by Toby Tate
“Kind of reminds me of Saddam’s place,” Scooter said.
“Yeah, but I’ll bet Saddam would never have dreamed of the kinds of things we’ll find inside there,” Gordon said.
Chapter Forty-Six
Benjamin Glasser had spent the last twenty-four hours letting the two Saudis stew in their own juices, keeping them awake in their rooms with a combination of blazing lights and a constant high-volume dose of AC/DC, Black Sabbath, and Iron Maiden. He was about to start giving them the drugs when he received a call from upstairs that they were to let these guys go. He couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t even begun the interrogation yet. But, orders were orders, and it never paid to second-guess the CIA.
He ran a hand through his thick black hair, stood from his office chair and made his way into the monitoring room to tell his second-in command.
* * *
“Well, Muhammad, today is your lucky day,” the loud American said in very bad Arabic. “It seems Allah has smiled down upon you.”
It was the first time in the last day that infernal music, if it could even be called that, was finally turned off. But the music continued to play inside Razam el-Hashem’s head, and he shook it from side to side as if doing so would fling the sound from his brain. He had not slept all night, or the night before, and had only eaten some stale bread and water. But he didn’t care. These men had no idea what real torture was. If only Allah would give him the chance, he would make them plead for death.
The man stood inside the door and waved his hand toward it, indicating that Razam should go out. He stood, eyeing the American warily as he did so. Was it time for interrogation? He didn’t think so. The man had said this was his lucky day, whatever that meant. They insisted in calling him Muhammad, which he knew was supposed to be an insult, but to be called after the name of the one true prophet of Islam was a blessing to him.
He walked down the corridor until he came to a door. “Open it,” the man said from behind him. He did so, and entered a large room with three men inside, all dressed in civilian clothes, waiting for them. He saw that one of the men was his partner, Jahiz Abdullah. The other two men held black hoods. Razam felt a hand at his back push him the rest of the way into the room.
“You and your friend are going for a little ride. Put these hoods on.”
Razam did as he was told, his hands were zip-tied and he was led outside and ushered into an awaiting vehicle.
* * *
The black Lincoln Navigator stopped in Burj Park near downtown Dubai. The man sitting in the back with Razam and Jahiz yanked the black hoods off their heads, cut their flex cuffs and handed them their possessions.
“This is your stop, gentlemen,” the man said, waving a .357 Sig Sauer towards the open door. Razam glanced at him as he rubbed his wrist where the cuffs had been, and then crawled out into the street, followed by Jahiz. The door slammed shut and the big SUV made a u-turn and headed off the way it had come.
Razam jammed his wallet and cell phone into his pockets and strapped on his watch as he glanced up at the grandiose glass façade of the monolithic Burj Khalifa; at eight hundred thirty meters, the tallest man-made structure in the world. But Razam was unimpressed. To him, it was just another example of the moral decadence and overindulgence that has come to pervade Arab society, especially in the UAE. As he glanced around the park, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket. Who could be calling him?
He pulled out his phone and looked at the display. The number was blocked. He decided to answer it anyway, just to be safe. He was instantly sorry he had.
“Razam, you traitorous son of a whore—I could have you executed for your treachery!” The voice was unmistakably that of the man he knew only as Sayyid, who answered directly to the head of the General Intelligence Presidency. Rarely had Sayyid ever spoken to him personally.
“But how…?”
“I was forced to call in favors to every government official we have ties with in Saudi Arabia, the Emirates and the United States to get you out of detention. I should have left you there.”
“I…I am sorry, your Excellency…”
“Save your lies, Razam. I didn’t get you out for personal reasons. I am offering you a chance to redeem yourself. Is Jahiz with you?”
“Yes, your Excellency.”
“Good, then listen closely, because I am only going to give you one chance, and if you fail, I will have you brought back to Saudi Arabia to be executed, but not before I see you tortured for a very, very long time. Is that clear?”
Razam glanced at Jahiz, who was eyeing him with a puzzled look, and swallowed hard.
“Yes, your Excellency. Very clear,” he said.
Chapter Forty-Seven
They were supposed to be sleeping so they could start the op at three a.m., but for some reason, Gabe couldn’t sleep. She figured she was just too wound up, considering all that was going on.
She stood in the cool desert air, leaning against the side of the Range Rover and staring up at the stars. She hadn’t seen them this brilliant since the last time she had been in the bush, back home in Oz. The edge of the Milky Way made a streak across the sky that reminded her of the way stars must have been clustered together at the beginning of creation. She wondered if there really was life out there of any kind. She had always believed that with so many stars, and so many potential planets in all the billions of galaxies, the statistical chances had to be there. Was there someone, or something, standing there gazing up at the sky, looking back at her like she was looking at them?
Extraterrestrial life seemed to make more sense in the last couple of years with the revelation that there were highly intelligent humanoid beings living on the earth that were older than mankind—the Lilitu. Maybe they had come from one of those stars out there, long, long ago, when the earth was young and man was not yet evolved, or created, or whatever. And then, disaster struck—something devastating, something that may have wiped out life all over the solar system, maybe even the galaxy. A war? A natural disaster? Who knows? There was evidence that there might have been life on Mars at one time, photos sent back by the Mars Rover of strange artifacts that were more than just odd-looking rocks. If so, what had happened to that life?
