A New World: Conspiracy

by John O'Brien

  Looking behind her, she barely spots the five others that comprise her team – only visible because she knows exactly where to look. They are crouched behind vehicles, other rubble, or peeking around corners of blown out building fronts. All six members, including her, of her Mossad team were inserted two days ago near the outskirts of the embattled town. Since then, they slowly snaked their way to their present location, holing up in abandoned factories and housing complexes during the day and skirting observed strongholds at night.

  Their mission is the elimination of a group responsible for the daytime bombing of an outdoor café in Jerusalem. Intel had placed them deep within a portion of Hezbollah-controlled territory. Normally, they would verify the presence of the group and call in a strike, but the higher ups wanted photo verification that those responsible were dead. Her thought was that they wanted to cast fear in those who would dare strike against their small state…that nowhere was safe…that they would be found and eliminated.

  Regardless of the reasons, she has her mission, and she will carry it out as she has all of her previous ones: with extreme prejudice. She had earned her moniker while serving in the Sayeret, and it followed her when she was recruited into Mossad. It meant ‘panther’ and it resulted from the fact that she could infiltrate with stealth, complete her mission, and disappear.

  To her, that capability didn’t come from luck or some form of magic, it was due to her meticulous planning and training. She thought about every angle and had a counter to each one prior to stepping onto her transportation. Her team trained extensively, but not so much where their edge was worn down. She didn’t want them to lock in to a set series of actions. Her experience has taught her to be flexible and flow with each situation. It only looked like a flow from the outside, but it was running scenarios through her mind time and time again, looking at every factor, which made the action become instinct. Still, anything can happen at any time.

  A distant flash is followed by rolling thunder, resounding down the war-torn streets. Adjusting her silenced Micro Galil, she glances down the streets once more, concentrating on the irregular outlines of the building’s windows. Seeing nothing, she rises and darts across the intersection, settling next to one of the burnt out vehicles. Nothing erupts from the night that would signal that she has been seen – no shout of discovery or sudden volley of gunfire.

  Gav issues a single command into her radio. The others of her team rise like ghosts, dash across the street – their soft-soled boots making almost no noise at all – and fold into concealed positions. After two days of tense movements, they’ve crossed the boundary into what is now mostly Hezbollah-controlled territory. If all goes well, they should make it to their target’s location and be able to slip out before the sun rises over this battle-scarred land.

  They slink farther into enemy-controlled territory (of course it became that the moment they crossed the border), keeping to the darkened entryways and other cover as much as possible. There isn’t a light that shows in this particular part of the city. The power lines had been decimated long ago…along with the water and sewer lines. The sound of a vehicle has each member folding into cover, merging even more with the darkness. The noise increases until a pickup truck loaded with figures passes by an intersection ahead of them. With the sound of the vehicle receding, they ease out of their positions and continue making their slow way farther behind lines.

  Over time, they advance into the heart of the city. Some lights glow from windows, and the walls show less bullet strikes than those near the much fought over edges of territory. Several times, Gav had to direct them around roving patrols and intersections guarded by militia carrying AK-47s and RPGs. At one point, they had to scramble in and hole up in an abandoned store as one patrol decided to dismount at their location. The voices and occasional laughter from the patrol drifted across the street over the sound of distant gunfire. The wait was so long that Gav thought the patrol was actually barracked here and her team would have to hole up in the building for another day. Eventually, the patrol loaded up again and moved on, their reason for stopping unknown.

  Gliding through partially destroyed buildings, through alleyways, and cautiously yet quickly along main avenues, Gav and the rest of her team find themselves in what used to be a shop of some kind after having gained entrance through the rear. Across the street, at the location given by intelligence, two people holding AKs stand next to a wooden door leading into a multi-story building. On the third floor, light shows from several windows, each covered on the inside by thin cloth. As Gav looks over the establishment, a silhouette of someone walking by the windows shows a couple of times.

  To her, the guards are an indication that something or someone important is inside and lends evidence that their intel is good. She assumes that any back way in would be equally guarded, but it’s better than going in the front where they can be more easily spotted.

  The roar of a low-flying jet streaking through the night sounds directly over her. The startled guards across from her crouch and turn their heads upward, searching and tense with the possibility that bombs might fall on them. A few blocks away, two penetrating flashes light up the night sky, followed by ground-shaking explosions that rock the nearby buildings. A scattering of dust falls from the ceiling onto the watching team.

  Thirty seconds later, as the noise from the pair of bombs fades, another jet roars over the roof tops, adding yet another set of shattering blasts to the area. The lights on the third floor go out. While still crouching, one of the guards holds a radio to his ear. A second later, they both turn and rush into the interior.

  “Now’s the time. Across the street and in. VOX and cameras on. Clear the sides as we go, but we make haste to the third floor. Everyone is considered a threat and eliminated immediately. No noise. Let’s go,” Gav says, rising.

  Gav and her team emerge from the shop on the run, widening the gap between them as they go. The chatter of the distant gunfire has fallen off, but not silenced altogether, as the night has progressed. Perhaps the munitions, more than likely delivered by the IAF, has caused everyone to go underground. Or maybe it’s just quitting time.

