Obscure Intentions

by Anthony J Harrison

  Shielding his eyes from the sun, Nazim Aziz stared at one of the three towers, its exterior surface showing the ravages of weather and time upon it. Peering at his wristwatch, he knew from the information Omar Khalid was providing that the police would change personnel in the next thirty minutes, if not sooner. Off in the distance, he could hear the shrill sound of a vessel’s horn as another ferry approached the island.

  Amongst the crowd of tourists, several couples broke off and took their place near a few of the entrances to the fortress as the ferry neared the docks. Nazim spun around, hearing the boat operator announcing its arrival, watching several men gathering on the deck, backpacks slung over shoulders in the same fashion soldiers would carry them.

  Standing near Nazim was Malik, Omar Khalid’s trusted servant and leader of the men and women assembled to liberate Hakim from his imprisonment. As the latest wave of tourists made their way from the docks to the fortress courtyard, several of Malik’s men proceeded down the path towards the boat.

  “Remember, they need to control the vessel without destroying the radio equipment,” Nazim reminded the Algerian criminal.

  “They know what to do, Nazim.” Malik said, moving off to the main entrance to the citadel.

  As the last of the police detail exited the boat, Malik’s men jumped aboard, quickly subduing the crew members near the exit door. In minutes, Nazim spotted two of the men enter the bridge and assume control of the boat. “It is time,” he told himself as he followed the crowd towards the inner court of the fortress.

  Four members of the police detail had earlier gone into the entrance to the dungeon when they were confronted by several of Malik’s men, pistols at the ready. “Cooperate peacefully or die quickly,” one gunman said. Gesturing the lead officer towards the security door, he added, “Your code please,” he ordered pointing to the exposed keypad.

  The officer knew he and his men would die if he hesitated, so he entered the correct code, and then stepped aside. As the door swung silently on the well-oiled hinges, a narrow rock hewn passageway appeared. This happened in two other areas of the fortress as Malik’s men forced their way into the hidden passages behind the police.

  Walking through the courtyard, Nazim, Malik, and Ketifa were soon behind the last group of three officers as they approached the entrance. “Do as I say and you won’t be harmed,” Nazim said, nudging the silenced pistol against the policeman’s ribcage.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “I’m more interested in what you can do,” the drug smuggler said.

  “You’ll die before you make it to the docks, you know,” the officer said, trying to stall the inevitable outcome. “I’ve twenty officers waiting for you when you exit.”

  “We can’t let them ruin our timetable,” Malik said, his frustration evident with his curt expression and tone.

  Nazim knew the timing would be precarious if he didn’t free Hakim soon. The transport Omar had arranged for would not be stopping to loiter while he and Malik’s men negotiated with the police. Pushing himself and the gun closer towards the officer, he once again emphasized his position. “Open the door, now,” he ordered, bringing the pistol up to the officer’s head.

  Without hesitation, the officer’s fingers stabbed out the entry code, releasing the locks.

  Hearing the faint click of the latch, Malik used his foot, pushing it open to allow six members to escape the heat of summer accumulating within the courtyard.

  Snaking through the labyrinth of corridors, they soon came upon the control room where they were met by the others. “Where did you secure the other police?” Malik quickly asked.

  “Follow me; I’ll show you,” one of the supposed clerics said, leading him down a hallway.

  Nazim turned his attention to the medical technician sitting in front of the computer. “Where is your captive?” he asked, leveling the pistol to the woman’s head. “Where is Hakim?” His voice cracked under the pressure.

  The woman looked over at the senior officer before speaking. “He’s in cell number eight,” she said, pointing to the video screen, its image a contrast of green and black showing a figure curled up in the corner.

  Nazim glanced at the monitor and saw the grainy image of his cousin huddled under the ragged burlap blanket. On a secondary monitor, he saw a group of officers gathering in a hallway. “Where are those men?” he demanded.

  “The fourth level. Just below the holding cells,” the woman said, the hesitation in her voice belying the vulnerability she was feeling.

