Lucifer's Fire

by Richard Turner

  “I suspect you are thirsty from this morning’s ride. Would you like some water? I have some cool Perrier.”

  “Yes, thank you, that would be fine.”

  Two ice-cold bottles were rushed to the table by one of Al-Hadi’s lackeys; both men opened them and took long swigs while, like a pair of Alpha-male wolves, they guardedly eyed one another.

  Al-Hadi feigned a smile at Mitchell and then with a wave of his hand, he beckoned Grigori over to him and whispered something into his ear. Grigori nodded to his comrade. With a guard in tow, he left the room.

  “Now, Captain, do you mind if I call you Ryan? It’s all there in your file, and I believe that as former army officers, we should act as proper gentlemen,” said Al-Hadi.

  “Well, if it will speed things up, I have no objections, Mohammed,” replied Mitchell with a salute from his upraised bottle.

  “Touché.”

  “You have a file on me, and I have one on you . . . it’s just prudent planning, wouldn’t you say?”

  Al-Hadi broke out in a deep laugh that echoed through the room. “Superb, Captain Mitchell, superb. It is a rare man who dares to speak to me in such an impudent manner and lives to tell the tale.”

  “Well, my employer would be justifiably unimpressed if we did not satisfactorily conclude our business here today,” said Mitchell. “I also would be equally unhappy for it to end any other way, as I have several weeks off coming my way, and I was hoping to go skiing in the Rocky Mountains with my girlfriend.”

  “You have a fine sense of humor, Ryan. I’ll give you that,” said Al-Hadi as he downed his Perrier in one long gulp. “I must say, your picture doesn’t do you justice. You have really kept in shape since leaving the army.”

  “I try.”

  “Your file says you were a U.S. Army Ranger, with several tours in Afghanistan before leaving your army a couple of years ago, is this correct?”

  “That’s correct,” replied Mitchell guardedly. “It’s been a busy world since 9/11.”

  “Well, Ryan, you really should come and work for me. I am certain that I pay far more than your current employer, what’s his name . . . oh yes, General Jack O’Reilly.”

  Mitchell was inwardly surprised at how much Al-Hadi knew about him and was becoming downright curious as to what else was written about him in his file. Keeping a poker face to mask his emotions, he said, “Thanks for the offer, but I like my current job, and the pay is more than sufficient for my very humble means. Besides, anyone looking the least bit suspicious these days in Yemen is likely to get a Predator missile shot up their rear end,” said Mitchell with a grin, thinking of the ongoing special operations campaign to eradicate Al Qaeda from Yemen.

  “An astute observation, and that is why I don’t deal with any undesirables. It would not be good to draw too much attention to my operation.”

  Moments later, Grigori re-entered the room, leaned over to Al-Hadi, and whispered into his ear. A broad smile broke across Al-Hadi’s face. His cold, dark eyes seemed to light up at the news. Electrified at the thought of the millions coming his way, Al-Hadi jumped out of his chair and waved over at Mitchell. “Come, come, Captain, no more small talk, let us move on to the purpose of your visit. Why don’t we go and inspect the merchandise together? I guarantee you that you will be more than happy with its condition.”

  Mitchell stood, and warily followed Al-Hadi out of the door, closely followed by several of Al-Hadi’s henchmen, who kept a respectable distance from him, their hands firmly clenched around their MP9s. They all walked out of the air-conditioned building and straight back out into the baking heat of the desert. Grigori led the group to a large, all-white Volkswagen armored truck parked just off to the side of the main building.

  To Mitchell, the vehicle looked like it had just come straight off the factory production line. He wondered how much it had cost to have it made and then shipped to Yemen. It was clear that money wasn’t one of Al-Hadi’s problems.

  They stopped short of the armored truck. Grigori flashed a menacing grin at Mitchell, reached over and then threw open the side door on the armored truck to reveal a near-naked girl strapped down on a chair opposite the open door.

  When she saw Grigori leering at her, the girl let out a terrified scream and struggled in vain to turn away from her tormentor.

