by Mark Terry
“And we’re supposed to find a white van in the middle of all this?”
She shrugged. “Did we have any other leads?”
Sholes: We’ve got another video.
Noa pulled to a curb and Derek clicked on the tablet.
Mandalevo, again, strapped to a chair. A blood-stained bandage covered part of his face and eye. His complexion looked gray, although Derek knew that could be poor lighting. It could also be shock and stress.
In a slow, even voice, Mandalevo said, “Sheikh Nazif, head of the Nazif Brigade, has two conditions for my release. First, that Dr. Derek Stillwater be turned over to him for justice for the death of his son and others in the brigade. Second, that his brother, Abdul Nazif, currently incarcerated at Guantanamo Bay Naval Base, be released and flown to Egypt.”
While he was speaking, Mandalevo seemed to be looking slightly to the right and down of the camera. Derek couldn’t tell if he was reading directions or if that was where Nazif was. He paused, then stared directly at the camera, his one good eye blazing. “Under no circumstances is the U.S. government or Derek Stillwater to meet these demands. None.”
Suddenly a figure appeared and struck Mandalevo with something, the butt of a gun, or a club of some sort. Mandalevo tried to dodge it, but it hit him in the side of the head. A spatter of blood hit the wall behind him. Mandalevo groaned, then snarled, “Is that the best you’ve got, Nazif?”
Nazif—Derek was certain it was him—struck Mandalevo again and again, shrieking incoherently.
And Robert laughed. Tied to the chair as a madman beat him, he laughed. Until he was unconscious, slumped in the chair, face bruised, battered, covered in blood.
Derek’s blood burned in his veins. Adrenaline shot through his body, his hands shaking. He clenched his fists.
Nazif turned to the camera, no mask on his face this time. “Stillwater! Next time he dies. I will send your people a location. And you had better get to work on releasing my brother. You have one hour.”
The screen went blank. Derek said, “Was it live?”
“Yes,” Sholes said. “NSA is on it. Where are you?”
“Almost to the City of the Dead. We have no idea what to do here, though. Did the Egyptians pick up Effat?”
Sholes: Cleared out. Brigham reported to me. They showed up, Effat and his entire staff were gone. They’re looking for him.
Noa said, “Can you trust Major Ezz?”
“Yes,” Sholes said. “They’re Egyptian army, not Muk. The Muk is now under Morsi’s control, but there’s a lot of tension between the army and President Morsi. I want the Muk kept out of this if at all possible. They’d find Mandalevo because they’d round up and torture thousands of people to do it, but the whole country would go up in flames. I’m doing my best so far. What are you doing next?”
“Any leads for us?”
Johnston: I’ve got another satellite shot of your area. I don’t know how reliable it is. It’s on its way.
Noa and Derek hunched over the tablet. The satellite image appeared. It had been annotated. A dark van had been circled. Noa traced a route with her finger. “We can get there. Is the van moving or parked?”
Johnston: Moving. It disappeared off the next shot.
“Let’s go,” Derek said.
With Derek providing directions from the tablet, Noa drove. About a quarter mile from their destination they found themselves unable to drive any further toward their target. The City of the Dead was a warren of buildings, mausoleums, monuments, gravestones and shanty-towns. Most of the streets were unpaved. From time to time they saw people, but not often for a part of the city that was supposed to house half a million people. Compared to Cairo proper it was quiet.
“That’s such a damned cliché,” Derek muttered.
Noa looked at him as they climbed out of the truck. “What is?”
“Quiet as a tomb.”
“I guess so.”
Looking around, Derek thought some of the houses and mausoleums looked in beautiful condition with marble fixtures; others were crumbling to dust. Studying the nearest building, he said, “Two entrances.”
“One for men, one for women.”
Looking at the tablet, he gripped his MP5 in his left hand. Noa carried the same weapon, her Beretta on a holster on her belt.
“Ready?”
