The Thin Black Line

by Simon Gervais

  Kashmiri, like the rest of his men, had trained under Major Jackson Taylor back in Sierra Leone. Their protocols kicked in almost immediately, and his men reacted the way they’d been drilled. They kneeled down and returned a suppressing fire. Within seconds, they were the only ones shooting, for the men with the pistols had retreated behind their vehicles. Kashmiri wasn’t sure if they’d hit anyone, and he was about to order his men to advance toward the vehicles when he heard the engines of the Suburbans.

  “They’re coming!” he yelled to his men. “Take cover and be ready.” When he looked back to the street, he saw a pair of black Suburbans speeding toward them. Kashmiri leveled his assault rifle and aimed it directly at the front Suburban’s windshield. When the truck was seventy meters away, he pressed the trigger.

  ―

  “Josh is hit! Josh is hit!” yelled the driver, looking at his team leader in horror. Two seconds later, he pressed the brakes hard. “Go, go, go!”

  Zima followed the last instruction left by the team leader and burst free of the X-zone—the impact/hot zone. At a double-time trot she ran behind Shane, the ERT member who’d been seated to her right, while looking for a target to engage. The sounds of gunfire came from everywhere, and her ears were already ringing. She didn’t know what the bad guys looked like, but she figured anyone shooting at her was hostile.

  When the man in front of her dropped to the ground, she instinctively did the same. “Contact left,” said Shane, aiming his MP5 toward a white van parked across the street. Zima looked in the direction of the van but couldn’t see anything.

  “Where?” she asked.

  Suddenly, a head popped out from the edge of the van, and Steve fired a single shot. Zima saw a man fall from behind the white van. “Right there.”

  ―

  Kashmiri knew he’d lost two of his brothers-in-arms. The police had too many men for him to even contemplate surviving the encounter. He didn’t know how long he had left on this earth, but he was going to take with him as many enemies of his faith as he could.

  To his right, Marwan was hidden behind the tire of the white van they were using to conceal themselves. “Marwan!” shouted Kashmiri over the ear-splitting sounds of the firefight. “I’ll attach a charge underneath the van.”

  Marwan nodded. “I’ll cover you.”

  Kashmiri reached for the explosive charge in his backpack. It was a real shame his team wasn’t going to be able to accomplish their mission. At least, he thought, looking at the plastic C-4 he had in his hands, Allah has given me a chance to redeem myself. He inserted the detonator and set the charge to two minutes. This was how long he had left to live. When he turned to inform Marwan that the explosives were ready, he saw his companion’s body sprawled on the ground next to the van. Kashmiri clenched his teeth and moved his finger on the trigger of his weapon.

  ―

  Zima had her MP5 sight trained on the terrorist Shane had shot. She wasn’t convinced he was dead until she saw the hole in his forehead. No shots had been fired for the last fifteen seconds, and the ERT members were trying to figure out how many targets they had taken out. They weren’t sure if any of the terrorists were still alive. Caution was the key word.

  “I give up, I give up,” she heard from behind the van. She immediately dropped to her belly, her weapon trained on the terrorist she could see kneeling down from under the van.

  “One man, on his knees. Behind the white van on your left,” she told Shane.

  Once the ERT member positioned himself to cover the terrorist with his weapon, Zima got up and joined him. She picked up the terrorist’s assault rifle and placed it out of range. “What do you want to do with him?” Shane asked.

  “Arrest him for the murder of an RCMP officer. I’m sure other terror charges will follow suit,” Zima replied, aiming her weapon at the man’s head.

  The ERT officer cuffed the man before advising the others that he had the fifth terrorist in custody. He then asked him to stand up, but he refused. “What’s your name?” Shane asked. The man smiled and said in perfect English, “My name is Abdelkarim Kashmiri.”

  “Well, Abdelkarim, I’m in no mood to argue with you, so you better stand up.”

  “Or what?” asked the terrorist.

