by Toby Tate
“So tell me again why I’m paying for this little excursion?” Gordon said, breaking the silence.
“Because it’s not sanctioned by the CIA, so we’re pretty much on our own. Besides, you got us into this, it’s only right that you should foot the bill. You can afford it.”
“Fair enough. But what I want to know is why you called Scooter in to do this job. It’s not even a prison, it’s a research facility. You and I could get in there with a stun gun and a roll of duct tape.”
“We’re going to need him to get Cain. We can’t take him on by ourselves, that’s suicide. I don’t care how good Abel is.”
“Well, you definitely got the right guy for the job. He makes Lou Ferrigno look like Mickey Mouse.”
Gabe raised an eyebrow. “Who?”
“Lou Ferrigno. He was the original Hulk. On TV.”
Gabe stared at him and then slowly shook her head.
Gordon sighed. “Never mind. It was before your time. So do you think they’ll pull this off?”
“If anyone can, Scooter will.”
There was a long silence as they sipped their coffee, just before the call to prayer sounded, echoing though the hallways.
“So, anything going on with you and Scooter?”
The question came out of nowhere. Gabe furrowed her brow and studied Gordon for a moment.
“What brought this on?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Nothing. Just curious.”
Gabe was feeling a bit impish and said, “He is big and rugged. A take charge kind of bloke. I might try and get to know him better.”
Gordon’s face fell like he had just been told his birthday was cancelled. Gabe couldn’t help but laugh.
“I’m joshin’ you, Gordon. Scooter and I go way back. We’ve been on a couple of ops together. That’s all.”
“Hey, no worries. It’s none of my business.”
But in spite of his façade, she could see the relief in his eyes. Gordon was falling for her. Gabe wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about that.
* * *
Hours later, she lay in the darkness of her room, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how all of this was going to play out. Was Abel really going to help them? She had never even met the man—if he was a man—she was just going on a dream. She was usually very logical about these things, but since the beginning of all this, since Lilith, none of it followed any kind of logic. It was like some kind of nightmare, something from a storybook—a race of beings that had existed since before the human race? It was crazy, went against everything she had been taught as a child about creation, about evolution, and just science in general. People that could control weather patterns and change into giant beasts were not part of Mother Nature. Or were they? She honestly didn’t know what to believe anymore.
And then there was Cain, the son of Lilith, hatched from an egg like some kind of reptile. In a year’s time he grew into a man and killed off his Saudi handlers. More than likely he would kill her and Gordon, as well. But what had he been doing in the year since? He could be anywhere. Did they really think they could find him? When and if they did find him, then what? Kill him? How do you do that, exactly? He certainly can’t be captured. Right now, Gabe had more questions than answers.
She reached down and caressed her injured finger. It still ached where that bastard had cut her. She wanted to grab that scalpel and slit his throat with it. Luckily, he had left the room before she could do so. Probably good that he did, she figured. Gordon had threatened bodily harm to them if they didn’t release her. She liked Gordon. In spite of the fact he was usually a narcissistic jerk, he made her feel…special.
Gabe decided that she wasn’t going to solve the world’s problems, or even her own, tonight. She and Gordon would spend the day going over their plans for tracking down Cain. They would let Scooter worry about springing Abel out of the research facility. That was one less thing she would have to worry about.
Gabe fell into a deep slumber with Gordon’s smiling face floating in her mind’s eye.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ahmed Al Saber Air Base in southern Kuwait, or The Jab for short, was known as “the base that never sleeps” because of the constant flurry of activity that went on day and night. A mini rec center called The Camel's Hump once hosted a constant rotation of fighter squadron enlistees while a steady stream of pedestrian traffic flowed down Main Street and pilots made the rounds through the fighter squadron headquarters across the street. Security forces went on and came off their twelve-hour shifts at the cops’ nearby building complex as people in shorts and T-shirts sweated it out at The Body Shop, the compound's twenty-four-hour fitness center next door. While all this was going on, fighter aircraft screamed down the runways and into the desert air as they made their way to Iraq on Southern Watch missions. With apartment-style dormitories, mini-golf, commissary, swimming pool and other luxuries, the Jab was like an oasis in the middle of Hell.