  Pointing to two of Malik’s men, Nazim barked his orders. “Secure the stairs leading to the fourth level and hurry.”

  Holding one guard by the collar, Nazim pushed him towards the passageway, pressing the gun to his temple. “Show me where this cell is or you’ll die.” He quickly turned to Ketifa, who’d tossed her robe aside to expose a submachine gun. “Guard the woman. And shoot her if she tries anything. You two follow me,” Nazim instructed two other men of Malik’s contingent.

  The officer stepped out of the control room and slid his hand along the wall until it met the light switch. Flicking it upward, the once darkened abyss of the dungeon was now bathed in fluorescent brilliance. Nazim pushed the officer along, his pistol digging deep against the guard’s kidney. As they trudged along, Malik’s men followed, occasionally turning to see if they were being followed.

  After descending one of the narrow set of stairs, the four men came upon the cell holding Hakim Talib. “Open the door,” Nazim commanded.

  Slipping the key into the lock, the guard did as he was told, and soon the dungeon cell was awash with the light from the corridor, temporarily blinding Hakim. “Who’s there?’ he asked.

  “Kill him if he tries anything,” Nazim told Malik’s men as he stepped away from the guard and entered the cell. “It’s me, Hakim. It’s Nazim; we’re here to take you home,” he said, reaching out to his cousin. Aiding the young man to his feet. Nazim could see the extent of his cousin’s condition.

  Hakim’s image was one of malnourishment and isolation. Being fed soup and bread had taken its toll as the skin showing on his arms and around his face was sagging noticeably. His hair, once thick and well-kept, was now a matted and greasy mess. While he sat in isolation for the last six weeks, Hakim’s complexion had become pale for one living in the desert.

  Nazim struggled to contain his emotion. The sight of his cousin, a sickly character struggling to keep his balance while he stood, drove his anger to a new level. The once proud young Algerian would need a great deal of care to regain his strength. As he helped steady Hakim, the young man forced himself to smile as he realized the person before him was not a delusion created by the drugs.

  “Nazim, we must hurry,” a voice came from behind the drug smuggler. Twisting, he saw Malik standing in the cell’s doorway, rivulets of sweat cascading down his forehead. “The boat will pass soon and we need to be ready for it,” he reminded him, urging the older man to move.

  “Come, Hakim. It’s time to go,” he said softly, wrapping his arm around his cousin and helping him into the corridor.

  ***

  Across the harbor, the police motor launch sped across the water, its speed highlighted by the rooster-tail display of water that followed them. The operator and engineer were given orders to transport the SWAT team to the island as quickly as possible, and they were making every effort to do so.

  “We’ll split up as soon as the boat touches the dock,” Captain Georges shouted over the engine as he was looking over the teams and pointing out the places on the map they were to cover. “Team Two, you’ll move against the ferry and secure it; I’ll lead Team One towards the courtyard. Captain Picard and his teams will come in by helicopter and be dropped into the courtyard after we secure it.”

  “What rules of engagement are we using for this action, Captain?” Officer Cormier, the explosives technician on the team, queried.

  “We’ve got some civilians already on the island, so hold
your fire unless you have a clear sign an assailant has a weapon in hand,” Captain Georges ordered. “Does everyone understand? What about you Benoit?” he asked Geneviève. “You have any issues with our approach?”

  Standing amongst the team, all Geneviève felt was the excitement building as they approached their target. “I’m fine with everything, Captain,” she replied, fidgeting with the MP5 submachine pistol slung around her neck. Staring past the officer and the boat operator, her eyes grew larger as the single stone dock loomed ahead.

  “Captain Lemieux, you’ll stay onboard with Officer Dupre’ until we give the all clear signal,” the SWAT commander said, staring at his counterpart. “I mean it, Claude.”

  “Understood, Pierre. I’ll wait here with the boat,” Claude responded, not wanting to cause a scene in front of the team.