  The arrogance of this coward frustrated Zima, and she could see Shane had to hold back from punching him in the face. Yet a question entered her mind. Why had this one given up when all the others died fighting? Wasn’t he supposed to martyr himself? She decided it didn’t matter. You failed. We won.

  Shane looked at her. “We just got word through our communication system that all the teams have been successful. No additional losses for us.”

  “That’s good news,” said Zima.

  “They also say we should look for plastic explosives. It seemed they were all carrying some.”

  She looked around and spotted a blue backpack a few feet in front of the van. She reached it and looked inside. The bag was empty, but the smell still lingered. Where’s the C-4?

  She walked back to the man and kicked him hard between his legs. A guttural sound came out of his mouth, and he collapsed on his side. She needed to show him who was in charge.

  Zima pressed her right knee against his neck, squeezing it against the road.

  “Where are the explosives? And don’t even try to tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  She could hear the terrorist babbling something and released some of the pressure.

  “Guarantee me immunity, I’ll tell you where the C-4 is.”

  What the hell? This guy is more stupid than I thought. What game is he playing? “The only thing I can guarantee you right now is there won’t be immunity for you, not after what you’ve done,” she said.

  “It is your choice, not mine,” replied Kashmiri through his clenched teeth. “You should call your supervisor. Maybe you have at least enough authority to do that?”

  Zima couldn’t understand why he was trying to negotiate with her. The explosives couldn’t be far away, as they’d hit the terrorists just minutes ago. What would I have done if I were in his shoes? Oh, my God!

  “Get him out of here now!” she yelled to Steve. “He already planted the C-4.”

  “What?”

  “Get him out of here!” she shouted.

  She tried to open the door of the van, but it was locked. She kneeled down and looked under the van. Her heart sank.

  I’m dead.

  ―

  Abdelkarim Kashmiri’s balls were burning with pain, but he didn’t care. The dumb Western bitch was wasting precious time trying to intimidate him. How clueless was she? Did she really think I would tell her anything because she kicked me in the genitals? So typical! Ignorant to the point of believing I would betray Allah’s trust just to evade physical pain. Only thirty seconds left. Oh Allah! To you I surrender. Allahu Akbar!

  All of a sudden, Kashmiri started panicking. What was she doing? Why had she released the pressure on his neck? He heard her yell at her partner to get clear. That the C-4 had already been planted. He saw the bitch try to open the van’s door. He wished he had put the timer at ninety seconds instead of two minutes.

  She’s too late anyway. Any second now. Allahu Akbar.

  Then all went black as Kashmiri felt himself fall forward.

  ―

  When Zima saw that there were only six seconds left on the timer, she turned toward Shane and screamed, “Move! The van’s gonna blow in six seconds!”

  She saw him use the butt of his rifle to strike Kashmiri in the back of the head. He ran toward her with the speed and agility of a lion. He grabbed her from under her arms and lifted her up before she had the time to jump on her feet. She started running and felt the man’s hands on her back pushing faster. They hadn’t gone ten meters when he jumped on her, covering her with his own body.

  The explos
ion knocked the breath out of her lungs and pierced both her eardrums. The heat wave that passed over them was like an inferno. Pieces of flying glass from the van’s windows cut through her exposed skin.

  Zima wasn’t capable of breathing properly. Her head was getting lighter and her eyelids heavier. She wasn’t sure if she’d passed out or how long she stayed beneath Shane, but one thing was certain: his weight was crushing her, and she didn’t have the strength to crawl out from under him.

  At some hazy point, she felt someone turn her on her back and shine a flashlight in her eyes. She sensed being lifted onto a stretcher and rolled down to a waiting ambulance. She used all her remaining strength to glance to her right, where a paramedic was pushing an identical stretcher. A white sheet stained with blood was pulled over the head of a man wearing an ERT uniform.

  Zima’s eyes filled with tears as she realized that Shane was dead. She began to sob quietly, not understanding why a man she didn’t even know had sacrificed his life to save her.

