployed, they still kept the same crummy hours.

  The barracks the team was given was very small. It was only about thirty feet long by twenty feet wide. Cots were jammed up against the shallow space between the curved ceiling and the floor. It was damp and cool despite the tube pumping warm air in from a heater outside. Along the front wall were a desk and a long power strip. It was perfect for Henry and Phillip to set up a base of operations.

  David, the newest member of the UOD, was rummaging through his rucksack almost immediately, looking for some power bars to scarf down. The big man sported a perfect, textbook crew cut. His huge shoulders and Neanderthal-like features gave him the aura of a man who was not raised in the best of conditions, but contrary to his looks, David was educated and sharp as a whip. He was serving a tour overseas with the Army, possibly close by, when the Unusual Operations Division was notified of his particular situation.

  It was not something he liked to discuss. Regardless, it was very rare and obviously attractive to the UOD.

  Marcus approached the man and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. He stiffened noticeably. Perhaps he did not like the physical contact. Whatever it was, David had been somewhat of an oddball among the well-meshed group. His awkward antics had seen him left out of more than one group occasion and his seemingly gentle persona had cast doubt on whether or not he had guts enough to fire a weapon at a living target.

  “You’re going to be okay with this?” Marcus asked him, referring to his first field assignment since the incident with the military. “You have a lot of people behind you and a good team. If you have any concerns voice them with me now before we find ourselves in hot water.”

  “I’ll be fine,” said David. “In fact, I’m anxious to get a move on. I’ve gone through a year of training and I’d like to apply my knowledge the best I can.”

  Marcus smiled. It was good to hear his apprentice so anxiously awaiting his first field mission.

  He rose and walked through the small bunk area inspecting each member of the team, then inspected them again. They had all been told to carry three magazines for the M4 rifle, a cut down version of the M16, and a 9mm pistol. Stephen would be the one carrying the grenade launcher, though Marcus knew the team would not need it. Still, Marcus let him have his fun. There might be some trees to blow up.

  The body armor and helmets were bulky, awkward, and heavy. Having a weapon strapped over the top of the equipment just added to the fact that each of the team would be carrying around an extra 40 pounds of gear. Given an eighty percent chance the team would encounter no hostile activity, Marcus speculated on leaving the bulky plates behind. He thought better of it though, seeing as how the military required all personnel to be suited in ‘full battle-rattle’ while conducting any operations outside the fence.

  Besides, better safe than sorry.

  Last thing packed was food. Smaller assault packs were loaded with extra clothes, the rugged notebook computers for Brenda and David, and MRE’s compliments of the United States Army. The planned mission would only take six hours which was just enough time for Marcus to work up an appetite. Camel Packs were filled with water, knives sheathed at hips and boots and everyone double checked themselves. The team was nearly ready to go. All they had to wait for now was for the drivers to show up.

  In the very early morning the team boarded a group of military vehicles. The cool air and the beautiful sunrise gave them all a sense of calm. It was a good thing, too, because none of them had been privy to coffee in hours.

  Once loaded, the driver did not waste any time. Marcus, David and Brenda were in the lead vehicle while Stephen, Bishop, and Cynthia trailed behind. The Humvees were quiet as the team moved off down the runway to an awaiting Uh-60 Blackhawk helicopter. The large helicopter, the replacement for the Vietnam era Huey, sounded angry, cutting the air relentlessly with massive blades as its jet engines whined at an extremely high pitch. An armed escort, the Apache attack helicopter, idled close by. The menacing attack helicopter reminded Marcus of an angry hornet. Its pilots smiled
and waved.

  The vehicles dropped them off just outside the fence of the flight line. Downwash from the rotors of the large helicopter sent whatever flecks of dust remained on the landing pad flying into a cloud of stinging sand. A man wearing a big flight helmet greeted the team at the fence and gave them instructions on boarding the aircraft. They would follow him in a single file line and keep their heads down. Marcus thought the instructions were pretty self-explanatory but kept his comments to himself. He did not want to make his new hosts angry already.