Now it was just a ghost of its former self. Most all US personnel had been relocated to the base on Qatar and to northern Kuwait’s Ali Al Salem Air Base. The airfield sat mostly empty, constantly swept clean of desert sand by Kuwaiti airmen. For Scooter’s purposes, The Jab would be perfect—the runway was more than long enough for his C-5 to take off and the facilities were top-notch. Most importantly, thanks to the US liberation of Kuwait from Saddam Hussein during the Gulf War and the rebuilding of the base after it was wasted by Iraqi forces, Americans were well-liked—there would be no objection to their op in Saudi Arabia.
Except for grass and palm trees that had been planted around the dorms and other buildings, like everything else in the Middle East, the area was surrounded by arid, dusty desert. In the summer, at around one-hundred-thirty degrees Fahrenheit, the heat became nearly unbearable, so much so that many people left the country and work slowed to a crawl.
Gabe and Gordon sat next to the control tower in the air-conditioning of their rented GMC Suburban, watching as the olive drab-colored cargo plane came in for a landing. Its size made it appear as though it was flying too slowly to maintain any kind of altitude. Gabe couldn’t imagine what Scooter had packed inside that monster. The plane finally touched the ground after several minutes and rumbled down the runway on its twenty-some tires, slowing and then taxiing toward them as an airman waved them into place with batons. Gabe thought it was like swimming in the ocean and looking up to see Jaws coming at you. The noise from the four huge jet engines was deafening.
The plane pulled into one of the slots along the runway and came to rest, the engines powering down. A door opened on the side and a ladder extended to the asphalt as the pair made their way across the tarmac. The first person out of the plane was a huge black man wearing khakis and a black t-shirt and chomping a Cuban cigar. Gabe knew he could only be Scooter Johnson.
“Well, well, there she is,” Scooter growled with a big, wide grin on his face. “The lady of the hour. And my old buddy Gordo.”
Gabe turned and glanced at Gordon. “Gordo?”
He shrugged and smiled at her, then stuck out a hand toward their new partner. “Good to see you, Scooter. My God, that is some kind of aircraft you have, there. Must have set you back quite a bit.”
“What, this old thing? A Galaxy C-5B I got used from the Air Force. A hundred mil. A new one costs one-sixty. I use it for ops like this one, where I need to be completely self-contained. This is nothing, though. Wait ‘til you see what’s inside.”
They entered the cargo bay of the plane, which looked to Gabe like the inside of a tube-shaped warehouse. She glanced toward the rear of the craft and realized it was so far away, she couldn’t see the end. It was amazing they could get something this big off the ground. Her father had once told her that if you put wings on something and could make it move fast enough, no matter how big it was, it would fly.
Crew members were milling around inside the craft, opening bay doors and removing tie-down straps. She assumed some of them were loadmasters and so
me were members of his team. As they began walking toward the rear of the cargo bay, Gabe felt the plane begin to move downward like an elevator.
“They’re retracting the landing gear, lowering the plane down to the tarmac so we can offload,” Scooter explained.
The first thing they came to was an armored vehicle painted in desert-camouflage with windows covered with slotted steel and a gun turret on top. It looked like an overgrown Humvee.
“Since we don’t know what kind of army our boy has, if he has any at all, I figured we needed to be prepared for any contingency,” Scooter said, and slapped a hand on the door of the vehicle. “This is the International MaxxPro Dash Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle, or MRAP for short. Has a three-hundred-seventy-five horsepower engine and can carry up to seven people, and will withstand a blast from a fifteen-pound landmine. We keep an M2 Browning up there in the turret that will stop anything within eighteen hundred meters.”
“Impressive,” Gordon said. “I need one of these for my collection.”
“You have a collection?” Gabe asked.
“I’m starting one.”
They stopped at the next vehicle, a large, black Range Rover with darkened, bulletproof windows, and probably armored, as well, Gabe figured.
Powers raised a brow. “Going on a date?”
“This baby is for our little op tomorrow night. But we’ll talk about that later.”
