LOST AND LETHAL

by Fredrick L. Stafford

  So far, so good.

  THUMP!

  Another smoke round impacted to the right of the ramp.

  The commander noticed the wind picking up and the smoke cover dissipating faster than planned.

  Good man.

  Three hundred meters into the run, the drawstring holding the bag to her belt snapped, and the bag fell to the ground.

  Darn!

  The machinegun kept firing.

  Molka backtracked.

  The intensified smoke cloaked the ground all around her.

  She dropped into a crawl and probed blindly with her hands.

  Where is it?

  Where is it?

  Find it!

  Found it!

  She tucked the bag under her arm, got back to her feet, and resumed her run.

  The machinegun kept firing.

  Four hundred meters into her run, rounds tore the ground in her path.

  She cut to the left to avoid them and sprinted until she reached the south wall’s massive blocks.

  She assessed her position: a couple meters left of her desired destination, which was the point where the entrance ramp abutted the south wall.

  She moved to it, put her back into the corner created by the abutment, sat, caught her wind for three breaths, and pulled a two-way radio from her pocket. “I made it!”

  Zilan answered. “Thank goodness!”

  “Here I go! Stand by to advance!”

  “Acknowledged! Good luck!”

  The machinegun kept firing.

  Molka re-pocketed the radio and looked down at the olive-green canvas bag holding the bell-shaped object.

  When I thought of this, it seemed like a great idea.

  But now that I’m actually here and ready to use it…

  The machinegun kept firing.

  Oh well, too late to change my mind.

  Molka undid the bag’s drawstring.

  Reached inside.

  And removed:

  A megaphone.

  She clicked on the power switch and held it to her mouth:

  “Omar! It’s Molka! Come to the gate!”

  “Omar! It’s Molka! Come to the gate!”

  “Omar! It’s Molka! Come to the gate!”

  The machinegun ceased firing.

  Molka raised the megaphone to her mouth again:

  “Omar! It’s Molka! Come to the gate!”

  “Omar! It’s Molka! Come to the gate!”

  “Omar! It’s Molka! Come to the gate!”

  A stressful, silent moment passed.

  Molka raised the megaphone to her mouth once more.

  Before she spoke, Omar called out from above her behind the gate:

  “Molka! You’re alive! I’m so happy!”

  “Thanks!” Molka said. “Can I come to the gate and talk to you face to face?”

  “Yes, Rivin and his men are gone! I am in charge here again! I promise you will not be harmed!”

  Molka stood, slung her weapon on her back, left the megaphone, moved through the dissolving smoke, ran down to the ramp’s starting point, and ran up the ramp to the gate.

  Omar waited on the other side in the same black warm-up suit and black sneakers.

  He smiled at Molka. “I see you have new clothes and new friends.”

  “Yes,” Molka said.

  “But you are free. Why would you come back to this place of suffering?”

  “I came for the general and Uri.”

  “And I would love nothing more than to give them to you, but you know what Rivin would do to my family.”

  “As we speak, Zoran the Great and his fighters are chasing Rivin and what’s left of his men back here.”

  “Rivin’s attack failed?”

  “Rivin walked into an ambush. And now they run like cowards for the safety of these walls. But those cowards can’t have the safety of these walls if we don’t let them inside. And then Zoran the Great will catch them and put them all down.”

  Omar’s face brightened. “I would love so much to believe you.”

  “Think of it, Omar. You repaid your father’s debt a long time ago. And today will be the day of your freedom. Today you can go home to your family.”

  Omar sighed. “If only that were true.”

  Molka pointed at the two-way radio in Omar’s left hip pocket. “Can you monitor Rivin’s radio traffic? They should be in range by now.”

  “Yes.” Omar removed the radio and switched the channel.

  The speaker blared panicked voices with gunfire in the background.

  Omar listened to their laments and beamed. “It is true!”

  “Tell the guards to put down their weapons and assemble in the yard. They won’t be harmed. You have my word.”

  “They will not oppose you,” Omar said. “You have my word.”

  “Where are Jäger and his partner?”

  “Jäger is with Rivin. His partner, Fuchs, is inside laying on a couch watching the football matches.”

  “He won’t be now, after all the firing.”

  “Maybe, he will. The walls to the blockhouse are over two-meters thick.”

  “And where’s Tariq?” Molka said.

  “Rivin had him put in the dungeon. He was not happy about Tariq’s lust allowing you to escape.”

  Molka flashed a serious face. “This Fuchs is a problem. A BIG problem.”

  Omar grinned. “But you handled him quite well. He won’t be tasting his food or his pipe for some time.”

