He walked closer to Bull and said: “I want to work for you, General, and destroy these pigs.”
Suddenly there was a strained soft voice from the wounded man: “And he speaks for me, General. I have had enough of their random slaughter.”
Ali ran to Abdul, relief flowing through him. “You are better!”
Bull went to the bedside, stepping over the corpse of Habab. He said: “I’ll get rid of this.” Then he stuck out his hand and Abdul grasped it and Bull said: “I am glad to meet you both. Now we can work together and your lives will change very much for the better and you can be proud of what we ask you to do.”
Chapter Thirteen – Turning Mercs
Bull found Colonel Walter Brow sitting alone at a table in the corner of the canteen, sipping a coffee after lunch. He looked as though he had not slept.
When Bull sat opposite him Brow said: “Don’t stay if you bring bad news.”
Bull looked about him and saw a waiter hovering nearby and he leaned forward and said very quietly: “We need to talk privately. You have a leak.”
“What! Are you sure?”
“Yes. Let’s go outside.”
The two men walked quickly until they were standing under the lone tree with its solitary bench. They didn’t sit down but leaned against the trunk, their faces close to each other.
Bull said: “I have good news but I’ll get around to that. Meanwhile, you have a serious leak. The men who shot Sam knew exactly what he was doing, down to the time he would leave here and head for the Palace.”
“How in Hell can you know that?”
“I know it and I’ll tell you how I know it.” Bull could not resist a dramatic pause but he saw irritation mount in the face of the American and he said: “I have spoken to the men who killed Collins.”
Brow was speechless and his eyebrows knotted in concentration.
“What’s more I have turned them and they want to work for us, not only the kid but the man who runs him. I have them in a safe place.”
Walt exploded: “Are you out of your goddam mind!” and then reined in his emotions and he hissed: “I don’t want to have anything to do with that murderous little shit! If Sam’s family found out we were having anything to do with the man who killed him, there would be a media frenzy back home.”
“I know, I know! Take it easy man. We’ll keep it strictly need to know. Just let me explain what’s what.”
Brow walked around the tree and then around the bench in a spurt of nervous energy and then came back to his position at the trunk.
“Okay, shoot!”
“Things have worked in our favour. Your Sergeant Stevenson winged Abdul, the boy’s mentor --- a graze along his skull, but he’s okay now. Then when their DAESH contact came to pay them for their kill shot, he saw that Abdul was unconscious and badly wounded and couldn’t be bothered to deal with it and wanted to execute him but the kid shot him first. The youngster told me he wants to work for me because IS are devils and don’t kill with honour but just to make themselves important. He says that now he wants to kill them off.”
“I don’t know Bull. I don’t know.”
“It is a serious change of heart Walt. Abdul told me they have had to kill ordinary people like a young woman, a florist, and also a shopkeeper and they think this was just petty jealousy, men carrying personal grudges.”
“It makes sense.”
“It does. And Abdul knows a lot of IS men. He has seen them with their one main contact, who has now been rubbed out.”
Brow had to smile: “You sound like a gangster in an old movie, rubbed out indeed.”
“I’m just trying to speak your language, pal” said the Iraqi General and they both laughed, quietly.
Brow saw Mark Andrews walking past, heading for the canteen and signalled that he should join them and Brow asked Bull to brief him. Afterwards the psychic had one question: “Can you trust them?”
“That’s what I want you to find out” said the Colonel.
“No problem. I’ll introduce you” said Bull.
“And another thing. Bull says someone here is feeding info to DAESH. Can you pinpoint who that is? It’s probably one of the canteen staff.”
The psychic looked exasperated and said: “Look. What do you think I am? This is all hit and miss. To make sure I would probably have to interview every one of them. How many are there?”
“Twelve.”
“I’ll chat to them all over the next few days.”
“Can I take you to meet my new recruits later, say at 16.00?” said Bull.
“Okay.”
The three men went into the canteen and Andrews saw Ayla sitting alone and he went to her and she gave him a warm smile of greeting.
“Can I join you?”
“Yes please. I’m expecting Captain Bhutin but not for a while.”
It soon became clear that the glamorous Kurd was keen to tap Andrews for information about himself and he was glad to oblige, explaining how his psychic gifts had been the bane of his life for many years, causing him to lose confidence and hampering his career in banking.
He told her that when he was in a crowd, at a theatre or a sporting event or in a busy restaurant, random snatches of conversation and images would invade his mind and he would think he was hallucinating.
“Me too, but only sometimes” she said eagerly.
“It made me avoid people and live a solitary life but it proved a boon in my bank work, because my instincts were always right in assessing people. And eventually a long-time friend of mine, Captain Taylor, realised my potential, to help him in his…. national security work. Because of him, my life has changed.”
Ayla leaned forward in an attitude of supplication: “Mark, please help me to find out about myself.”
“I said I would, and I shall. So relax” and he gave an affectionate smile and she melted with gratitude and her warmth touched Mark’s heart. He felt emotion well within him.