  Mitchell could see that the girl hadn’t washed in weeks and was covered in her own filth. She clawed wildly, trying to escape; the girl soon realized that she was strapped to a chair and was going nowhere. She began to cry and shake uncontrollably in terror. It was obvious to Mitchell that she had been abused. Keeping his growing anger in check, Mitchell reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his iPhone. He systematically scrolled through a series of home photos that had been provided to him by the girl’s parents. He silently studied the pictures and then took a long look at the girl who appeared more like a starved and beaten animal and less like the vibrant and healthy girl in the family photos that he had of Mary Haley. Mitchell knew from his pre-mission briefing that she was a nineteen-year-old university student who had been abducted six weeks ago from an archaeological dig on Jabal an-Nabi Shu’ayb, the highest peak on the Arabian Peninsula.

  Al-Hadi broke the long silence. “I can have her dragged out of there if it will help with the identification.”

  Mitchell placed his iPhone away. Ignoring Al-Hadi’s thoughtless comment, he stepped to the open door. The stench of human excrement coming from inside was nauseating, even for an ex-soldier like Mitchell. Slowly, he moved beside the terrified girl. Mitchell didn’t want to do anything to frighten the girl any more than she already was.

  “Mary, my name is Ryan Mitchell and your parents have asked me to take you away from here,” said Mitchell in a soothing voice, trying to calm the girl’s shattered nerves. He waited a moment and then spoke again. “Mary, do you understand what I am saying?”

  No reply came.

  “Mary . . . your name is Mary, isn’t it?” queried Mitchell.

  The girl ever-so-slowly turned her grime-encrusted face to look at Mitchell. Like a scared child, she nodded her head and whimpered her acknowledgement.

  “Mary, thank you. You have been very brave. Now that I know who you are, I can take you out of here and take you home to your parents. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

  Mary nodded her head once again and then painfully turned to look up at Mitchell. Her blue eyes welled up with tears. Mitchell could see that her once-beautiful face was now a mass of cuts and bruises. In an instant, he knew that she had been selectively beaten by her guards to make her father accept her captors’ ransom demands. However, Mitchell hadn’t realized how savage the beatings had been until he saw the damage with his own eyes. He fought to keep his emotions in check. Losing it now would ruin everything and could get them both killed.

  “Don’t you worry, Mary, I’ll soon have you out of here and, in a matter of hours, on a plane straight back to the States,” said Mitchell as he gently patted her hand reassuringly.

  He turned away and exited the armored truck. Mitchell faced Al-Hadi and looked the monster straight in the eyes. “All right, Mister Al-Hadi, I concur that the girl is Mary Haley and as soon as you hand her over to me, I am prepared to authorize the transfer to you of the sum of ten million U.S. dollars as agreed upon by my employer and your agent in Zurich last week.”

  Grigori stepped forward, and then with a loud bang, he slammed the door to the armored truck closed. Threateningly, Grigori drew a 9mm Glock pistol from his shoulder holster, pulled back on the slide loading a round and then crossed his arms. He stood there like a statue, glaring at Mitchell, daring him to make a move.

  Al-Hadi pulled out a large Cuban cigar, lit it, and then spoke. “I am sorry, but there has been a minor clerical misunderstanding, Captain Mitchell. It would seem that the total negotiated is woefully insufficient, wouldn’t you agree? Now that you have seen the state of the merchandise, I am sure you can tell her parents that the sum of an additiona
l twenty million dollars for the safe return their daughter is far preferable to—” Al-Hadi paused for a moment to select the right words “—the alternative.”

  Al-Hadi didn’t have to spell out what he meant. Mitchell knew that if Mary’s parents didn’t pay up, the girl would suffer more beatings and most likely rape in an attempt to extort more money from them. All of this would be meticulously recorded and sent home until her parents paid up or Mary died from her wounds.

  Mitchell took a deep breath and looked around at the four closest bodyguards standing beside Al-Hadi. They look like professionals, but that doesn’t guarantee that they are as tough as they pretend to be, thought Mitchell.

  No matter what he did next, it was a throw of the dice.

  Mitchell estimated that there were perhaps no more than twenty guards in the compound, some seen, some unseen. With a shrug of his shoulders, Mitchell ever so indifferently took out his iPhone. “You must forgive me, Mister Al-Hadi. I am sure you understand, but I am just the middleman. I will need to contact my people to see if this new business arrangement can be negotiated with her father,” said Mitchell calmly, thumbing through his telephone directory.