  Marcus acknowledged the man’s command and grabbed his backpack from the back of the Humvee, shouldered his rifle, and told the team to follow along. Like a line of ants, they scurried through the fences opening and under the massive rotors of the Blackhawk. The seats inside were adequate for eight people. The six team members, one crew chief, and a lot of luggage filled the inside up pretty quickly.

  The crew chief wearing the huge helmet was sporting a moustache. It was the only thing that made him look any different than the pilots. He smiled as he handed each of the team members a big set of earmuff-style headphones so they could communicate over the noise. He might have been a funny guy on any other day, but Marcus wasn’t feeling his humor today. He was all business.

  “Morning,” the crew chief said when Marcus finally removed his helmet and fitted the ridiculously large headphones to his modestly smaller ears.

  “My name is Staff Sergeant Grant,” the man said. “The pilots are Chief Warrant Officer Hugh and Kurt.”

  “Marcus,” Marcus answered, extending a hand. “Thanks for the lift.”

  “Not a problem, Marcus,” one of the pilots threw a hand up from the cockpit. He did not know if it was Hugh or Kurt.

  “You need to lock your weapons in the racks along the walls before we take off,” Sergeant Grant said. “We don’t want any negligent fire in the aircraft. One of those rounds goes through the top of our baby here and we could all be toast. Also, keep a hold of your helmets. These doors are known to pop open and if you lose it you don’t get another one.”

  Marcus thought the man was trying for humor again but over the roar of the chopper and the uncomfortable task of turning his body around to lock his weapon against a wall, the joke fell flat. It was difficult enough walking in all the body armor, he thought, now he had to be a gymnast in a helicopter.

  Once the team was ready, the crew chief gave the pilots the go ahead to take off. They idled forward onto a runway and Marcus got a clear view of the area. It was much larger than he had imagined; control towers, commercial jetliners mingling with air force AC-130’s. Marcus was impressed. It had not been apparent at first just how large the airbase was.

  David was facing Marcus directly, facing backwards in his seat. He smiled a dull smile as they taxied down the runway, careful not to show Marcus how full of anticipation he was. Brenda and Cynthia sat near each other on that side of the aircraft, as well. Brenda’s head was down, looking at some file or another while Cynthia sat cross-legged like she was perfectly comfortable, watching the tarmac pass underneath. The amazingly beautiful Asian woman was obviously used to things that were not so savvy for others like her. Not many women, especially gorgeous women, would ever see this view. She doubted many UOD members would see it either.

  Stephen was sitting directly across from Brenda. He was having a hard time concentrating on anything but her. Even though he did not stare, he glanced up enough to be caught by Marcus. Marcus would have to make it a point to ask what was going on between them once they got back to headquarters. If anything was going on between them, he really wouldn’t mind. It would be interesting, though.

  Seamlessly, the pilot switched his forward momentum into vertical lift and the helicopter was off the ground. The feeling was like riding an elevator, though an elevator that vibrated violently. The crew chief was sporting a huge grin, hanging on to a strap and nearly hanging out the open door looking down. He obviously loved his job.

  A moment later, an Apache gunship floated into view less than fifty yards to the right of the Blackhawk. It was loaded down with missile tubes and below the aircraft was a 30 caliber chain gun capable of shooting huge explosive rounds at a count of one thousand per minute. The rounds were lethal to anything within ten feet of their blast radius because each of them came loaded with a few grams of high explosives.

  The helicopter flew quickly over the rugged terrain, up over a small mountain range that Marcus had seen on the map, and north. The pilot told Marcus and the crew that the area they were headed to was largely vacant of anyone, let alone insurgents. It had been the military’s job for the last few years to build relations with the locals. There were many people in the country that were sympathetic to the United States’ ploy at aid. There were others, however, that required the continued presence of the military, if not just for the training.

