by Harold
“Activity at the main gate!” Larijani was excited about an unexpected development. “A limousine is leaving . . . no, two vehicles. Turning south.”
Esmaili turned to Azizi. “This is the target? Not the building?”
The courier from Tehran shrugged eloquently. “Forgive me, brother. Secrecy was essential. But your men should proceed as planned.”
Biting down his anger, Esmaili spoke into his handset again.
“North and East, the plan remains. Repeat, the plan remains.” He glanced at his watch. “Begin . . . now!”
* * * *
KARA COMPOUND
One of the Druze sentries glanced down and recognized Kara’s armored limousine. The Mercedes-Benz S600 had almost every option except self-contained oxygen against gas attacks. The trailing BMW was well equipped—it could run on flat tires a considerable distance—but boasted few amenities beyond minimal armor and a goodly supply of 7.62mm ammunition.
A gunshot split the night air, taking the Druze off his feet.
Across the intersection to the east, another round snapped out. It hit the brick facade of the building just below the concrete lip, forcing Bosco to take cover. Thirty meters away, Breezy turned toward his partner. Noting that Bosco was unharmed, Breezy reached his right hand to his left shoulder and pressed the transmit button on his tactical set. “Rounds fired, rounds fired! North and east corners.”
“Look! Down the street!” Another Druze pointed down the boulevard, noting a speeding Citroen. The gray hatchback was followed by a black Peugeot sedan.
Bosco stuck his head up, took in the situation, and made another call. “Hostiles inbound, Colonel! Two cars. Looks like they’re after the limo.”
Frank Leopole heard the calls and forced his attention away from Jasmine and Bahiya’s molded forms and lithe movements, visualizing the developing situation outside. He stood up, shouting over the music. “Gooks in the wire, people! Saddle up!”
* * * *
Rob Furr had spotted the second muzzle flash. He put his crosshairs on the spot, confident that it was inside the two-hundred-yard zero on his scope, and remembered to breathe. Prone behind the bipoded SR-60, he made a minute elevation adjustment by flexing his toes on the surface of the roof. As he sweetened up the sight picture, another shot flared in his night scope. He heard the round whip overhead, apparently aimed at one of Kara’s men who ducked amid an exclamatory tirade in Arabic.
He began his squeeze. Hold it, right. . . there.
The .308 round left the custom barrel as the rifle recoiled straight back. Furr called the shot to himself. Center. He ran the bolt and recovered, finding his crosshairs steady.
Breathe.
He saw no sign of the shooter but another form was visible, leaning over something on the roof. Furr adjusted the sight picture, placed the crosshairs on the green humanoid form, and pressed the trigger.
Damn! A little left. He cycled the bolt again and saw a third form apparently dragging something out of sight.
Breathe.
Furr sucked in more of the night air, then shifted his scan left and right. Nothing else appeared in his scope. He realized that his pulse was elevated, but his breathing was under control. So were his emotions.
* * * *
Breezy looked down from his perch, aware that Kara’s men were hosing full-auto rounds to the north and east. The noise would have been deafening under other conditions, but audio exclusion had kicked in. The lead Citroen was within fifty meters of Kara’s Mercedes. The Druze driver was attempting a two-point reverse but there was little room owing to other vehicles parked on the street. The bodyguards in the BMW had bailed out, racing to provide close support until the limo could evade.
A bright flash erupted to Breezy’s left, scaring him out of his wits. He turned to see a sentry lowering an RPG launcher, immediately beginning to reload. The projectile seared downward into the concrete canyon, impacting near the Citroen’s right rear bumper. Not a bad shot, Breezy thought, but there would be no time for a second.
Seconds from impact, the Citroen was taken under automatic fire by three guards on the street. One of them was Walid, the youngest son, gamely but ineffectually firing his 9mm submachine gun.
Glass erupted from the gray hatchback, but it barely swerved in response to the gunfire. Breezy watched in frozen fascination as the suicide vehicle smashed almost head-on into the Mercedes.
Seconds ticked off, each with a beginning, middle, and end.
One person tumbled from the limo, then another.
Then the Citroen exploded.
* * * *
Most of the sentries expected the Peugeot to double up on Kara’s limousine or to collide with the BMW. It did neither. Abreast of the grilled entry, it veered abruptly right and crashed through the wrought-iron gate. From there it accelerated across the courtyard, drawing sporadic fire from the roof.
The French machine slewed to a stop at the entrance to the main building and disgorged four men. Each carried an AK and one or two satchels. They sprinted inside, fanning out left and right.
* * * *
Frank Leopole, Phil Green, and Jack Jacobs were the first armed responders to arrive at the lobby. They saw Jeff Malten rolling on the floor, clasping his side as dark liquid seeped through his fingers. Jacobs glimpsed two men dashing down the halls on either side, saw the satchels, and knew what was coming. He dived on Malten, expecting an explosion.