  CHAPTER 74

  Benalmedina, Spain

  Mohammad Alavi was daydreaming about the mayhem the Sheik’s plan would create when he heard the Azimut’s horn honk twice. Alavi could feel that the diesel engines were rumbling. That was probably why Louis had honked twice—they were ready to leave port. That made him smile. He’d had a good day today, and he couldn’t wait to hear the first reports regarding the attacks in Alberta. He got up off the bed, wanting to watch the Spanish skyline recede into the dark distance.

  When two Caucasian intruders burst into the cabin, Alavi was taken by utter surprise. He dove for the pistol under his pillow, but both men fired at him. Unimaginable pain shrieked through both his legs as he crashed to the floor.

  ―

  Mike fired his weapon twice and knew he had hit Alavi at least once. However, the wounded man wasn’t surrendering. He kept crawling toward his bed, trying to reach for something—most certainly a firearm hidden under a pillow.

  “Don’t!” Mike yelled, striding toward Alavi. But the terrorist must have sensed that he wanted to take him alive because he never hesitated. Looking directly into Mike’s eyes, he put the muzzle of his pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger before Mike and Lisa could do anything to stop him.

  ―

  Alexander Shamrock was alone in Sheik Al-Assad’s master cabin when he heard the shot fired by Alavi.

  “I think we have a problem,” he told the Sheik urgently over the secured phone line.

  “Was that a gunshot, Omar?” the Sheik asked.

  “Yes,” replied Al-Nashwan, reaching for the Desert Eagle pistol in the bedside table drawer. He expertly checked the magazine and made sure that he had a round in the chamber.

  “How many are they?”

  “I don’t know, Sheik. I have to go. If I don’t call you back within a few minutes, you’ll know that I have fallen.”

  “Erase the data. Use the flash drive, Alexander,” ordered Sheik Al-Assad. He only used Al-Nashwan’s birth name when things were desperate. All the information regarding their next series of attacks in the Gulf of Mexico was stored on the laptop across the room.

  “It will be done,” replied Al-Nashwan, squeezing the secure satellite phone between his cheek and left shoulder. “Anything else?”

  “Inshallah. Take care of yourself, Omar,” said the Sheik.

  “I will. Thank you for everything,” replied Al-Nashwan while frantically searching for the flash drive programmed to wipe the Sheik’s computer clean.

  His fingers had just wrapped around the device when his peripheral vision caught movement coming through the master cabin’s door.

  ―

  After Alavi’s shot echoed through the boat, Mike gave his wife the order to storm the forward area of the lower deck and informed her that he’d be right behind with Carson.

  Lisa rushed down the stairs and reached the lower deck a few seconds later. She had already memorized the layout of the boat. She took a quick look around to see if any doors were open. All the cabins and heads still needed to be secured. Seeing that all the doors were closed, she started with the closest one. She opened the door slowly, and, after a short peek inside, confirmed that nobody was occupying the small guest cabin.

  Mike and Carson reached the forward lower deck just as Lisa had finished clearing the first cabin. He gestured that the other three cabins still had not been secured. Carson nodded and indicated that she was going to take the aft master cabin. Mike, knowing this was the largest one, positioned himself behind her to provide cover in a regular two-man entry fashion. It was a shame they didn’t have any flash-bangs, but they had to work with what they had.

  Carson checked to see if the cabin door was locked. It wasn’t. She motioned to Mike and silently counted to three. Then she flung the door open and rushed inside.

  The loud double crack of a firearm going off surprised Mike, but he didn’t flinch. The body of Jasmine Carson fell amid spatters of blood, her neck ripped open by a .50 round. Mike’s brain continued on autopilot, even as he felt the second round graze his right cheek.

  He fired numerous times in the general direction of the threat while retreating a few steps. His ears, ringing from the discharge of Al-Nashwan’s Desert Eagle, had kept him from hearing the terrorist’s grunt as he was hit in the shoulder.