  “Captain, the ferry is secured to the northwest berth so we’ll be landing on the eastern section,” Officer Dupre’ shouted over the engine’s roar. “Have your men stand by the port side,” he added as he swung the launch around, its bow pointing towards the ferry.

  The SWAT team took its position along the rail of the boat as it lost speed and came alongside the stone landing, scraping its hull against the sandstone buttress. In moments, four members had jumped from the boat and took up defensive positions.

  Standing on the bridge, two of Malik’s men saw the approaching police boat and contacted the Algerian criminal for instructions. “Do not let them gain access to the stairway,” came the call. “They must not reach the main building.” One man made his way to the ferry's main deck, where he took up a position unleashing a stream of bullets in the SWAT team’s direction.

  “Anton, take the gun out!” Captain Georges screamed, directing his sniper to action. The officer leapt upon the roof of the launch with his rifle, taking aim at the lone gunman on the ferry and fired at his target. The Algerian criminal never expected the lethal round as his world ended in a flash, the sniper’s bullet impacting his exposed forehead.

  Just as the gunman was silenced, the other members of the SWAT team made their way across the landing towards the stone path leading to the upper levels. Proceeding cautiously but with purpose, each member swung their weapons back and forth, preparing to take any necessary action in a moment’s notice.

  Over the two-way radio, Captain Georges heard the alert come from the helicopter pilot stating a second vessel was placed on the south jetty below the main buildings. “Pierre, this is Jean-Luc. I can see at least three people guarding the boat,” the second SWAT commander said, looking down from the helicopter.

  Coming to the landing at the top of the stairs, Captain Georges waved his team closer to him. “There’s a second landing on the south side,” he said. “Cormier, Lavigne, and Benoit, secure that boat. The rest of you, fan out and secure the exits. Don’t let any group exit the areas. Once the second team is in place, we’ll whittle the numbers down, understood?”

  Acknowledging the order, Officer Cormier turned to his fellow members. “Ready to move, Milo? How about you, Benoit?”

  “I’m ready to go,” Geneviève said, subconsciously thrusting her breasts forward in an act of bravado, her face flush with excitement.

  The three officers began the quick jog across the open courtyard, their weapons held low, but ready. Dodging past the corner of the main house, they soon found themselves in a narrow passage between the building and a walled off garden. Staring up at the building for any movement, Geneviève saw the top edge of the stone wall towering several meters over her head.

  Coming to a dead end in the passage, Corporal Cormier spun around. “We need to go back,” he said, nodding to the wall behind him.

  “Give me a boost,” Benoit said, slinging her weapon across her back. “I’ll secure a rope on the other side.” There was a pause as she looked at the other officers. “Come on, we don’t have any time for a debate,” she demanded, lifting her foot off the ground.

  Cormier pulled the rope from around his neck and placed it over Geneviève’s before leaning against the stonewall. “Come on, Lavigne, it’ll be simpler than lifting me,” he promised, reaching his arm out to his partner.

  Lifting Geneviève to the top of the wall was simple for the two men trained for the task. As they positioned themselves under the detective, they pushed the woman easily to the point she could throw her leg over the wall and straddle the top. Looping the rope, Geneviève secured it to an outcropping of stone and let it fall to her companions.

  Glancing over the edge, she found several spaces allowing her to descend from the wall back onto the ground, where she took up a position to defend the others. Stepping forward, she spotted a pathway which would lead them down to the small jetty and the waiting boat.

  “Wait for us,” Cormier said in a hoarse whisper as he dropped to his feet next to her. Lavigne was next to shimmy down the rope, joining the other two members. “Ok, let’s go,” the corporal said, leading the way down the path.

  Before the officers could make their way to steps traversing the wall of the fortress toward the jetty, five people emerged from a secluded entrance in the main building ahead of them.

  “Hakim,” Benoit said to her companions, recognizing one of the men in the group. “He was our suspect being held here.” She brought her weapon to bear on the five walking into the open.