In the lighted hallway Leopole had a clear shot at the man on the left. The former Marine raised his M-1A, placed the front sight between the shoulder blades, and pressed the trigger. Once, twice. Twenty meters away, the assailant stumbled, caught himself, staggered drunkenly, and collapsed against the wall.
Something rolled from the corpse’s right hand.
Leopole shouted “Grenade!” and hit the deck, covering his head with his hands.
The explosion was smaller than Leopole expected but the concussion left his ears ringing. He rolled over, looking for Green.
Leopole sat up, bringing his rifle to low ready. Fight your way to your feet. He saw more SSI men emerging from the dining area. Wallender appeared and Leopole asked, “Where’s Green? He was just here.”
The former Green Beret hefted his folding-stock AK and pointed to the corridor on the right. “Down here, Colonel.” He ran in that direction.
Before Leopole could get up, he heard semi and full-auto fire from the hall. The noise was painful, ringing off the walls and ceiling.
Moments later Green reappeared, exchanging magazines and smiling broadly. “There’s more, Colonel. Let’s find ‘em!”
* * * *
BEIRUT
Ahmad Esmaili turned to Mohammad Azizi. “That is all? A car bomb and four men to attack the compound?”
“If we killed Kara it is well worth the cost. The attack on the building is a bonus, especially if some Americans are killed. In any case, it will disrupt the Druze operations for a while. That is our larger goal for the greater cause.”
A chill descended upon Esmaili. He could only infer that the greater cause had something to do with the planned missile sites, and precious little to do with his own survival. He stored that thought in the ready-ammunition locker of his mental arsenal and backed out of the observation position.
“Where are you going?” Azizi asked.
“To collect my men or to retrieve their bodies.”
* * * *
KARA COMPOUND
The situation was well beyond confusion; it bordered on chaos.
While the Druze fighters were drawn to the street where their leader’s limousine had exploded, the SSI team and a few of Kara’s men searched the main building. Sporadic gunfire erupted in both wings, which Leopole took as evidence of twitchy trigger fingers. “Re-con by fire,” he surmised to Wallender. The search expanded for the other two intruders.
In the dining hall, two Druze and Bob Ashcroft had remained with the dancing sisters. The doors had no lock, so Ashcroft and a Druze ha
d pushed a long table across the entrance to prevent the doors from opening inward.
Moments later an explosion rocked the facility, knocking down one door and leaving the other askew. Almost immediately two gunmen leapt the ruined table, hosing searching bursts from their Kalashnikovs.
Ashcroft had been nearest the door when it imploded. Knocked from a kneeling position onto his back, he was temporarily stunned. Meanwhile, at dining-hall distance, two Druze and two Sunnis began shooting at each other.
The invaders had the advantage of shock from the explosion, shooting down one of Kara’s men before he could get a decent sight picture. One of the attackers then saw the prostrate American and swung on him.
In the far corner, Bahiya took a round through her left arm and spun away, shrieking in pain. In response, Jasmine leapt to her feet, panic-stricken.
The first assailant was seriously devout. Where others saw a fetching costume of gossamer and jewels, he saw whorish attire and responded religiously. He shouldered his rifle, pressed the trigger, and held it down.
Fueled by a massive adrenaline dump, Bob Ashcroft scooped up his Galil, thumbing the selector to full auto. Despite a poor cheek weld, he started at the assailant’s belt and rode the recoil almost to the chin. The man went down in a scarlet spray.
Abruptly it was quiet.
Ashcroft looked around and gawked at what he saw. The other Sunni and the remaining Druze held AKs with the bolts locked back. They’re both empty! The former cop thought that he had rounds remaining in his magazine and directed them where they were urgently needed. A nine-round burst put four 7.62s into the target’s right side. The Hezbollah fighter collapsed and began a clotted wailing.
Ashcroft raised unsteadily to his feet and watched wide-eyed as the Druze reversed his rifle, raised it over his head, and used the butt to cave in the Sunni’s cranium.
Bahiya’s contralto voice split the silence. In a high, penetrating keening, she wept over her sister’s body. The American approached her, placed a hand on her shoulder, then knelt beside her. She stopped wailing in preference to deep, throaty sobs. As the dancer leaned into him, Ashcroft touched Jasmine’s bare feet. “She saved my life and she didn’t even know it.”
* * * *
19
KARA COMPOUND
“Tell me.” Leopole spoke to Major Ayash in a flat tone devoid of warmth.
The IDF Druze inhaled, held his breath, then blew it out. “Kara is alive. He’s suffering from concussion and some burns but he should survive.” Ayash shook his head in amazement. “That man has more lives than a litter of kittens.”
“The others?”
“Well, he pulled his wife out just before the explosion but she absorbed some of the blast. Her body probably saved his life. Nobody else got out of the vehicle.”
Leopole absorbed that information, nodding slowly. Finally he looked up. “Then his sons . . .”
“Salim was in the Mercedes. But Walid rode with the escort, as his father always insisted. He is unharmed.”
