by David Lender
His top 20 lieutenants were assembled in the communications room. He would address them one final time before he left the mosque and traveled back to Buraida to take his role as commander of all the revolutionary forces. It was a moment that history would remember, and he wanted it to go flawlessly so he could leave a resounding impression upon his men. He smiled to himself, thinking how even a week earlier he had invoked Alan Rickman in order to prepare himself for such a moment. Now, tested by battle, and having shown his men the example of his leadership throughout the seizure and occupation of the mosque, he was his own man. He no longer needed his muse.
He nodded to the guard outside the communications room, then glanced to the top of the stairway to confirm the five men who would escort him were stationed there. He entered the communications room and stood in the doorway until his men saw him and went silent. He glanced around the room, meeting their gazes, smiling and nodding to each of his men in turn. He motioned for Rashid to join him, and Rashid walked to him and stood at his the side.
“My brothers. Tomorrow, at sunup, the Mahdi will reveal himself, and an uprising by the true believers all over Saudi Arabia will commence. In a few minutes I will leave you and travel back to Buraida to lead our fight for freedom. You will stay here and hold the line in this, the holiest of places, and protect our sacred trust, the Mahdi, the Redeemer of Islam.”
Saif stepped toward his men, wanting them to see the passion in his face. He took a deep breath and allowed his emotions to swell. “We are all fighting for our country, our culture, our way of life. And for the glorification of the Mahdi. He is the symbol of the way forward in our struggle, the one who will provide our spiritual guidance and bring us the strength to conquer those who would demean or pollute his message. Although I will not be with you here in the mosque, I will be with you in spirit, as will you be present in spirit with all our brothers throughout Saudi Arabia.
“Our brother Rashid will command in my absence. Respect his judgment. Now I must go. Now we truly begin. There is no God but Allah!”
“La ilaha ilallah!” the men called back.
Saif stepped out and motioned for Rashid to join him in the hallway. “I will be in touch.” He clapped his hand on Rashid’s shoulder. “Be strong and don’t waver. The men respect you and will follow you. If you are attacked again, at all costs, protect the Mahdi, even if you need to use the pilgrims as human shields. In any revolution, collateral damage is unavoidable.”
Saif strode off.
Sasha had decided it was too risky to leave the catacombs by following the same route through which she’d come. When she reached the lighted sections of the tunnels, she made a series of turns so she emerged from a stairway across the courtyard from the main prayer hall. The hot air singed her nostrils, but it smelled and tasted delicious after being underground for so long. She squinted against the sunlight, taking in the courtyard.
She wasn’t prepared for the sight. Debris and the wreckage of battle were everywhere. The place was almost empty. What happened to everyone? The columns and walls were pockmarked with bullet holes, and bits of stone and marble crunched under her feet as she walked. She pulled her hijab headscarf and veil from her pouch inside her abaya and covered her hair and face. She looked away as she encountered a group of armed men, then passed a cluster of about 25 people who appeared to be pilgrims, mostly men, who sat in the shade near the perimeter wall looking despondent. She reached the main prayer hall and found a few hundred more pilgrims huddled inside, a half dozen armed rebels standing around.
She walked into the crowd of pilgrims and stood, observing. After a few minutes, a group of about 20 armed rebels walked down the stairs together, talking excitedly among themselves, crossed through the prayer hall and exited. After they left she looked back at the stairway and saw Rashid descend, his eyes intense, hurrying someplace. She eased herself through the throng of pilgrims and followed him. He went through a door and descended a stairway into a different section of the catacombs. She glanced back as she pulled the door shut to assure she wasn’t being followed. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, he leaped out in front of her from the shadows and thrust a pistol in her face. Sasha slowly reached up and pulled the veil away from her face. He nodded and lowered the gun.
“Saif,” he said, and motioned with his head. “I know where he’s going.” He started walking down the corridor. Sasha reached into her abaya, gripped the Colt .45 and followed.