She would probably never know the answer to that.
Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her and spun around.
Staring back at her with a grin was One Shot, dressed in desert camouflage, on watch and patrolling the area. Camouflage paint streaked his face below the boonie hat that sat on his head. Across his arm lay an HK416 carbine, fitted with an M320 grenade launcher. He looked like he had just stepped off the front page of Guns & Ammo.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
“Don’t worry, mate. I’m a big girl.”
He glanced up at the sky. “It’s really something out here, isn’t it? The desert can be the most inhospitable place on earth, but when you see it like this, you realize how beautiful and fragile it can be.” He lowered his eyes to look at her. “Kind of like a woman.”
Gabe felt herself flush, glad that the darkness hid her face. “I didn’t realize you were such a poet.”
One Shot shrugged. “Not really. Just an observer. I find there are a lot of things in nature that can surprise you.”
“And women are one of those things?”
He smiled.
“Have you been on many desert ops?” she asked.
“Too many—Afganistan, Iraq, Kuwait. How about you?”
“A few. It’s tolerable at night, but during the day it kind of reminds me of Death Valley. I took a shower this morning, came outside damp and in thirty seconds, I was dry as a bone.”
He laughed. “Yeah, and the sand gets into every crack and crevice of your body, not to mention all your weapons. It’s like baby powder. I’ll take beach sand any day.”
“How do you keep your weapons operational?”
“I use a combination of wet lubricant with a dry lubricant on top and…” he pulled a pist
ol out of his shoulder holster. “Colt M1911—Not as tight of a tolerance as other handguns and no jams or mis-feeds.” He slid the pistol back into its holster.
“How did you manage to hook up with Scooter’s team?”
“He needed a sniper and someone that spoke Russian. I happened to fit both requirements.”
“Where are you from?”
“Minnesota. How about you?”
“You mean you can’t tell?”
“New Zealand?”
She laughed. “Close. Australia.”
“How does an Australian go about getting into the CIA?”
“I was born in the US, raised in Australia. I spent a few years in the air force.”
“Intelligence, right?”
“Right.”
He nodded at the giant, red dragon tattoo on her shoulder. “I’m surprised they let you get away with that.”
She glanced down at the artwork. “That’s actually an interesting story,” she began, just as Gordon came around the corner and stopped, staring at both of them. As he stood there, Gabe felt like a schoolgirl who had just been caught chewing gum in class.
“Um,” he said, breaking the awkward silence, “I wanted to let you know that I just got an email from the GPS tracking app. Cain is within four miles of our location.”
* * *
The team gathered inside the UNICAT around Gordon’s iPhone, staring at the screen as a red dot drifted along on a map of the immediate area. In his other hand he held something about the size of a cigarette lighter.
“This is a reader,” he said. “It picks up signals from the transponder in Cain’s body and sends a signal to the server. As long as he’s within range, we should have a blip. We can tell exactly where he is.”
“Is he close?” Gabe asked.
Gordon stood silent for a moment, as if listening. Then, Gabe heard it, too. In the distance was the sound of a vehicle riding over a sand dune.
“He’s here,” Abel said. “He’s found us.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
It was decided that since Abel knew everything that Cain knew, including combat tactics, and they needed everyone they could get, he would be part of the assault team.
The team gathered outside the trailer to get their various weapons and Dragon Skin ballistic vests. Gabe was glad they were using the Dragon Skin—it had saved her life more than once and she preferred them to standard Kevlar vests because of their strength and flexibility—mainly, it didn’t restrict her ability to aim and shoot quickly.
Abel and Bio each got beautiful HK MP5-SD3 submachine guns with collapsible metal stocks and built-in suppressors. Gabe was feeling a little jealous. But she preferred to carry her own firearm, a Heckler and Koch MP5K Personal Defense Weapon, or PDW, a submachine gun with a folding stock and thirty-round magazine. It could fire single shot, semi-auto or full auto, had an effective range of two-hundred meters and was small enough to hold in one hand. She didn’t feel the need for any weapons other than that and her infamous KA-BAR Zombie War Sword—a formidable-looking knife with a ten-inch blade and a toxic green handle. Her Kevlar helmet was covered with desert camouflage and had night vision goggles, or NVGs, attached. Like most of the team, she wore a pair of Blackhawk desert op boots and a dark green and black poncho over her clothes, which she could remove after reaching the bunker entrance.
Since they would be on the extraction team, Mad Dog and One Shot would carry M240B machine guns with night scopes and AT4 anti-tank weapons, which could take out pretty much any armored vehicle. They were all issued flash grenades, CS gas grenades, as well as fragmentation grenades, gas masks and ammo, all packed onto a battle belt. They would also be using the Motorola radio and ear piece.
Abel asked for some C-4 plastic explosive and a remote triggering device, and after several seconds of negotiations, Scooter handed it over in a backpack. Gabe had no idea why he would need that, but didn’t ask.