“Mark, why am I so fascinated by Nature? Are you the same? I find it so wonderful and mystifying that it can fill me with awe.” She continued: “Did you know that they have just found out how the world is constructed?”
“Well yes, it is common knowledge that this round ball on the surface of which we live, has got a core of molten metal.”
“Yes, but now they have found out what is at the absolute centre.”
“Oh, what?”
“A solid metal ball as big as the Moon. Isn’t that absolutely mind boggling?” and her eyes gleamed with wonder.
Andrews smiled: “At the moment I’m more worried about what’s happening here on the surface, and especially with you.”
Mark looked at the young woman, noting once again her hour-glass figure, narrow waist, shapely legs, breasts gently curved but not excessive, black curls falling in a torrent to her shoulders – a voluptuously inviting image of female sexuality – and yet her eyes were two beacons of cool intelligence unsullied by cynicism, and most remarkable of all, glowing with the gold of innocence.
“What’s the matter Mark?” said Ayla, suddenly very serious.
“I’m so sorry Ayla, so sorry! I was just thinking about what a beautiful and complex personality you are.”
The Kurdish officer, Captain Rojya Bhutin came into the canteen and headed for Ayla’s table and Mark Andrews greeted him and then excused himself. He went to find Bull and meet the young assassin and his mentor.
xxxxx
Andrews got into Bull’s old Volkswagen and as they drove off he asked: “Where have you put these mercs, General?”
“I found the perfect place, a delivery van without markings. We’ll fit it with disguised viewports for their weapons.”
“What’s your own personal judgement of these people?”
Bull organised his thoughts. “I had a long chat with Abdul and it’s clear that the boy had a difficult upbringing.” He explained in some detail what Abdul had told him. “He is a kind of contradiction in behaviour. He is very polite
but his attitude is quicksilver in the way it can change. One moment his eyes are soft, just a kid, then they are cold as ice. But Abdul, who I think is an honourable soldier, vouches for him.”
“How many people has he killed?”
“Abdul is not certain, because the lad’s previous mentor was killed, but he says a few dozen. A lot of military people but also, more recently, several civilians.”
“This should be most interesting” said Mark, his tone sardonic.
They reached a back street in a suburb and found a large dirty brown delivery van, parked in the shade of a tree. Bull gave a complex knock on the door and it opened and Andrews followed Bull inside.
The van was more spacious than Mark had expected it to be. There were two bunk beds, a small table and a portable TV and a portable toilet.
Bull introduced him to Abdul who had answered the door and to Ali, who came from the corner where he had been cleaning his rifle. Ali took Mark’s hand and gripped it firmly.
Mark looked deeply into the teenager’s eyes and sensed emotional turmoil and sharp intelligence and a sudden blast of hostility and then heard a torrent of Arabic and Bull said: “The boy says you must stop it!”
Mark thought: “Oh my God! Not another ruddy telepath!” But then he looked again and he realised the boy was probably surprisingly shy and a bit puzzled. Perhaps it’s just wishful thinking on my part, he thought.
“Stop what?” he asked.
“Staring at him like that” said Abdul.
Mark released the boy’s hand and gave him a friendly smile and Ali smiled back. They all sat down and a long conversation ensued.
Chapter Fourteen – Painting the Target
Ashraf (the Most Honourable) the new regional commander of Islamic State, settled into his regular table and signalled to a waiter who nodded. Ashraf smiled benevolently at his friend Azhar (the Luminous One) who had just arrived. There were now four men seated at the table outside the corner café.
The waiter arrived with fresh coffee and then took a further order.
Ashraf, a burly man who had made a lot of money as a loan shark in Damascus but then had to flee for his life after a clash with a gangster, had built a new life for himself as a realtor. A nephew of his became a trailblazer in Islamic State and invited his uncle to join.
Now, after a year of brutal manipulation, Ashraf had been appointed head of this region and was enjoying his power and the respect that power demanded and received.
He said: “I have some good news for you, Azhar. I’ve decided that you can take over from Habab as my second in command. Congratulations!”
Ashraf lifted his coffee cup and grinned and that was when Ali’s supersonic aerodynamic bullet travelling at 3000feet a second, hit him in the centre chest and he was sent hurtling backwards, as though kicked by a mule, to die in the gutter and the other men at his table ran for their lives like leaves scattered by a strong wind.
Four blocks away a dirty brown delivery van slowly drove off and turned a corner to be lost to view.
xxxxx
One week later:
Bull and Mark Andrews sat down at Colonel Brow’s desk and the American officer looked at them expectantly. Next to him was Captain Taylor who greeted his man Andrews with a smile and a nod.
“So what have you done with the former ISIS mercenaries, gentlemen?” said Brow.
“They are safely installed in my apartment, Colonel” said the Iraqi General. “You wanted a progress report and I am here to deliver it.”
“This is like pulling teeth” drawled the American.
“Good news is worth the wait, Colonel” said Bull. “After only one week, the top five ISIL men in this region have been eliminated. The others are shit-scared and have left for regions unknown. Job done” said Bull.
“Good work. That kind of success rate is remarkable.”