Seth speeded the SUV around the mosque, while Zac directed him from the other front seat, watching the blinking lights on his computer screen. Tom glanced at the M4A1 in his hand, wondering what it would be like to fire the thing, then trained his eyes on the minarets for any snipers exposing themselves, as Seth had instructed him. Seth had given him a 60-second crash course on the automatic rifle, showing him the safety, the switch for single round and automatic fire, and how to change the magazine clips. Seth had outfitted them all with M4A1s, Kevlar vests, pouches of extra clips, and grenades and tear gas canisters for the grenade launchers mounted underneath the barrels of the rifles. Seth and Zac had looked grim and serious as they climbed into the SUV. Tom imagined that his face was probably about as white as Ryan’s. Nonetheless, Seth had been unable to talk either of them out of coming with them.
Assad still hadn’t returned with his team by the time they were ready to leave, so Tom made the decision. “Let’s go,” he said. “I’ll call Assad just before we enter the catacombs, tell him where we went in.”
They had passed through the construction site and were bouncing through an unpaved road when Zac said, “Stop here.” He held the computer screen over toward Seth. Tom could see it from the backseat. “Take a look at this.”
He pointed at the screen. The blinking green dots, Couric’s men, were near the center of the mosque. Assad’s men, the amber dots, were across the courtyard from Couric’s team. “The blue dot is Rashid’s cell phone, and the red dot is Sasha’s transmitter, and they’re together now, moving through the catacombs again.”
“What’s that white dot?” Tom asked.
“That’s one of Saif’s cell phones, and he’s on the move, too.”
Seth said, “It looks like Rashid and Sasha are following him.” With that he threw the SUV into gear again and started driving. “We’re on a path to intercept them.”
Zac said, “There should be an entrance to the catacombs in about 100 yards.”
A minute later they stopped in front of a triangular stone structure jutting up from the sand. Seth pulled a tire iron out of the back of the SUV and pried the lock off the iron grate in front of it. Tom called Assad, got his voicemail, and left a message saying where they were and that they were going in. Zac took one last long look at the screen of his laptop, closed it and tossed it into the SUV. Seth poised at the top of the steps, his flashlight in hand, and said to Tom, “You and Ryan stay back, well back. Let Zac and me handle this.” He started down the stairs into the catacombs, his lips pulled tight.
Couric’s team pulled up behind him at the top of the stairs from the catacombs. He was sweating like a pig in his full body armor. If things went as planned, in a few minutes he wouldn’t notice. He gave the hand signal for safeties off, weapons ready, then opened the door. They were in one of the smaller prayer halls, about 200 yards across the courtyard from the main prayer hall. A few pilgrims were milling around, but no one with any weapons. He waved his men up, and within 30 seconds they were all kneeling in firing position, weapons trained on the front doors. The pilgrims ran to the walls and huddled in groups. Couric gave another hand signal and his men used the columns as shelter as they leapfrogged their way forward, covering each other until they reached the front doors. The pilgrims scattered to the outside walls or huddled behind columns. Couric was kneeling by the doorway when his phone beeped. He looked at the screen: one of Assad’s team leaders. “Where are you?” Couric said.
“Aboveground across the courtyard, 100 yards from the main prayer hall.
Our other two teams are in position as well, one to the left and one to the right of the main prayer hall, 200 yards and 300 yards away.”
“Stay put,” Couric said. “We’re going in first.” He signed off. Couric turned to his team. “I want you four snipers in position outside these doors to take out anybody firing from the minarets. Space yourselves. Go.” The four men ran outside. Couric said to the rest of his team, “Sound suppressors in place. Anybody with a weapon gets taken out. Let’s get as close as we can before we let them know we’re here. Tear gas first, then stun grenades, then we go in.” He unhooked his gas mask from his belt, slid it on, then stepped out into the walkway around the perimeter wall, feeling the familiar tightness in his stomach, his pulse rise. He started jogging toward the main prayer hall, hearing the equipment of his men jangling behind him, their boots clomping on the marble. He was about 50 yards from the doorway to the main prayer hall when he encountered his first rebel, flattening him with a burst from his M4A1 and then breaking into a full run, his breathing amplified in his ears by the gas mask. When he was about 25 yards from the door, he crouched and fired a tear gas canister into the main prayer hall. He held his position as two, then five of his men passed him and fired their own canisters inside. He started running again, the rest of his men following.