  Marcus did not know how much he believed the pilot. All he had heard on the news for the last few years were people being murdered, blown up, shot, and killed in the country. Though he knew the man was trying to make the team feel better about being here, it didn’t have the desired effect.

  He just hoped he wouldn’t have to use his weapon on some child toting a bag full of plastic explosives like he had heard about from Vietnam vets.

  It was hard to hold a conversation on the helicopter but Brenda went over some of her findings from the trip across the Atlantic during the flight. She was intelligent and resilient, just the thing the team needed. The air of propriety that hung about her was no less present here in the bowels of the vibrating chopper than it had been in the office hours ago.

  “The package John was holding had a Nazi emblem across the front of it. I did some research last night and came up with some useful information about the area. Apparently during World War II, the Muslim nation, namely regions inside Afghanistan, teamed up with the Germans on many occasions. It was mutually beneficial to eradicate the Jews,” she said.

  “Near the end of the war,” Brenda went on, “the Nazi regime started moving large amounts of priceless Nazi artifacts out of the country. They knew that if Berlin was given to Russia, there would be nothing left. It was intelligent because when Berlin was given to the Russians, they burned it to the ground. It’s a toss-up on who raped, pillaged, and killed more but Russia definitely got the last laugh.

  “Hitler had made friends with the Muslim nation some years before and it is documented that they had a lasting truce. When it came down to business, Afghanistan not only offered him asylum but a million different caves to hide in. It stands to reason that what the Special Forces team was doing up here had something to do with one of these caves.”

  Brenda kept going. Once she got into the meat and potatoes of what she had been establishing as her main information stream, she could not be stopped.

  “It was documented at the end of the war that many of the German historical sites were raided by Nazi traitors as well as most of the museums. They were flat out emptied before the Americans arrived. Later, when asked what happened to the museums, the Nazi officers obviously lied. It wasn’t Nazi traitors who emptied the places out or even Russians. Go to any Russian wartime museum and see how much Nazi memorabilia they kept.

  “No, Hitler had an entire garrison empty the museums before he lost power. He took the Muslim’s up on their offer and used a few of the thousands of caves to hide the priceless artifacts. If he couldn’t have them, no one would. Unfortunately, that is how it panned out. Once the downfall of Germany was complete, no one remembered where any of the caves were.”

  Brenda had been at it all night long, it seemed. Marcus didn’t remember any of this from his classes back in college. The history lesson made him smile.

  “We may be walking into one of the most important finds since World War II. With untold thousands of old pieces of art missing, who knows what type of Relic we will be exposed to in there?”

  “That is,” Marcus interjected, “if you’re correct about what we may find
.”

  “Well, we didn’t get much information on what the team was doing,” Brenda replied. “The official report has not been released yet. Apparently it must have been important. Either that or it was classified above our pay grade. Either way, we won’t be receiving help from that file today.”

  “It figures,” Marcus said. “The red tape bullshit could take a decade to cut through.”

  “Well, whatever they were up to, it’s classified as ‘secret squirrel’,” Brenda replied.

  “All Special Operations are,” Marcus mumbled.

  The two were silent for a moment. Brenda looked out the window and Marcus studied her. Had he made her angry he wondered?

  “You’ve done a great job compiling all that information,” Marcus said. “Do you have any more for us?”

  “The other video was sent last night, too, the one showing John enter the shop the first time. All I got out of it was that he was acting very hesitant. Did anyone else look it over?”

  A voice came through the headset from outside the helicopter. It was Henry.

  “I’ve got it pulled up right now, Brenda,” he said. “It doesn’t show much, does it? I dug in and studied the box the object is in and found something pretty surprising, though.”

  He left everyone in suspense for a moment.

  “There is an address on the side of the box. It wasn’t visible with the first camera angle we had but it popped up this time. It’s written in Mandarin but it’s very visible. The address matches the shop, the same shop of the murder.”

  “I should have seen that,” Brenda said, cursing under her breath. “It’s this damn laptop. Damned thing was made in the Stone Age. The screen is too small to see detail that fine.”