They walked up the narrow dirt street, kicking up dust as they went. Derek felt eyes on him, but saw no one. They cautiously peered around the corner of a ragged two-story building made of mud bricks that Derek suspected was hundreds of years old. It opened into a sort of plaza that was clearly some sort of cemetery—hell, the whole place was a cemetery. But this courtyard was dotted with crypts, some of the stone boxes that reminded him of the Ark of the Covenant from Indiana Jones, and others were painted green and had miniature towers on top of them, standing six or seven feet tall. On the far side of the courtyard was a three-story house, the third floor open to the air as if the walls had been torn off.
Laundry hung from a clothesline. Birds chirped. Somewhere a generator rumbled. They crept through the cemetery, moving quickly but cautiously from tomb to tomb to provide some small level of protection. Straining his ears, Derek thought he heard voices nearby, but not too close.
Out of the corner of his eye Derek saw movement from the open three-story house. Without hesitation he tackled Noa. They slammed to the hard ground behind a tomb as two shots rang out, one bullet taking a chunk out of a granite tomb and ricocheting with a zweezh sound, the other pocking into the dirt only inches from where they lay.
“A damned kill box,” he muttered.
Irina: What’s going on?
“Sniper,” he snapped. “A little busy right now.”
He looked at Noa. “You okay?”
She nodded. In a low voice she said, “This isn’t good, though. We’re pinned down here.”
A bullet chunked off the granite just above their heads. If they stayed put and the sniper or snipers didn’t change location, they’d be fine.
Noa said, “I can provide cover and you can move to a different location.”
“They’re probably expecting that.”
“We can’t really fight back from here. One of us needs a better location.”
He thought about that. Pointing, Derek said, “That wall over there. Or that wall over there.”
Looking behind him, he said, “Or, backwards and out of the alley. A strategic retreat.”
Derek raised the MP5 above his head and fired two quick bursts. “Just letting them know we’re still here.”
Sholes: I’m sending the team there. They’re about ten minutes out.
Noa shook her head. Derek rolled his eyes in agreement. In ten minutes they would either be out of here or dead. Or somebody would be. If the sniper had a pal and knew the area, they were going to get caught in a crossfire.
“I’m not sure we have that much time, but I appreciate it.” He looked at Noa. “I’ll provide cover,” he said. “Which way are you going?”
She pointed to the wall on the right. Between them and the wall was another tomb, one of the tall ones painted green. The tomb was ten yards away, the wall another five yards from that.
“Okay,” he said. “Two quick bursts. Then a long burst. Go on the long.”
She nodded. Rolling over, she moved into an awkward crouch.
“Noa,” he said.
She looked at him.
“Don’t get shot.”
She gave him a thumb’s-up.
Making sure the MP5 was on semi-automatic, he rolled quickly left and fired off a single burst. Rolling back, he raised the gun and fired another.
“Go!”
She sprinted from cover and Derek popped up, aiming at the open building, and fired off a longer burst.
Noa dived behind the other tomb. She gave him a thumb’s-up.
He pointed toward a tomb off to the left. She shook her head vigorously and pointed to herself, indicating she wanted him to run to
her location. He shook his head and pointed left again.
She cocked her head, frowning. She nodded, raising her gun and pointing first at herself and then up toward their sniper.
He nodded.
She raised three fingers, shook her head and raised two.
He understood and nodded.
He rolled over. It was awkward as hell doing this with his right arm in a sling, a banged-up shoulder, and holding a machine gun in his left hand.
He nodded at Noa.
She gave a countdown with her fingers. Three. Two.
On one she fired off a short burst.
A second later she rolled to the left and fired a long burst.
Derek exploded out from behind the tomb, sprinting toward the tomb to his left. A bullet spiked into the ground by his feet.
He skidded behind the tomb, slamming into the granite. A blast of pain ripped through his shoulder and chest. “Fuck!” he shouted.