“They were totally unprepared” said Andrews “and we worked very fast. We got three of them in one day. The world is a better place now that those bastards have been removed.”
“Tell me about the boy” said Brow. “You said something on the phone about him being a telepath? Really?”
“Perhaps. But he is abnormally sensitive. That’s one of the reasons why he has been so disturbed, emotionally. When he first started killing people, out of a sense of honorable duty, he says he directly picked up the powerful emotions when his victims were dying.”
“That’s intriguing” said Captain Taylor. “But you also pick up that sort of thing don’t you Andrews?”
“Yes Sir. But there’s more. He says that at first he would register the shock and fear among the people around the victim and he found this very disturbing. Now, he says, he is able to stay focused on the victim and, in his words, ‘I can feel them leaving their body and then there is nothing left.’ One can construe that as being proof that the body dies but the spirit moves on.”
“Yeah. Maybe” said Brow. “Construe, bemuse, confuse—take your pick! Anyway it’s good that their bodily forms are no longer hanging about to create problems for us.”
Bull laughed. “You are a practical man Sir.”
“Be that as it may,” said Andrews, “the boy says that because of this he doesn’t mind so much about killing them, because he’s sure it is only the body that dies.”
The Colonel gave a slow sardonic smile. “You’ll be pleased to know that I feel a lot better now that I know the kid’s conscience is not bothering him too much and that he can kill without compunction. I thought that was a definition of psychopathy?” and there was a ripple of cynical amusement among the men.
“Now, back to work” said Brow. “We must continue this process of paralyzing DAESH. We must resume our aborted campaign to go after IS in their hidden HQ and Captain Taylor will be in command of this mission. Over to you Captain.”
“Tell me Andrews, do you believe that this young budding telepath can give us anything like the kind of help that you provide?” said Captain Taylor.
“I have been thinking along those lines, Sir, but I am not sure. He is willing to work with me, eager in fact. But he is very young, he’ll be sixteen next week and he has a volatile personality. He might just be neurotically sensitive. I should be able to make sure on this patrol.”
“I hope he’s not a dead end. This entire strike depends on reliable intel.” Taylor leaned back and shook his head in a signal of bewilderment. “You won’t believe the confusion. We have everyone and his cousin dropping bombs—America, now the UK has just joined, France, the Saudis, the Turkish, the Canadians, Aussies and most of all the Russians. They have hyped their attack and right from the start they were bombing with abandon, hitting civilian targets without compunction. In my eyes this is a war crime. Theoretically all actions are coordinated through the Americans but the Russians persist in doing their own thing. And they are using missiles.”
“And you are heading into that chaos?” said General Kahn.
“Obviously, the sooner we can pinpoint the location, the better,” said Taylor. “Then we can stay out of the physical action.”
“When do we start Sir?” asked Andrews.
“Tomorrow morning.” said Taylor.
Andrews said to Brow: “Sir, I nearly forgot to tell you. Your IS mole is the chef. He listens to the kitchen staff gossiping about what they overhear and he has been passing it on to one of the men Ali terminated.”
“Well well” said Brow. “Wonders never cease. Fat old Yezdanser (the Lion of God) who is always smiling.”
“What will you do with him Colonel?” asked the General. “You could tell him a sniper is after him and he will run, leaving a trail of dust behind him.”
“I’ll think of something” said the American and all humour left his eyes.
xxxxx
The Next Day:
As the men assembled in the open space next to the solitary tree in the sunshine they looked like a bunch of Bedouins setting out to trek across a desert. They were all dressed in keffiyeh he
ad scarves and Dishdash, long white robes. They also had beards in various stages of growth.
In fact they were six Britons, members of an SAS Para-Ops Team, two middle eastern Mercenaries: one Syrian adult and a Syrian teenager, the deadly sniper Ali. The two last mentioned had been introduced to the Brits for the first time the previous night. At first there was a certain veiled hostility between them, not helped by the fact that the youngster had only an elementary knowledge of English, although the older man, Abdul, the young sniper’s handler and observer, was fluent.
The British team’s ace sniper Henry Lee was the one who broke the ice, saying to young Ali in a conversational tone: “So you are the nice young man who shot my arm right off?”
When Abdul had translated, the teenager looked surprised and then as he looked at Lee’s two arms, puzzled.
“They gave me a new arm” said Lee and pulled back his shirt sleeve to reveal the prosthetic arm. “And it’s even better and stronger than the old one, so I want to thank you for doing me such a big favour” and he looked at the lad with a sardonic grin.
When Ali had these words translated, his bewilderment was total.
“But now that we are on the same side, things are different. We can be friends” and he stuck out his hand and the young sniper took it and shook it enthusiastically and then gave a broad, genuine smile. For the first time in his life the boy was experiencing the unique warmth of masculine comradeship. They were a group of males about to risk their lives and they would be relying on each other for life support, and that awareness imposed a sense of comradeship on them.
SAS Para-Ops: MEGA SET - SAS Para-Ops Books #1, #2, #3, #4, #5 & #6 Page 34