  Taking his hand and pushing the barrel downward, Cormier reminded Geneviève of their engagement rules. “They don’t have any weapons,” he said. “Lavigne, you take the right side while I come up from the left. And Benoit, you maintain cover for us.”

  As the officers laid out their plans, the Algerians continued down the granite steps toward the landing. Seeing the group nearing the bottom of the steps, the operator started the boat’s engine, its roar echoing off the fortress walls.

  “Move, now,” Cormier said, getting up and making his way towards the steps, the others in tow behind him.

  Striding ahead of the other two officers, Geneviève was now able to lead them down the steps, her determination to recapture Hakim Talib overpowering her sense of justice. In a few brief steps, she was within twenty meters of the group when the lead person turned and looked in her direction.

  “Remesy!” she shouted, bringing her weapon to her face. “Stop right there; you’re under arrest,” she ordered, not hearing the rev of the boat’s engines in anticipation of being unleashed. In her blinded sense of revenge, Geneviève further failed to notice Ketifa raising her rifle to bear on her.

  Hearing his alias being yelled out, Nazim Aziz turned towards the three officers. “Keep them at bay until we’re at the boat,” he yelled as he helped the struggling Hakim towards the landing.

  As the female officer pushed past, Cormier brought his weapon to bear on the last person in the group. As Benoit made her presence known, he caught sight of an AK47 being held by one member who dropped their robe, leveling the weapon at the pursuing officer. In a split second, the Algerian woman was showering the trio with a hail of bullets.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The ricochet of bullets careening off the stonewall, one striking Geneviève’s Kevlar helmet, emphasized the severity of the scene she’d created. Caught in the open, she dropped to the ground, pinned down by crossfire unleashed by Algerians on the boat and her fellow officers, Cormier and Lavigne, from behind her.

  Dragging herself to the edge, she caught sight of Talib followed closely by the man known as Remesy, the drug smuggler wanted by Scotland Yard. Working to gauge the timing of the surrounding gunfight, she came to a knee and let loose a flurry of shots toward the boat’s stern.

  Showing skills honed after long hours on the shooting range, Geneviève was able to pepper the pleasure craft from bow to stern. With the volume of bullets suddenly increasing, the occupants on the boat ceased firing their weapons for a brief moment. This allowed the three officers to make their move closer to the landing.

  “Get us out of here,” Nazim yelled to the front of the bo
at as he turned away from the gunfight.

  With little encouragement needed, the second man scrambled onto the forward deck to cut the line holding the boat in place. While slicing the rope, he was struck with several shots from Lavigne, who had stopped his descent in favor of providing more accurate shots at the suspects. The impact of the bullets striking the deckhand led to him dropping his knife as he rolled overboard and into the water.

  Ketifa lay upon several cushions as she sighted in on the officer and let loose a volley of machine gun fire at the steps leading to the jetty. This momentarily halted the hail of bullets from above, but it also took her attention away from the other two officers who’d made it to the jetty.

  Staring back at Nazim, she noticed terror in his eyes, his expression telling her he’d spotted the imposing figure of Cormier taking aim and pulling his trigger. In a brief instance, the life of the once beautiful desert flower who’d been plucked from poverty in Algiers was soon snuffed out in a hail of gunfire. Nazim could see the bullets ripping through her shoulders and neck, blood spewing across the deck.

  As the drug-induced haze faded, Hakim saw the crumbled body of Ketifa on the deck, blood oozing from her wounds, gathering on the surrounding deck. Seizing the weapon, she’d dropped on the deck, the Algerian blindly swung it over the boat’s edge, pulling the trigger.

  With shots flying across the water, Benoit, Cormier, and Lavigne soon encountered other gunfire as Malik and two of his men came rushing out the main building towards them. Looking at the French police officer kneeling on the steps, Malik opened fire with his machine gun, spraying bullets across the wall above the officer.

  Instinctively, Officer Lavigne ducked, flattening himself on the ground in a vain effort to make himself as small a target as he could. Raising his head, he caught the three gunmen moving towards him, guns raised and pointing in his direction.