  “Of course, Captain Mitchell, you must do what you need to do,” said Al-Hadi as he smiled to himself, thinking what he could do with thirty million U.S. dollars.

  High above, like a bird soaring on the winds, the small Desert Hawk UAV circled the complex. Painted ghost-gray, it easily blended in with the sky. The UAV had also been recently modified to make its engine near impossible to hear. Its high-tech cameras sent a feed direct to a small laptop computer that was controlled by a team lying concealed on one of the nearby hills, overlooking the compound. The UAV turned effortlessly and began another slow circle of the camp.

  Far below on a rocky outcropping, a cell phone buzzed. A second later, what looked like a clump of rocks came to life and quickly transformed into a man. Former U.S. Army Master Sergeant Nathaniel Jackson, an African-American with the build of a football player, took out a cell phone from his multi-cam uniform and answered it.

  It was Mitchell.

  “How’s it going down there?” asked Jackson, as he ran his hand over his smooth-shaven head, brushing off any dirt and sand.

  “It would appear that the initial offer is not enough. They want an additional twenty million,” replied Mitchell. With a fake smile on his face, he looked over at the guards while he ran the next couple of moves in his mind like a chess master when facing a determined adversary and an uncertain outcome.

  Jackson let out a low whistle. “Damn, that’s steep. Well, it’s no real surprise now, is it? We always thought they might do this. It’s not the first time a billionaire has been screwed over.” Jackson raised his binoculars to his eyes and surveyed the scene below. “I’ve been watching it all from up here, and your hosts don’t look too hospitable.”

  “No, no. That they don’t.”

  “Hey, Nate, check this out,” said a voice at Jackson’s feet.

  Kneeling, Jackson looked into the laptop at the UAV feed and saw what looked like three army trucks barreling down the road straight at Al-Hadi’s compound, trailing a cloud of dust behind them.

  “What do you make of it?” asked Gordon Cardinal, the team’s master sniper and Jackson’s second-in-command for the mission.

  “Damned odd,” said Jackson as he turned his head, brought his binoculars up, and then studied the vehicles. They most definitely looked like regular army trucks, but none of them had weapons mounted on their roofs for protection. A chill ran up Jackson’s spine as he sensed that their day was about to get a whole lot worse.

  Jackson said, “Ryan, FYI, you’ve got company coming your way. Looks like three Yemeni Regular Army trucks and they don’t appear too friendly, if you catch my drift.”

  “Okay then,” said Mitchell, calmly continuing the charade. “When you can, please give me a call back, and we can settle this affair.” Mitchell ended the call and put his phone away. He quickly digested the new information and tried to decide if they should scrub the mission and return tonight and try to retrieve the girl. Things were bad enough dealing with Al-Hadi’s criminal gang, but now with the Yemeni Army approaching, the whole equation had changed. Mitchell was about to say something, when one of Al-Hadi’s men called out.

  The expression of Al-Hadi’s face grew worried, and he excused himself, leaving Mitchell alone with Grigori.

  Mitchell thought about rushing Al-Hadi’s closest thug, but he suspected that there were multiple weapons trained on his back, so he bit his lip and decided to wait it out and see what was going on.

  A couple of seconds later, the gates to the complex swung open. The three trucks entered the compound and came to a halt in front of Al-Hadi’s headquarters. The passenger-side door on the lead truck opened, and a slender Yemeni Army colonel jumped down. Mitchell could see that he was dressed in a starched camouflage uniform and carried a highly polished, silver-plated 9mm pistol in a shiny, black-leather holster. Without a word, the tailgates on all the trucks dropped and a platoon’s worth of soldiers quickly exited the trucks and took up a defensive stance beside their vehicles, their AK-47 assault rifles trained on Al-Hadi’s men.