One problem with this arrangement, he quickly realized, was he didn’t have a sightline with Noa.
“Are you okay?” she said in the earpiece.
“Landed a little hard,” he said. “You?”
“So far, so good. Now what?”
Sholes: Team Beta is in the City of the Dead.
Johnston: I’ve sent them the satellite photos. Where exactly is your sniper?
“Well, shit, Jim. If you were here I’d show you.”
Johnston: Focus, please.
Noa: We’re in a cemetery plaza at the base of a Y split. On the right side of the short arm of the Y was where the van was located. Got it?
Johnston: Affirmative.
Noa: At the juncture between the Y split is the building where the sniper is. Third floor, open area. We’re at least fifty meters away.
Johnston: Affirmative. Sending.
Derek quickly took a peek. Up. Down.
A bullet took off a chunk of granite only inches from where his head had been. He leaned back, thinking. Was there really only one person? Where were the others?
If I were them, what would I do?
He rolled so he was on his back, scanning the rooflines.
Two heads appeared above where Noa was hiding. Derek fired off a burst in their direction. “At your nine!” he shouted.
“Behind you,” Noa shouted back, firing off a rattle of automatic weapons fire.
“Stay on them,” he shouted. “I’ve got yours! Eagle One, what’s the ETA?”
Sholes: Three—
He didn’t hear what else she had to say because a head appeared above. He sprayed the roof with bullets.
Simultaneously, he heard Noa firing.
Spinning, Derek saw two men on his side, aiming toward him. Rolling to his feet, he sprinted from his unprotected position, firing over his shoulder.
As he ran, the shooter above Noa popped into view. Skidding feet first, Derek fired the MP5 above, stitching a bloody tattoo across the shooter’s chest.
Derek felt something bite at his leg followed instantly by the sound of the sniper’s shot.
Pain flared in his calf. Rolling, he slithered next to Noa.
“You okay?”
“Maybe. You?”
Her face was bleeding. Studying her, he said, “You hit?”
“Granite chips, I think. Did you get the guy above me?”
“I hope he’s the only one.”
“What do we do about the—”
A distinctive whooshing sound filled the air. Something shrieked overhead and struck a wall thirty feet away. The explosion punched at their ears, filling the air with dust.
“RPG!”
Staring around, Derek grabbed Noa and dragged her at a dead run into the dust, which obscured them from the shooters.
He pulled her into the nearest doorway. The thick wooden door was painted a dull green. It was also locked.
Derek pounded on it, then stepped back and kicked at it, wobbling on his bad leg. Noa pushed him aside, raised the tactical shotgun and blew a hole in the door. Reaching her hand through the hole, she flipped a latch and pushed the door open. They tumbled through, slamming it shut and jamming the latch home.
They were inside a crypt.
31
Noa tumbled to the side, pressing her back to the wall, shotgun raised. She could not believe how complicated things had gotten since hooking up with Derek.
Just another fun-filled day in the Middle East, she thought.
The crypt wasn’t just a crypt, she saw. It apparently had been a crypt with shelves along the wall that appeared to be ossuaries, and four monuments of sorts similar to those out in the courtyard. But people had moved into it. A length of rope crossed one end of the room. Laundry hung from it. At another space were mats padded with pillows and blankets. A small propane camp stove rested against the wall with a beat-up tin kettle and a frying pan
resting atop it.
Derek, who had moved to the other side of the doorway, back also against the wall, said, “Hello.”
Noa adjusted her gaze. Only a few feet away from Derek a woman in traditional robes and a girl cowered in the corner. In Arabic she said, “Sorry. Is there a way to the roof?”
The woman pointed.
“Stay here. Don’t go out. They’ll shoot at anyone who comes out.”
To Derek, she said, “This way.”
She led, Derek limping after her, watching her back, eyes never really leaving the woman and her daughter. Down a dim, narrow hallway there were two more rooms, one apparently used as some sort of storage room, the other a makeshift bathroom with a water basin, a camp toilet, and several towels.