  She and another of her team quietly rush across the street, their suppressed barrels focused on the doorway, two others spread out to the sides concentrating on the windows overlooking the road, while the remaining two keep their eyes out down the narrow, debris-covered avenue and behind them. Approaching the door, they stack against the wall, listening for any sounds.

  A loud voice sounds from the floors above, but it fades just as quickly. The most important thing is that she doesn’t hear anything coming from the other side of the thin door beside her. Her teammate reaches out and, with a nod from her, pulls the door open. Gav streaks inside, weapon at the ready.

  A long, narrow hallway extends the length of the building with closed doors spaced at intervals along its length. Wallpaper, torn and peeling, adorns the dirty walls, which show green through her goggles. Cheap light fixtures are set along the length, some hanging loosely by wires that barely hold the lamps up. Most have had their bulbs broken, but a few still seem functional. More importantly, the hall is clear.

  Gav continues swiftly on, crouch-walking down the hall, her barrel leading the way. Anyone emerging into the hall will be quickly and quietly taken out, no questions asked. She won’t hesitate pulling the trigger…be it man, woman, or child. Any noise or startled shouting will alert others to their presence and endanger the whole team. If this place, meaning the entire territory, becomes alerted to the presence of Israelis in the area, all other actions will cease in order to hunt them down. She and her team wouldn’t live through the night.

  Passing closed doors to the left and right, her tension high and senses highly tuned to any disturbance or hint of anyone around, she spies an opening up ahead about half way down the corridor.

  “Stairs ahead to the left,” she whispers into her extended boom mic.

  She doesn’t hear any reply bu
t knows her team heard her. She edges to the stairs and peeks quickly around the corner. Old wooden steps climb steeply, the treads warped in many places.

  “Clear,” she breathes, stepping quickly around the corner.

  She turns backward and, making sure she climbs the stairs near the wall where they are less likely to give a tell-tale creak, focuses on the stairs and landing upward. The rest of her team continues to cover the entire area with the last two walking backward, keeping an eye behind them – they are essentially a moving perimeter.

  Her heart beats heavily as she continues upward, adrenaline flooding her system. Any false move here and they’ll never see their home again. There’s a touch of fear, but it’s mostly about safeguarding her team. Most of what she feels is a highly-tuned adrenaline rush. Long ago, she overcame any guilt associated with her chosen lifestyle. This is what she lives for and loves to do. There may some patriotic feature to it, but it’s really about avenging the death of her parents. And, if she were perfectly honest, that has little to do with it anymore. She shuts the thought down as she reaches the first floor landing.

  Reaching into one of her cargo pockets, she withdraws a simple, triangular doorstop. Wedging it under the inward-opening door, she continues her advance. The measure won’t stop a determined effort to gain entrance to the stairway, but it will definitely slow anyone down. It will perhaps gain enough time to allow them to escape should they be discovered.

  Gav and her team continue their quick march upward, wanting to hit fast, hard, and quiet. So far, there hasn’t been any sight or sound of the two guards who vanished inside. She feels her warm breath as she exhales through her dark pullover mask, conscious of keeping her breathing steady. They are nearing their target, and now is not the time to let fear cause a mistake by moving too fast. Quick yes, but hurried…no.

  Sealing off the second floor door in the same manner, Gav nears the third floor and their destination. Her highly-tuned senses feel that something is amiss. Almost before she can register this feeling, the door opens widely with a loud, long creak of hinges that haven’t seen oil in years.

  Two guards emerge through the doors at the top of the stairs. With her weapon emitting silent coughs, she fires three hurried rounds into each before they even know she is there, dropping them quickly to the landing where they hit with solid thumps. Spray from the high-speed projectiles slamming into flesh and bone paints the walls with their blood, some of the larger splotches flow downward in small rivulets. One moment, the two were talking about how to live another day in their war-ravaged land, and the next…they weren’t.

  Not slowing, Gav continues quickly over to the bodies and fires a single round into each of their heads. Bone, flesh, and brain flow outward from a large exit wound each round created, adding to the blood already pooling around the still warm corpses, the subsonic bullets doing tremendous damage. She doesn’t know if the guards will be missed anytime soon, but she has to assume they will. The first card is played and the game is on.

  She reaches down to one of the bodies and, finding a radio, she turns it off and pockets it. This will be additional intel regarding the frequencies they may be using. The two bringing up the rear will remove the mags and insert different mags with rigged cartridges. It is likely that the weapons will be recovered after this and used again. The rounds inserted are overcharged ones which will explode in the chamber when fired. With any luck, the shooter will be severely injured. At the very least, it will trigger distrust among others about using their weapons and cause them to hesitate, hopefully at a crucial moment.

  Gav checks down each hall. It is in the same condition as the first floor corridor. She then turns right toward the front of the building where she saw the light in one of the windows. At the end of the hallway stands a closed door. It’s to this that she quickly but silently makes her way, her suppressed weapon up and ready.

