by Schafer, Ben
“I don’t know. To send a message? I’m just a bus driver. What would I know about running a crime ring?”
Something nagged at my thoughts, but I couldn’t nail it down. “If you see anyone you recognize from the old days, I need to know.” He nodded in agreement. “So, are you okay?”
Jamil took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”
“Good.” I slapped him on the shoulder. “Now go get your stuff loaded.” I heard the warble of sirens in the distance. “We need to get out of here right now.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE entire group piled into surviving Land Cruiser and we took off. As we merged onto the road, I turned back in my seat. I watched as a black-and-white Opel station wagon with a lightbar on the roof pulled to a stop in front of the church. Two men in white shirts and brimmed hats stepped out of the car. One of the men spoke into a brick-sized radio while the other knelt on the curb to examine Hafiz.
I felt relief, but I was also flooded with nervous tension. The authorities would get Hafiz to a hospital. Unless there was some other complication, he would probably make it. But I worried that one of the officers may have seen our vehicle departing the scene. If they were clever, they might put the pieces together. We had abandoned a nearly identical Land Cruiser at the church, and they could use that to get a detailed description out to other security forces.
Jamil, with his professional background, drove while I sat in the passenger seat to watch for threats. Nadir, Khamilah, and Omar sat in the back row while Azima and Hashim took the middle. I was afraid that there would be arguments, but everyone was too afraid to concentrate on petty squabbles.
I hadn’t anticipated the level of traffic that we faced. Some of the major roads were little better than parking lots as drivers turned off their engines to preserve a few precious drops of gasoline. We had to avoid the main roads.
Soldiers with rifles in their hands lurked on every street corner. But none of the guards made any kind of threatening moves against us or seemed to care we were there. They were there to project an image of power, not hunt potential fugitives.
Between my knowledge of the streets from my youth and Jamil’s experience as a driver, we arrived at Imady Consulting without running into any of the army checkpoints scattered throughout the city. With the tall building in sight, I pulled out my satellite phone and dialed in a number I knew by heart. Cuvier picked up on the first ring. “What do you need?”
I smiled. “Nice to hear your voice, too,” I replied, speaking in English for the first time since landing in Syria. “I need some information.”
“What do you need?” he repeated.
I gave Cuvier the address and said, “One of the offices belongs to Imady Consulting. I need whatever information you can get on the security setup.”
Cuvier barked some orders to someone on his end of the line. “Looking to rent some office space?”
“You know how it is when you’ve got an untapped market like this. The possibilities are endless.”
“I had heard that the army was moving in on the original site. Are you safe?”
“Mostly. We had to change the LZ, though.”
Cuvier grunted. “To this office building.”
“Yep.”
“Be careful.”
I tried to inject some levity into my voice. “Hey, remember who you’re talking to. ‘Careful’ is my middle name.”
“If I recall correctly, you had it legally changed it to ‘Reckless,’” he quipped.
“We didn’t even know about this building until forty-five minutes ago. There’s no way the bad guys could know that we’re coming.”
“Or they could be pushing you, cutting off your options until you run to a location that suits them,” Cuvier warned. The phone went quiet. Cuvier spoke to someone on his end. “Okay, here we go,” he said a moment later.
“What are we looking at?” I asked.
“Intel is sketchy. Imady Consulting owns the whole building, but they rent out the lower floors. Their offices are on the top floor. If I had to guess, I would say security would be heaviest on the ground floor and in the Imady offices at the top. There’s nothing we can find to indicate anything more than the standard setup: front security desk for visitor check-in and a few men patrolling the halls. It’s unlikely that they would be armed with anything beyond a flashlight, but with all the unrest in the city they may have upgraded to something heavier.”
“Does Imady have any ties to the military?” I asked. “I’d hate to stumble around in a building with the Mukhabarat on speed dial.” The Mukhabarat was the collective name for the internal security agencies that cracked down on dissent and rebellion, run by men like Azima’s ex-husband. They had their hands full with the war. But they would also be on high alert for any suspicious activity, especially in the capital.
“No government contracts,” Cuvier answered. “But I cannot rule out the possibility of blood relatives.”
I grunted in understanding. In a society that placed great emphasis on family, nepotism ran rampant. If someone in Imady had an uncle or cousin in the Mukhabarat, we could be in trouble. Then again, we would run that risk going into a Laundromat, so there was very little we could do about it.
“Thanks. Anything else?”
“Watch your back. Father Abiad contacted us. Emergency services managed to get Hafiz to the hospital, but he is still in critical condition. I know that I don’t have to tell you that lot of eyes are on you right now.”
“I expected you to have more faith.”
“Just get the job done.” He hung up.
I tucked the phone away. “Goodbye to you, too.”
A few minutes later, Jamil pulled the Land Cruiser into the parking lot of the Imady office complex. The complex was an ugly piece of real estate, a blocky white structure in desperate need of a new paint job. The windows were small and the first three floors had iron bars welded over them. I recalled pictures I had seen of old housing units in the Soviet Union: a cheap, simple design that was easy to reproduce. This made sense, I suppose, given the cordial relationship the two nations shared during the Cold War.