Next was a steep, narrow stairway.
“Careful,” Derek said.
“Make sure they don’t follow us up here.”
Following the shotgun, she crept up the stairs. At the top was a wooden trapdoor. She applied pressure and the door rose an inch. Harsh daylight slanted through. Dust floated in the sunbeams. She pushed it up more, peering out.
Derek rested a hand on her back, reassuring, letting her know where he was.
“Looks clear,” she said.
“I’m slow,” he said. “If I flip the door up, you want to go out first?”
“I’ll go left. You follow as fast as you can to the right.”
He tapped her back and moved alongside her. She noticed that his pant leg was dark, soaked with blood. Thinking of the scars she had noticed—touched and explored—only two nights ago, she rested her hand on his neck. “Let’s not get shot up any more today, okay?”
“I won’t if you won’t.”
“It’s a deal.”
He pressed his wounded right arm and shoulder in its sling against the trapdoor. The MP5 hung from his left hand. “On three.”
One.
Two.
On three he shoved up on the trapdoor, which exploded open and clattered over with a sharp bang! Noa surged through the hatch and rolled left. She felt more than saw Derek explode after her, rolling to the right.
It was a flat roof. Out of one end stuck a metal chimney. There was extensive damage from time—the roof was pocked and gouged by years and weather. A lip ran around the edge, about two-feet high.
A man in jeans, camo shirt and black hat sprawled dead, blood soaking into the ancient wood and adobe of the roof.
From across the courtyard a shout rang out in Arabic: “There!”
Before she could bring the shotgun around she heard the chatter of Derek’s MP5. As soon as he fired, he rolled, moving away from his last firing position. She flung aside the shotgun and brought up her own MP5, popped up and fired.
Like Derek, she dropped down and rolled.
From a short distance they heard the chatter of automatic weapons fire.
She exchanged a look with Derek. “Our backup might have arrived.”
He pointed to himself and then toward the corner of the building. “How good a shot are you?”
“Very.”
“You get positioned. I’ll dr
aw their fire. You take them out. Did you see how many there are?”
“Two.”
“Let’s make it count, then.”
He squirmed to the corner. She slithered closer to the lip. Derek nodded, rose up on one knee and fired three bursts. She waited after the first one and rose up, resting the gun on the parapet.
Derek, running with a noticeable limp, fired bursts of gunfire over her head.
The two men jumped to their feet.
She took out the one on the left.
Then the second.
Silence.
Then more gunfire from the sniper’s nest.
She looked over at Derek. He was lying face-down on the roof.
32
Lynn Sholes sat in a chair in front of a bank of computer monitors in the embassy’s crisis center. She was flanked on either side by embassy regional security officers. They were monitoring the Fleet Anti-Terrorism Security Team (FAST) or making sure the communications between the FAST team, Derek and his team, and their resources back in Washington kept working.
“I want a sit-rep on Stillwater,” she said.
“They’re not responding.”
“Spear One, this is Eagle One. What is your sit-rep?”
Nothing.
Irina: They’re not responding.
“I bloody well know that. What’s going on?”
Behind her someone cleared her throat. It was Jane Fallows, one of her staffers. “I’m busy, Jane.”
“Ma’am, you’ve been called to the Ambassador’s office immediately.”
“We’re in the middle of an operation. Tell her to wait.”
Jane, a tall, angular woman in her thirties who always reminded Sholes of a flamingo, cleared her throat again. “General El-Sisi is here.”
Sholes stared at the computer screen directly ahead of her, a map of Cairo with various markers indicating where her teams
were located.
“He’s here. Now?”
“And he wants to speak with you.”
General Abdel Fattah El-Sisi was the Egyptian Defense Minister, the head of all of Egypt’s military. What the hell?
To the RSO immediately to her left, Jake Abelson, she said, “Take over.”