They moved past the Range Rover and stopped at the front of what appeared to be an oversized version of the MRAP, but as she glanced toward the rear, Gabe realized it was an RV—probably the biggest one she had ever seen, painted the color of desert sand with a darker shade of brown on the lower quarter. It had eight huge tires like the ones she had seen on monster trucks, and had a short trailer behind it. She could see Scooter smiling as he looked it over.
“This is my pride and joy,” he said. “A UNICAT MXXL 24 AH MAN 8x8, or just UNICAT for short. It’s fully armored with a new composite called Buckypaper—it’s a macroscopic aggregate of carbon nanotubes, a tenth the weight of steel but five-hundred times stronger. She’s got a four-hundred-eighty horsepower engine, three-hundred gallon gas tank, twelve-speed transmission and remote-controlled tire inflation and deflation—in other words, anywhere the MRAP can go, this can go. She has a hydraulic winch rated at thirteen tons, four-cylinder diesel-engine generator, tinted bullet-resistant windows, shower and toilet, thousand-liter water tank, six bunk beds, integrated air conditioning, two forty-six-inch flat-screen TVs, Bose surround sound, PlayStation 3 with Blue Ray DVD players, kitchenette with induction cooker, fridge, freezer, microwave, espresso-maker—it’s our base of operations in the field. The trailer has extra gas, water, ammo and some other goodies.” He glanced at Gabe. “When I retire, I’m living in this motherfucker.”
He turned and began walking past the RV and they slid by a couple of muscular men dressed in khakis and dark shirts, both wearing hats sporting the Bellator Prime logo. They were removing a strap from the truck and Gabe made eye contact with one of them. He smiled at her and winked. She felt herself flush as they passed.
“Just got hold of this baby from the US Army,” Scooter said.
Gabe’s eyes went wide as they stopped in front of another machine painted in desert camouflage…a small helicopter.
“Boeing AH-6 Little Bird,” Scooter continued. “One person can fly it, but it can carry up to five. She’s small, but she has great maneuverability and can do a hundred-fifty knots. She carries two rocket pods firing Hydra 70 rocket projectiles, two Hellfire and two Stinger missiles, and a thirty millimeter M230 chain gun, just in case. And this isn’t even everything. I’ve got more shit stashed in the RV and extra gas, ammunition and other goodies in the trailer.”
“Sure you have enough here, Scooter?” Gordon quipped. “I mean we don’t want to come up short.”
Scooter glanced at his friend and smiled. “You know the Bellator Prime motto, Gordo—vis pacem, para bellum—if you want peace, prepare for the war.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Scooter and his crew offloaded everything, checked it over and left it next to the plane.
After checking in with base security and talking to some of the Kuwaiti officers about places to go on base, Scooter and his four-man team took the Range Rover and Gabe and Gordon packed the aircrew into the GMC and made their way down Main Street to Coalition Village II. The village was a literal apartment complex of twenty-five four-person suites and an in-ground swimming pool, which unfortunately, had fallen out of use. The suites, however, were amazingly modern, with all the comforts of home—kitchen, dinette, tiled bathroom with a whirlpool and shower, living room, central AC, a small washer/dryer combo, and four separate bedrooms.
Other than the mess hall, there weren’t any places to eat on base, but luckily the commissary was still in operation, which meant they could buy and cook their own food. That was more than fine with Gabe—she hated military food—it was usually bland and loaded with carbs and preservatives.
The aircrew went to their own apartments as Scooter and his team met with Gabe and Gordon in their apartment. It was the first time Gabe had gotten a good look at all four of Scooter’s men. The one that had winked at her was clean-shaven, as was one man who appeared to be Asian, while the other two had beards of varying lengths. They all wore similar clothes—cargo or desert cammie pants, black, brown or green t-shirts, combat boots and ball caps with the Bellator Prime logo. All of them had the hard look in their eyes of combat veterans.
They sat down on the couch and cushioned chair and a couple of the men brought in some extra chairs from the kitchen. They formed a semi-circle like a movie crew preparing to read through a script for the first time.
“Guys, this is Gabrielle Lincoln and Gordon Powers, both operatives with the CIA, and both of whom I have had the pleasure of working with,” Scooter said. “Ms. Lincoln spent four years as a US Air Force intelligence officer and has an MBA from Harvard. But don’t let the MBA fool you—I’ve seen her fight with that big ass Zombie War Sword of hers and believe me, you don’t want to piss her off.”