  She hears almost nothing behind her as her team follows, only an occasional scrape of boots on the severely worn carpeting. Like climbing the stairs, Gav keeps to the wall to eliminate creaks of the weak floorboards; also, so she won’t stand out as readily like she would if she were in the middle of the hall. Nearing the door, she hears the door handle rattle and begin to turn.

  Not hesitating, she lowers her shoulder and charges the door. If they are caught in the hall, it will leave her and her team exposed. An initial volley may take out those in the doorway, but the simple toss of a grenade from inside will spell the end of her and her team. She hits the door with her shoulder just as it is opening. The door crashes inward and stops abruptly. She slams into it again and steps through.

  Gav sees four armed men, two of which are stumbling backward into the arms of the other two behind them. Raising her Micro Galil, she sends short bursts into the two stumbling men. The closeness of the delivered rounds slam into their chest and face, sending the two men crashing hard against the two others. Pink mist sprays into the faces of the two remaining alive, covering them with gore. Gav delivers two more bursts into the surprised men, sending all four of them crashing into the ground. The men bounce off walls and collapse a small table as they fall.

  Stepping over the bodies, she enters the room proper. An archway opens to the right with the main room opening to the left.

  “Opening to the right,” she calls quietly into the mic.

  Bypassing the opening and knowing the teammates behind her will sweep into there, she turns to the main room. Four other men are rising from chairs around an old dining table. Light from a TV shines in the room, but no sound emits from it. The only other light is from a couple of candles on the table itself. The startled men are rising quickly and reaching for the carbines next to them. She can tell they are having a hard time seeing who has invaded their domain, but that doesn’t slow them retrieving their arms.

  She, however, can see quite clearly. Her first burst takes the closest man squarely in the chest. The rounds hit with solid, meaty thumps; flowers of dark liquid instantly stain his light-colored T-shirt. Gav hears his breath as it is forcefully exhaled. He clutches his chest and falls forward to his knees before falling prone. She only witnesses the hits before directing her fire into one of his companions next to him.

  The bullets hit in close proximity just to the left of his sternum, spinning him around and sending him crashing across the dining table. She hasn’t stopped moving and sees the remaining two lift from the ground as the combined rounds from three of her team connect with force. They are sent crashing into the wall before slumping slowly to the ground. She hears two of her team, who hit the room to the right by the entrance, call clear. Four hollow coughs follow as part of her team behind put rounds into the first four. The only sound is a low groan emitting from one of the men near the table.

  The main room opens into another large room to the right, past the first one. Normally, she would toss a flashbang and enter. However, this is to be a silent op if they are to get out in one piece. She signals the others and they turn the corner together.

  Another room opens, looking much like the main one with a kitchen on the far side. Nothing moves. She directs three of them in to search farther as she steps over to the table and nearer the four downed men. The man lying across the table is the one moaning. Putting a round into each of the others to ensure they remain quiet, Gav checks for signs of a grenade under the body of the groaning man. Yeah, she’s learned that one. Satisfied that he hasn’t booby-trapped himself, she rolls him off the table. He falls to the floor face up. She looks down at his pain-filled eyes. The pain turns to fear. With a wicked grin, she raises her weapon.

  The room goes silent.

  A Sighting

  She shakes herself out of the memory of times past. The click of her heels echoes in the wide hall, off the polished white and black tiled floor, as she makes her way to the control room. The call asking for her presence had come moments ago, interrupting another meeting. Gav takes note of the mostly bare corridor painted in a calming sky blue. She w
as mostly responsible for getting this facility together and paid attention to every detail with its construction. After all, there was a chance that they were to be down here a long time – a chance that proved right.

  The abandoned, underground government communication bunker was originally forty-five thousand square feet of below-ground real estate sitting beneath over two hundred plus acres that were located approximately twenty miles to the northeast of Denver. She oversaw the renovation of the facility for their purposes; enlarging it to over five hundred thousand square feet. That provided enough room to house the equipment and personnel required to operate as a command-and-control center, along with the battalion of troops on site for security. She also has several reconnaissance and special operations teams to deploy as needed.

  Gav passes by large windows, looking into the offices and conference rooms along one wall as she makes her way down the long hall. Most are empty, the vacant chairs circling equally empty tables just waiting for bodies to file in and occupy them. Passing under one of the many air vents, she feels cold, filtered air as it is blown in from the surface after passing through the comprehensive nuclear, chemical, and biological filtration system.

  Passing her card through the reader, she glances at her picture and name imprinted upon the white plastic: Gavriella Rosenstrauss. That name seems foreign to her as she had left it behind long ago…in her mind at least. The woman that person was had left the moment her parents were killed by a mortar blast fired from across the border of her old home. The girl who lived in fright from those attacks emerged from the rubble a changed person. After the initial shock – her parents being torn out of her life – the pain of what happened began to surface. Every day she felt that tearing within her heart; a physical pain that she felt she couldn’t bear any longer. But she endured and learned to suppress the agony within until her fear and grief turned to anger. A deep-seated anger without an outlet. She railed at the world. Over time, the fire of anger burned out and coldness was left in its place. At first, that was directed at those responsible for the cowardly attack; later, it was funneled into her operations against that very same enemy. Over time, it just became her job, one she enjoyed doing.