“Okay. I’m going to debrief my people and I need your help. Malten is our best medic but he took a round and can’t travel for a while. I’m detailing Jacobs to stay with him and provide liaison. Now we have to know, Major: can we stay here or do we need to move someplace else?”
Ayash raised a hand. “You may stay here, Colonel Leopole. Believe me, the Syrian Army would have trouble getting near this compound today.” He tossed his head. “There are measures in place that are not apparent, and some of them are—exceptional.”
“You’re saying there’s IDF forces nearby?”
The Druze liaison man did not try to hide his smile. “I am saying the measures are, ah, exceptional.”
“Okay, I’ll accept that at face value. But we still need to know: how did the Hezzies get on to this arrangement? There was some sort of security breach.”
Ayash touched Leopole’s arm and directed him away from the gathering crowd in the compound’s conference room. “Frank, you will understand how sensitive this subject is. But. . .” His voice trailed off and his gaze went to the far wall.
“But, you deserve to know. I spoke with Rafix on the way to the hospital. He was nearly delirious with shock and grief. But in putting together a few things he said, here is what I suspect:
“He was taking two prescriptions for pain, including morphine.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Well, he was sobbing all the while but he indicated that the medicine clouded his judgment and he thinks he might have told the caterers more than they needed to know. If so, it would explain the timing of the attack—immediately after dinner, as he was leaving.”
The American almost reeled on his heels. “Oh, my God.” Leopole’s right hand went to his forehead. “He must be . . .”
Ayash gave a decisive thrust of his chin. “Yes. He is.”
“So what’s the current situation? We can’t have people walking around who know about the setup in here.”
Ayash’s face went rigid, as if carved in granite. “As of this evening, I do not believe that any of them will be walking about, Colonel.”
Leopole appreciated the sentiment but held doubts. “I can’t believe that anybody who passed the word would stick around very long.”
“It does not matter. We ask certain people certain questions, and make it clear that it is in their interest to cooperate with us. After that, it’s mainly a detective story.”
“Ending in a dark alley someplace,” Leopole prompted.
Ayash pointedly looked at his watch. “It’s time for the debrief, isn’t it?”
* * * *
MOUNT LEBANON GOVERNATE
Ebrahim Larijani was shaken but able to function. He had not seen Moshen Yazdi’s body, and Esmaili was glad of that fact. The 168-grain hollow point had taken the boy just above the left eye. At least he felt nothing. Presumably in that microsecond Yazdi ascended to heaven to bask in the presence of God.
During the fifty-minute ride back to the Hasbaya area, Esmaili had time to reflect on the operation and his men’s performance. Both of the budding snipers had executed their orders, though it was uncertain how many Druze or Zionists they had shot. There had been little opportunity to discuss details with Azizi’s security men, and Esmaili was uncertain of their competence or reliability.
At least they had taken Yazdi’s body, sparing Esmaili’s cell the doleful duty of preparing it for burial. Far better to commit the earthly remains to the care of brother jihadists.
Remains. That’s all he was.
Esmaili had seen uglier corpses in his career, but not recently. Still, he marveled at the American’s precision in what must have been a two-hundred-meter snapshot in the dark. He put that bullet beside Yazdi’s scope, almost through the left eye. Esmaili cast a furtive glance at Larijani. These boys have no idea what they are facing.
* * * *
SSI OFFICES
“Admiral, it’s Colonel Leopole. Line two.”
Derringer jabbed the button on his phone. He had received the e-mail from Beirut half an hour before.
“Frank! You all right?”
“Yes, sir. Marten’s serious but I think he’ll be okay. A couple of other guys got flash-burns and fragments.” The former Marine’s voice was low-pitched, controlled. The satellite phone connection was excellent.
“What about Kara and his people?” Derringer knew there had been losses.
“Mr. Kara’s under guard in a hospital. He should be alright but as you can imagine he’s shook about his wife and son. Two others were killed in his limo and there were two KIAs in the compound. A couple of the wounded are serious.” He decided there was no point in mentioning Jasmine, nor Ashcroft’s efforts to comfort her bereaved sister.
Derringer tried to visualize the situation and realized that he could not. “Frank, listen. It’s pretty obvious that there was a security breach. What do you know about that?”
“Most of our intel is speculation, sir. But our IDF liai
son says that Kara’s medication probably overrode his judgment and he might have told the caterers more than they needed to know.” His voice trailed off, then resumed. “It’s almost midnight here. We’re doubling the watch and waiting for more information in the morning.”
Derringer found himself leaning closer to the speaker phone, almost as if he wanted to whisper in Leopole’s ear. “Listen. If things are that bad, we can’t count on maintaining operational security in the villages. You guys will be even more exposed out there.”
Leopole realized that Mike Derringer was opening the door to canceling the mission. “Yes, I know, Admiral. I discussed that with the guys during our debrief. There’s some concern, of course, but they’re willing to stay so far.” He paused, recalling the tension in the room, the anger over the security breach, though so far none of the SSI operators knew of Kara’s lapse.