The men chuckled as Gabe felt the blood rush to her face. She wasn’t easily embarrassed, but leave it to Scooter—he would find a way.
“This gentleman over here is Gordon Powers, and while I admit I don’t know much about him other than the fact he’s been with the CIA for twenty years, I have seen him in combat and the man knows his shit. I expect all you guys to respect them and take their recommendations, as well as their criticism, to heart.”
Scooter turned and swept a hand to his left, indicating a bearded man who looked more relaxed than anyone else in the room. “This is Glenn Flater, but everyone calls him Max because he always takes things to the maximum. He’s one hell of a mechanic and served with me in Delta Force in Somalia, Afghanistan, and everywhere else. He’s also our helicopter pilot.” Max waved a finger but said nothing.
“Next is David ‘One Shot’ Casburger, our weapons and munitions expert and former Marine scout sniper. One Shot can hit pretty much anything he aims at with that damn AS-50 of his up to fifteen-hundred meters.”
One Shot was the man who had winked at Gabe earlier in the plane, and she made it a point not to make eye contact. No use in stirring up a hornet’s nest, she figured.
“Next to him is Jackson Saunders, who we like to call Mad Dog because he’s fucking crazy and likes to drink Mad Dog 20/20, which is someday going to give him cirrhosis of the liver.” Everyone laughed. “Mad Dog is former SEAL Team Six and our electronics and radio communications expert.
“Last but not least is Justin Lin, former CIA Special Ops. Lin has a degree in bioengineering and specializes in bio-mechanics. I thought that might come in handy after what you told me about our boy. He’s also my second in command. We call him Bio Hazard because he’s dangerous, especially with certain chemical compounds.”
“Hey, no one has ever proven that incident in Somalia was my fault,” Lin said.
More laughter.
“So do you have a plan yet for getting Abel out of the science facility in Riyadh?” Gabe asked.
“I do,” Scooter said. “That’s why I brought a couple of bi-lingual gentlemen—One Shot and Mad Dog both speak Russian.”
Powers frowned. “Russian? Why Russian?”
Scooter leaned forward with elbows on knees and grinned. “Because we’re not going to break him out—the Russian Spetsnaz is.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Gabe thought she could see where Scooter’s plan was going, and it sounded just like something he would cook up—ballsy but effective.
The plan, as Scooter explained it, was to travel to the border and cross at a remote, unpatrolled location with Max and Bio in the MRAP, and Scooter, One Shot and Mad Dog in the Range Rover. The MRAP would station itself in the desert outside Riyadh and set up a satellite dish to scan all radio frequencies from both the Saudi military and police while the other three men continued on into town. They would have Visas and a cover story as scientists there to visit the university, in case they were stopped. Hopefully they wouldn’t be. Max and Bio in the MRAP, on the other hand, would likely be involved in a firefight if they were caught—there was no easy way to explain a military vehicle.
“The Range Rover has a secret compartment under the two center seats with two SR-3 Vikhr assault rifles with suppressors and two GSh-18 nine-millimeter semi-automatics, flash bangs and some other stuff,” Scooter said. “We’ll be dressed in black with our faces covered. My guys will disarm the guards and flex cuff them. It will work better anyway if we have witnesses and they hear Mad Dog and One Shot speaking Russian. We’ll go into town first and steal a vehicle, hopefully an SUV. Mad Dog can hotwire pretty much any vehicle ever made. They’ll take that vehicle to the science center while I wait on a designated street. When they get to the science center, Lydia will be waiting, where my guys will appear to take her hostage and gain entrance to the facility. Since she has the highest clearance, she will be able to get them all the way into the holding area where Abel is. From what she told me on the phone, there are only a couple of guards on him, but they have security cameras out the wazoo. They’ll get Abel into the vehicle, drive to the designated area where I’ll be waiting and switch vehicles. Then we’re home free, providing everything goes as planned, that is. Since Max and Bio will be scanning all the radio frequencies, we should know if anything is off.”