For a moment, I considered changing the landing site. We had no guarantees that the roof on the building was still strong enough to support the incoming bird. I checked my watch. The helicopter would be in the air by now, and another sudden change to the flight plan would raise a red flag for the Syrian government. I wasn’t sure if they would take it seriously or move in time to stop us from crossing the border, but I couldn’t take the chance. This had to be the place.
There were only a handful of cars in the parking lot. Whatever businesses that were housed here were experiencing hard times. Either that or everyone had decided to take off from work early. No matter what the reason, it meant that the chances that some random office worker would compromise us had dropped considerably. Still, no need to take chances.
“Jamil, pull around to the back. Look for a delivery entrance we can use.”
Jamil leaned forward on the steering wheel and looked around. “Did you see something?”
I shook my head. “But I don’t want someone to get suspicious and call it in to the authorities. At least this way we’ll be off the street.”
Jamil shrugged and did as I asked. There was a steel roll-up door large enough for a moving van. I assumed it led a loading area of some kind, but a heavy padlock kept it sealed. The rear entrance to the building itself, a sturdy-looking door, also made from steel, seemed easy enough to access without being visible from the road.
We had to move. Out here we were too exposed, and not only to another drive-by shooting. We didn’t fit in with our surroundings, especially with a child in the group. I somehow doubted that it was “Take Your Kid to Work Day” at Imady. While most of the people gathered in the building would be focused on themselves or their co-workers, it would only take one case of bad timing to attract unwanted attention.
Security was sl
oppy. The rear door to the building was unlocked. I entered first to make sure that no guards were around. We were in luck, and the hallway was empty. I held the door for the others to make their way inside.
If the exterior of the building was depressing, the interior doubled down on it. The once-white paint on the walls faded to a sickly yellow color and peeled in ragged strips. Garbage overflowed from the trash cans and onto the drab beige carpet. The whole place smelled of mold and decay, and I fought the urge to cover my mouth as I walked.
Several of the lights had burned out, leaving gaps of darkness further down the hallway. I made a mental note to avoid those shadowy patches at all cost. There were a lot of threats that could lay hidden in a place like that.
The seven of us made our way through the building with as much stealth as we could manage. Hashim seemed startled, but his mother had a reassuring hand on his shoulder and it kept him quiet.
We reached the stairs without spotting another soul. It made me nervous. Even if the office wasn’t open, the security guards should have been out on patrol. Then again, the owners of the office complex seemed unable to afford quality janitorial staff, much less a top-notch security firm. I could understand why so few people seemed willing to work here.
“What a charming place,” Nadir whispered.
I held a finger to my lips. Something about this place made my skin crawl. The primal part of my brain insisted on keeping as still and soundless as possible, while the more rational side wondered why I was worried about attracting attention when there was clearly no attention to attract.
It didn’t take long to find the stairs. I pushed the door open and winced as it let out a squeak. Normally the sound would have gone completely unnoticed, but in the eerie silence it seemed deafening. The stairwell was a spartan design, just flight after flight of dull gray metal stairs leading to the roof.
Khamilah scoffed. “You expect us to walk the whole way? Haven’t you ever heard of an elevator?”
I kept my focus on the stairs and said, “Have you ever heard of an elevator that goes all the way to the roof?”
“Even so, we would only need to walk up one flight of stairs rather than eight. Think of the child.”
Azima shot Khamilah a dirty look. “‘The child,’” she said with exaggerated emphasis, “will be fine. I just hope you can keep up in that funeral robe.”
“You will not speak to me like that,” Khamilah spat.
Fire blazed in Azima’s eyes. “And what are you going to do to stop me?”
I took a step down to place myself between the two women. “Forget it.” I looked to Khamilah. “We can’t go to the top floor. That’s where the company that owns this building has its offices. Even if we didn’t see security down here, you can bet that they’ve got somebody patrolling up there. Not to mention the office workers who would spot us and call the police.”
Khamilah glanced down at her feet. “Oh.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. ‘Oh.’ Now let’s get moving. The helicopter will be here any minute. I don’t know about you guys, but I don’t want to keep them waiting.”
By the time we reached the sixth flight, I found myself agreeing with Khamilah. The elevator would have been easier. I was in good shape, with my exercise regimen of dodging air-to-ground missiles and all, but even my legs began to burn. Omar looked like he was about to collapse. We had to pause on every flight to wait for Khamilah, whose range of motion was limited by her choice of apparel. Azima smirked at the older woman’s discomfort, but she didn’t press her victory.
After eight flights, we finally reached the top. Access to the roof was restricted by a red steel door. A padlock hung from the handle. I was worried that we would have to find a way to smash it, but when I inspected it I saw a thick coat of rust. The locking mechanism had long been rendered useless.
I wrenched the lock from the handle and waved for the group to take a few steps down the stairs while I cleared the area. I pulled my gun out from my ankle holster and pressed the door open with the first two fingers of my left hand. It squeaked and swung outward. Before I stepped onto the roof itself, I scanned for any signs of danger. Satisfied that no one was waiting for me, I stepped outside.