  None of this made any sense to Mitchell. If they had wanted to, the soldiers could have easily shot their way into the compound. The only thing that was clear was that whatever was going on was not condoned by the Yemeni military. Mitchell watched as Al-Hadi and the Yemeni Army colonel exchanged forced pleasantries. His Arabic was good, but Mitchell couldn’t catch everything they were saying. It was apparent from the body language that the colonel was telling Al-Hadi something he didn’t want to hear. A few seconds later, the officer, with Al-Hadi following close behind like some lost puppy dog, strode purposefully over to where Mitchell was standing. The officer stopped mere meters away from Mitchell, removed his sunglasses, and then glared threateningly into his eyes. Mitchell took a deep breath. He was really tiring of all the macho posturing going on around him. He just wanted to leave with Mary before it was too late to do so.

  “Infidel, how much is this bastard asking for to release the hostage?” said the colonel in English, with a nod of his head at Al-Hadi.

  “Initially, ten, now as of five minutes ago . . . thirty million dollars,” Mitchell replied in Arabic.

  The colonel’s face broke into a wide smile. He turned to face Al-Hadi. “I always knew you were an untrustworthy piece of trash, but to keep money from me, that is unforgivable.”

  Al-Hadi’s once-confident face drained of color as fear took hold. “I was going to tell you, Colonel Saleh . . . honestly,” stammered Al-Hadi. “This new arrangement that the American spoke about has just happened. I just didn’t have time to tell you.”

  “Don’t take me for a fool, Al-Hadi!” yelled the colonel.

  “I did not, it . . .”

  Saleh didn’t let Al-Hadi finish what he was saying. Without warning, like a coiled snake launching itself at its unsuspecting prey, Saleh struck Al-Hadi hard across the face with his hand, causing him to stagger back a few feet. His lip split wide open. Blood trickled down his face.

  Grigori came to life, barked an order and as one, Al-Hadi’s men readied their weapons and pointed them at the Yemeni colonel.

  The hair went up on the back of Mitchell’s neck as the Yemeni soldiers turned their rifles on Al-Hadi. His blood turned cold in his veins as he stood there, feeling helpless and exposed as both parties glared at one another over loaded weapons.

  “Damn it all to hell, this is going south fast,” said Jackson as he watched the situation unfold below him.

  He had worked with Mitchell for years, both in and out of the army. For the first time since that time they had been pinned in a dry river bed in Afghanistan for two days did Jackson feel that they had bitten off more than they could handle. Ten years older than Mitchell, he carried a few extra pounds around his waist, something he promised to deal with another day. Jackson couldn’t just stand there and watc
h his friend die in some kind of bizarre Mexican standoff.

  Turning on his throat-mic, Jackson spoke. “Okay, folks, listen up; it looks like the plan has changed. Should things turn ugly, I want everyone ready to go hot, I say again, be prepared to go hot. On my order, engage targets at will and I don’t care who it is, the thugs or friggin’ crooked Yemeni soldiers. They’re all legit targets. Just keep them all away from the boss.”

  Laying barely a couple of yards away, Cardinal lifted up his sand-colored camouflage veil, pulled his Barrett M82 .50 cal sniper rifle tight into his shoulder and then carefully took aim.

  Al-Hadi saw his men standing firm. His fear started to fade away. His smug bravado returned with every second. Scornfully wiping the blood from his face, Al-Hadi walked over beside Grigori. “Well, Colonel, I think you should apologize before we go any further.”

  Saleh’s eyes blazed with hate. “I will do no such thing.”

  Mitchell felt the air turn electric as both sides prepared for things to turn bad. Like a tinderbox, all it would take was one false move and both sides would let loose with all they had. Mitchell stood there as calm as he could be, all the while desperately searching for a way to escape with his and Mary’s lives.

  “The deal we made was for three million dollars,” said Al-Hadi calmly, as he straightened his rumpled designer suit jacket. “But I am also a pragmatic businessman, so I will forgive your recent transgression. I am willing to go a little higher. Shall we say five, my good Colonel? That is, of course, only after Mister Mitchell confirms that the girl’s parents agree to pay the extra money.”

  “You must think me mad. I turn a blind eye to you and your gang of drug dealers and thieves. It is my ass, not yours, that is on the line with the government and the police. I need to bribe a lot of people to keep them from looking your way and these cut into my profits,” said Saleh, angrily jabbing Al-Hadi in the chest with his finger. “Don’t you dare screw with me, Al-Hadi. I want more money, or else!”