Still no return fire.
Just as he thought it, he heard the growl of AK-47s opening up from across the courtyard, saw starbursts of flame from the shadows behind the columns across the courtyard. He heard his men behind him return fire and the AK-47s went silent.
“Move!” Couric yelled. The whole team was now sprinting toward the prayer hall doors. A half dozen then positioned themselves behind columns, their weapons trained to the rear, the rest of the team with weapons trained on the prayer hall. Gagging and coughing men started staggering out.
“Stun grenades,” Couric yelled. A half dozen of his men lobbed in grenades, followed by concussions and flashes that blew out windows, and then without the necessity of a command, most of his team hurried inside.
Couric heard more firing from across the courtyard, saw trails of smoke from tear gas canisters. Assad’s guys. One of Assad’s teams ran up behind Couric’s and took covering positions behind columns, facing out into the courtyard. He saw a few rebels on the roof, pointing AK-47s down at them. Two of his men stood up and took them out with bursts from their M4A1s. Couric now heard firing inside the main prayer hall. He crouched by the door, then peered inside. The air was still thick with tear gas, but he could see well enough to observe a dozen men lying on the ground, bleeding, robed men and women pressed against the walls, their arms covering their heads. His team had moved all the way into the hall, some crouching behind columns, intermittently firing. None of his men were down. We’re kicking their asses. He turned and waved to one of Assad’s team leaders and the man sent in his team. Couric looked back at the men he’d left to guard the rear, then turned and went in, his eyes focused on the stairway to the rebels’ command center.
Saif had just reached the first storeroom, one of the ancient rooms in the catacombs where the sympathetic National Guard troops had stashed munitions, food and other provisions for Saif’s men, when he heard the muffled sound of gunfire from above, and then a half dozen loud explosions. He felt a flash of alarm.
For a moment he thought of turning back, then realized it was more important for him to get to Buraida, for the good of the movement. He left two of his men to stand guard outside the storeroom and brought the other three inside. He directed his men to take gas masks and extra clips for their AK-47s. He thought he heard a sound outside the door, whipped his head around to look.
Sasha could see shadows on the walls of the corridor from Saif and his men as she ran behind Rashid, her gun now in her hand. They reached a turn in the tunnel and Rashid motioned for her to stop. He peered around the corner, turned back and whispered, “Two guards outside. Saif and the others must be in the room. It holds munitions and other supplies.”
Sasha pulled off her abaya and threw it on the floor, then loosened up her arms. “Let me see, please,” she said. He stepped back and she looked around the corner. The first guard was only 15 feet away, his AK-47 in both hands in front of him. If he turned his back she could reach him and disable him before he or the other guard knew anything, but the other guard, maybe 25 feet away, was more of a problem. She didn’t see any way out of it: she’d have to kill them both. She pressed her back against the wall, closed her eyes.
When does it stop?
She heard Rashid’s feet as he moved past her, opened her eyes to see him leap out around the corner and crouch with his pistol in his hand. He fired twice, then three more times. Sasha leaned around the corner to see both guards on the floor, then a man extend his body halfway through the doorway with his AK-47 and fire a burst. Rashid dived back as the bullets ricocheted off the walls. Sasha heard footsteps running down the hall, then another burst from an AK-47, more ricochets off the wall. She peered out again to see Saif and three men running away down the corridor. Rashid ran to the first downed guard, grabbed his AK-47 and started firing at them. Rashid hit one man, who fell and then returned fire. Rashid flattened him with another burst.