It was a simple setup, a large flat rectangle covered with tar paper and gravel that crunched under my boots. The roof access door was located at the northeast corner of the building. On the opposite side of the rooftop sat a large air conditioning unit that coughed and wheezed sporadically. All manner of electrical and telephone wires dangled along poles that protruded from the edges of the roof like spines from a porcupine. But the roof itself was clear of any entanglements. It wasn’t an ideal location, but there was plenty of open space to handle a helicopter. Despite my earlier fears, it also seemed strong enough to do the job.
I looked at my watch, then back at the skyline. All this waiting put my nerves on edge. The office complex was a few stories higher than the surrounding buildings, so a sniper would only be a real threat if any of us strayed too close to the edge. But something was nagging at the back of my mind that I had to stay vigilant. I hoped it was nothing but years of paranoia, but this was a crucial point and I didn’t want anything to disrupt it.
I glanced down and wished that I hadn’t. Up here, with over eighty feet until a hard splat on the concrete, just a simple misstep could send me tumbling to my death. My instincts screamed that this was a bad idea. It felt like my stomach was trying to press its way up my esophagus. I closed my eyes and took a long breath. Then another. On the fourth attempt, the nausea passed.
Jamil came up from behind me. “Just look at that view,” he said as he admired the skyline.
I kept my breathing steady as I raised my eyes again. I was still a bit queasy, so I kept my focus on the city as it stretched out into the distance. “It’s something,” I agreed.
“I love this country,” Jamil sighed. “I spent my entire life getting to know it’s rhythm. Everyone I love, everyone I hate, everything I’ve ever done. It’s all here.” He shifted his gaze to me for a moment. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not having second thoughts or anything. There is no way that I could stay here and hope to survive. But this,” he swept his arm out to the streets below us. “It’s home. Syria is a part of me, a piece of who I am. Everything that happened to me, whether it was good or bad, has come together to place me where I am right now.”
“On a roof?”
He shook his head. “You know what I mean. This must seem so stupid to a guy like you. But I can’t imagine a life beyond these borders. I guess it’s even harder for me to come to grips with the fact that everything I know in my life can go on without me.”
I stole a glimpse at Azima, who was speaking softly to her son. “Believe me, I understand.”
My ears picked up the welcome sound of helicopter rotors overhead. I looked to the south and spotted a forest green Bell 212 Twin Huey silhouetted against the horizon. I laughed and pointed to the aircraft.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our ride is here. I want everyone to get inside and find a seat as fast as they can. Azima, let me know if you need help with Hashim.”
She scowled. “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry.”
I raised my hands. “Sorry. I didn’t mean any offense.” I looked to the rest of the group. “Azima and Hashim will board first and sit in the middle. Nadir and Khamilah will follow them and sit on the left while Jamil, Omar, and I will come in from the right. The rotor wash will be strong and very loud, and I want you all to be extra—”
My words died in my throat when I saw a flash of light on an adjacent building out of the corner of my eye. There was a horrible thump from the helicopter, and a stream of smoke began pouring out of the engine. The aircraft began to waver before it wrenched too far to the right. Momentum twisted the helicopter into its own private tornado. It spun out of control, faster and faster, until bits of debris began to fly free from the centrifugal force.
And it was hurtling directly for the ro
oftop.
I managed to shout, “Down!” before a chorus of rotor wash and shrieking metal drowned me out completely. I threw myself out of the path of the approaching chopper and landed in an awkward roll, doing my best to keep pressure off my left arm. I flattened my body and tucked the SIG to my chest. The weapon could not stop the encroaching helicopter, but the men with the rocket launcher were still out there and the feel of the pistol in my hand gave me a small amount of reassurance.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the flaming Huey. For a terrible moment, my eyes locked on two figures strapped in the cockpit. They wore full-face helmets, which meant I couldn’t make out their faces. It was a small comfort, at least. I did not need to see the expressions on the faces of those poor men who knew they were about to die. I had enough nightmare fuel for one lifetime.
To his credit, the pilot struggled to keep his bird under control. For a moment, it looked like he might succeed. Then fire belched from the engine and the Huey’s nose dipped in a terminal dive. The aircraft skittered along the edge of the roof and assaulted me with a horrific gale. I pressed my face into the gravel and clenched my eyes shut to protect against flying dust and debris.
Seconds later, I felt my hairs stand on end as the tail boom of the Huey sweep only a few feet above my head. The noise became a physical force that threatened to shake me apart. As the tail continued its sweep, it collided with a satellite dish and sent it careening through the air. Severed wires trailed sparks behind it as it fell. The tail rotor got tangled in some of the electrical wiring and twisted to one side. When it did, the quick-spinning blades tore chunks of tar paper out of the rooftop and threw them into the air like confetti.
Bits of gravel tore at my cheek as I twisted my head to get a better view of the scene. The pilot still hadn’t given up on his aircraft and tried putting it down for a hard landing. One of the landing struts found purchase, and hope soared that the men would at least be able to crawl out of the doomed bird. Ultimately, however, the momentum of the impact was too great to overcome. The metal strut strained and bent, then slid onto open air.