One Shot’s voice suddenly came from behind her.
“You really are dressed to kill,’ he said.
“Damn straight,” she said without turning around.
“Okay, here’s how it’s going to play out,” Scooter said, commanding everyone’s attention as he rolled a cigar from one side of his mouth to the other. “Mad Dog has managed to pick up on their comm frequency and jammed them, so we don’t have to worry about the guards alerting anyone, at least not by radio. Abel and Bio will take out the guards from up on the sand dune, and then they will follow Gabe, Gordon, and me to the entrance of the bunker. We have no idea how it’s laid out in there, so we’ll have to go compartment by compartment until we find Cain. Max will stay behind and man the Little Bird, in case we need it, but remember, we won’t have any outside comms while we’re underground. When we exit, Mad Dog and One Shot will lay down suppressive fire with the machine guns and take out any personnel or vehicles that come after us. All this shit works in theory, of course. If there’s a whole fucking army chasing us, then just take out as many as you can and call in Max for aerial coverage in the Little Bird. Any questions?”
Gordon raised his hand.
“Yeah, Gordon?”
“Can I be excused? I have a note from my mother—I’m allergic to bullets.”
Scooter chuckled. “Don’t worry, Gordo. Chances are you’ll live through this.”
Then Abel’s hand went up. “I would like to say something.” Gabe eyed him and thought he looked like a little boy dressed up to play soldier.
“Cain can be injured by bullets, but he can’t be killed. His body will heal within seconds from any kind of wound.”
Mad Dog unsheathed a large combat knife and held the blade up, letting it reflect the moonlight. “Not if I take off his fucking head.”
“It’s doubtful you would ever get close enough. He can see in the dark as well as you can with night vision goggles. He can see through walls, even walk through them. He also has other powers that he may or may not be aware of. If you cut off a limb, for instance, he can simply reattach it and it will heal within seconds. He will not be taken prisoner. There is no gas that can affect him. If you could shoot him with enough tranquilizers, it might knock him out, but that’s doubtful.”
“Then what the hell do you suggest we do?” Scooter asked.
“I suggest that you leave him for me.”
Scooter glanced at Gabe. “Do we trust him?”
“Why not? He’s gotten us this far. Besides, he’s right; there’s no way any of us are going to take Cain.”
Suddenly Sampson, who had been sitting quietly at Gabe’s feet, looked toward the desert and began growling.
“Maybe if you had the manpower, you would stand a better chance,” a voice said from the darkness a few meters beyond the UNICAT. Gabe turned to see a familiar face appear—the Saudi operatives who they had taken to be interrogated stood there looking at them, dressed in desert camouflage, but with no weapons. The barrel of One Shot’s HK machine gun appeared at the side of the man’s head.
“As you can see,” the man said, “I am unarmed. But I do not come alone.”
Suddenly, the sand around them came alive with Saudi commandoes that rose up like deadly shadows, carbines in hand.
They were completely surrounded.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Every carbine and machine gun was pointed at one of the new arrivals, who had theirs pointed back. There were too many to cover them all—they were outnumbered two to one.
“Who the hell are you?” Scooter growled, finger on the trigger of his HK carbine.
“Razam el-Hashem, a Saudi government spy, and a real asshole,” Gabe said.
El-Hashem glanced at Gabe and his dead, black eyes sent a chill through her body, but she didn’t flinch. “I have a proposition that I would like to discuss with you.”
“A proposition? I would rather make a deal with a rabid fox.”
“You and I have the same goal—to find and destroy Cain,” el-Hashem continued. “I propose that, instead o
f fighting, we combine forces. With so many of us, we could easily subdue Cain.”
Gordon laughed. “Your goal? Your goal is to take Cain back to Saudi Arabia and try to reintegrate him into your assassination program. Or try to make another clone. There’s no way we’re working with you, el-Hashem. Besides, you went rogue a few days ago. You were ready to take everything for yourself, sell Cain and Abel to the highest bidder. Why should we believe any different now? And how the hell did you get out of that interrogation site?”
The Saudi smiled. “You’re not the only ones with friends in high places. But perhaps you do not understand, Mr. Powers. We are not giving you a choice. You may kill some of my men, but you won’t kill all of them. And they will surely kill you. Once you are dead, we will take what we want, anyway. Now, give us your answer—we are running out of time.”
Gabe and Gordon glanced at each other and Gabe waved Scooter and Abel in closer. “We could definitely use the extra men,” she said quietly. “We can keep an eye on them, and once we get to Cain, we can let Abel have him and take these guys out if we have to.”
“Yeah, if they don’t take us out first,” Gordon said. “What do you think, Scooter?”
“I’d say take ‘em out now, but they have us outgunned. I don’t think we have any choice.”
“They know that Abel is their only ticket to getting to Cain, and he’s on our side, so I really doubt they’ll try anything stupid, at least for now,” Gabe said. Then she turned to el-Hashem. “Alright, you win. But under one condition.”
“What condition?”
She nodded her head toward Scooter. “He leads the op.”
“As you say.”
El-Hashem turned to his men and made a signal for them to lower their guns.