Sasha ran past Rashid and reached a turn in the corridor. She felt her heart pulsing in her neck, her arms stiffen with tension as she ran. Now it’s just Saif and two men.
Tom heard shots in front of them in the corridor, then bursts of automatic weapons fire, silence, then more. He was having trouble keeping up with Seth and Zac. Seth, the weapons and martial arts guy, he expected it from, but Zac, this big guy who’d turned out to be some techie dweeb, was now all of a sudden an animal intent on raw meat. Both he and Seth would stop at each turn in the corridor, scan with their weapons, and Tom and Ryan would catch up to them. Then they’d tear off again, leaving Tom and Ryan 25 yards behind them by the time they reached the next turn.
When they entered the lighted section of the catacombs, Tom heard more bursts of automatic weapons, saw Seth and Zac pick up the pace, and hurried to keep up. Now he could see flashes from around a turn in the corridor. After another 20 yards he could see chips cracking off the walls with ricochets, smell the cordite, even the smell of crushed stone from the bullets raking the walls.
He was running flat out now, breathing hard, feeling life-threat, then thinking of Sasha, knowing she must be in the thick of this. It drove him to run faster.
Seth and Zac pulled up again, crouching at an intersection in the tunnels, checking to the left from where the flashes were coming. Now the guns went silent, now more firing, then the sound of running footsteps. He reached the corner where Seth and Zac sneaked a look, saw them murmuring and motioning to each other. Tom stuck his head around the corner and saw a few men dart across the corridor 100 feet in front of him in a tunnel that ran perpendicular to the one he was looking down.
Someone else ran past. Sasha! He ran toward her, hearing Seth yell, “Tom!”
Just before Tom reached the intersection, Rashid ran past him after her, a pistol in his hand. Tom fell in behind him and ran.
Sasha was sprinting flat out, calculating: Two men plus Saif. Each with AK-47s. I’ve got eight rounds in this Colt.
If they turned around and fired, she’d need to react quickly, fall to one knee and fire from that position. They kept running; she kept on after them.
Then something whizzed past her. She saw the flare of a small explosion, smoke, and then the biting odor of tear gas. She kept running, then another tear gas canister hissed past her and exploded 20 feet in front of her. She ran into the cloud of gas, and now felt like her nose, eyes and lungs were on fire. She could barely see, but she kept on, glimpsing Saif and his men turn into another corridor. She followed them. The air was clear in that section, but the stinging in her lungs was still horrible and screamed at her to stop, but she pushed on.
She heard footsteps behind her. She turned back to look; it was Rashid, with a man in the shadows behind
him carrying an automatic weapon, then two more men carrying automatic weapons. She turned back and continued to run.
She was gaining on Saif and the men. Now they were only meters in front of her, and then they took a left down another corridor. A few seconds later one of them trained his AK-47 around the corner and started firing. Sasha dived into the corridor to her right, then heard return fire from Rashid and the men running with him. She heard another whoosh, the pop of a tear gas canister exploding and then the smell of the gas. She got down on the floor and looked around the corner. She saw a man dash out of the corridor from which the man had just fired the AK-47 and continue in the direction they’d been running.
Saif!
She heard more return fire from behind her, then men running. More fire, more running, as if the men were leapfrogging each other. Two men passed her, carrying American weapons and wearing gas masks. They stopped and looked left, down the corridor from which the fire had come. She heard more fire from down that end of the corridor from an AK-47, saw rock splinters from the bullets ricocheting off the wall. She got up and raced after Saif. She heard the continued exchange of fire from behind her, then the thunk from the grenade launcher, another explosion of tear gas. Her ears were ringing, but she could still hear Saif’s footsteps in front of her. Her own breathing resonated in her ears.
She reached another corridor, wondering if this maze ever stopped, still hearing Saif’s footsteps in front of her, running on pure adrenaline. Now her lungs were burning, not from the tear gas, but from sprinting for so long, and after so little food. Her body was beginning to wear out. But now she could see Saif 40 meters in front of her. It lifted her. She ran on.