  ―

  Al-Nashwan used his left hand to grapple for the pistol he had dropped after Mike’s first round shattered his already injured right shoulder blade. He fired a few stray rounds at the retreating assaulter to cover his effort to reach the computer where all the Sheik’s projects had been saved. The pain in his shoulder was unbearable, causing him to move woodenly. The throbbing in his head indicated that he was about to lose consciousness as well. He knew the effects of shock and wondered how much time he had left before his body refused to obey his brain.

  Having only one hand available, he set his pistol next to the computer and struggled to insert the flash drive into the laptop’s USB port. Finally, the device slid into the computer, and Al-Nashwan exhaled with relief.

  He had mere seconds before the intruders surged forward again, so he grabbed his Desert Eagle and placed himself in the best defensive position he could assume. His eyes flickered for a moment on the satellite phone that he had dropped in the first few seconds of the engagement, and he wondered if the Sheik was still on the line.

  The Sheik’s master cabin had only one access door. Al-Nashwan was confident that, even if he was only able to fire from his weak hand, he would be able to take down at least one other assailant before being overrun.

  ―

  What Al-Nashwan hadn’t considered was that Mike had positioned himself in the adjacent cabin with his weapon pointed at the wall where he thought the terrorist might be standing. Mike’s plan was to fire through the wall in an attempt to cover the retrieval of Carson. With Lisa confirming that the target was still on the port side of the cabin, Mike pulled the trigger.

  ―

  The rounds coming through the flimsy wall under the flat-screen television took Al-Nashwan by complete surprise. He had no time to react before Mike’s bullets found their mark, hitting him twice in the chest. Meanwhile, he saw a woman pull the other woman he had just killed by her feet into the hallway, dragging her out of further danger.

  Al-Nashwan’s body slammed into the wall behind him and slid with agonizing slowness to the floor. He realized that his lungs were incapable of expanding. It was the most terrifying sensation he had ever felt, like drowning out of water.

  Was this how it would finally end? Maybe for me, he thought, but not for the mission. He smiled at what the Sheik had in store for their enemies. But the feeling was short-lived as his vision settled on the front of the laptop. He suddenly realized that the computer had a hole through the keyboard. Was the data being wiped clean? He had to make sure. He couldn’t allow the Sheik’s enemies to gain a
ccess to their plans. When he saw the familiar pop-up window appear on the laptop’s screen asking if the administrator wanted to proceed with the operation, Al-Nashwan knew he had only to press yes to wipe all the data clean.

  Determination took over, and for an instant, Al-Nashwan didn’t feel the pain of his wounds anymore. All he was aware of was the burning fury raging inside him.

  I need to do this.

  Wincing, he tried to get up, but someone violently shoved him back against the wall. In frustration, he raised his head to find a man and a woman dressed in dark clothes standing over him, their weapons drawn. Hatred filled their faces.

  “Alexander Shamrock?”

  Al-Nashwan tried to focus on his interlocutor, who seemed vaguely familiar.

  “You fucking traitor,” the man said disgustedly.

  Then it came back to him.

  “Mike Powell,” said Shamrock weakly. “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

  “I could say the same. We thought you died bravely. They put your name on a monument, for Chrissake!”

  Shamrock started laughing uncontrollably, blood pouring out of his wounds at an accelerated rate. “What’s so funny?”

  “Your father,” Shamrock said, coughing blood and trying to buy time as he crawled slowly toward the laptop, now only two feet away.

  “Where is he? Where’s my father?” asked Mike, his voice low and guttural.

  “Fuck you, Powell. And fuck your father, too!” Shamrock replied between two coughs of blood and mucus, his fingers only inches from the laptop.

  Just as he was reaching the key that would wipe the data off the hard drive, Mike hurled him to the floor face-first and zip tied his wrists together so tight the plastic cut through his flesh. Using the last bit of strength he had left, Shamrock forced himself to his back so he could see his former colleague.