  “I got a little lucky. He’s very strong and very dangerous. We’ll have to secure him shortly.”

  “You mean lock him up?” Omar said.

  “Yes. Zoran the Great will want to see him.”

  “Understood. What do you want me to do now?”

  Molka smiled. “Open the gate and let us in.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Rivin’s three guards and the old cook seemed more relieved than upset about a unit of Zoran the Great’s fighters now controlling “The Red Lion’s Den.” They sat together in the yard, smoking and chatting with a single fighter watching over them.

  The unit commander directed his men to man all the machinegun positions atop the wall and all the mortars in the yard.

  They planned a nasty greeting for Rivin’s impending arrival.

  Molka followed Omar—who confiscated one of the guards’ AK-47s for himself—into the blockhouse and into the common room.

  The German football match played on.

  But Fuchs did not lay on the couch watching.

  “You were right,” Omar said. “He’s probably hiding somewhere panicked.”

  “Does he have his weapon with him?”

  “No, the weapon he had was loaned to him by Rivin. And all weapons in ‘The Red Lion’s Den’ must be locked in the armory when not in use.”

  “Why is that?” Molka said.

  “Rivin believes men walking around with weapons all the time encourages them to commit coups and mutinies.”

  Molka grinned. “Ha. He should know. But I still don’t like the idea of Fuchs roaming around here, weapon or not.”

  “We’ll find him. And he’s not going anywhere anyway. There’s only one way in and out.”

  “Let’s go free some hostages,” Molka said.

  They moved to the hallway’s end and arrived at the steel blast door leading to the dungeon. Omar punched in the entry code, pulled open the door, and they started down the seven flights.

  At the sixth landing, Molka held Omar up. “I’ll wait here while you go ahead and disarm the guard. He might start shooting at us or the hostages if he sees me and my weapon.”

  “Good thinking,” Omar said.

  “Call me when you do.”

  “Understood.”

  Omar stepped into the dungeon and crossed the large space. Ahead of him, the three male prisoners all sat on their cots: Uri still occupied the right-side cell, the general the center cell, and newcomer Tariq the left-side cell.

  The seven girls in th
e large cell against the left-side wall sat around their table in quiet terror again.

  Omar raised his weapon, pointed at the seated guard’s surprised face, and spoke to him in Turkish.

  The guard stood, removed the pistol from his holster, laid it atop the desk, and headed for the stairs.

  Omar called out:

  “Ok, Molka!”

  Molka trotted down the last flight—passing the surprised guard on his way up—and entered the dungeon.

  When she came into view of the cells, Uri rose from his cot.

  When Uri spotted Molka’s weapon slung on her back, he sprung to the bars, released a joyful scream, and said, “I knew it! The Unit came to rescue me! I told you guys!”

  Molka arrived before the cells.

  Uri’s face perplexed on Molka’s uniform and gold keffiyeh. “Why are you dressed like that?”

  The general stood up from his cot and addressed Molka. “What is going on here?”

  Molka moved to the general’s barred door. “General, Zoran the Great took this fortress. We’re leaving.”

  “She is being ridiculously humble,” Omar said. “She took this fortress single handily for Zoran the Great.”

  Tariq moved to his bars, and his face teased with an ultra-charismatic smile. “Congratulations, Molka! I knew you could do it!”

  Molka viewed Tariq’s split lip. “I didn’t hit your lip, too, did I?”

  “No, Rivin did. He wasn’t too happy about me letting you escape.”

  Molka grinned. “Then he’s really going to hate this.” She turned to Omar. “Toss me the keys, my friend.”

  Omar retrieved the cell keys from the desk and tossed them to Molka.

  Molka hesitated and turned to the still cowering and confused harem girls. “Them first. They’ve been here longer. Come with me.”

  Omar followed Molka to the girls’ cage.

  Molka unlocked and then opened the door. “Please take them upstairs and explain what’s happening. And tell them that Zoran the Great will be here soon to take them home.”

  Omar smiled and spoke to the girls.

  With reluctant but hopeful faces, they followed him toward the stairs.

  Molka returned to the cells and unlocked the general’s and Uri’s doors.

  Both men grabbed their jackets and stepped out.

  Uri viewed Molka with a perplexed face again. “Why are you dressed like that, and what did he mean you took this fortress for Zoran the Great? The Unit didn’t take it?”

  “No. The Unit is not here. The rest is a long story from a long two days, and I don’t feel like talking about it now.”

  “But I’m the team leader,” Uri said. “I need to be brought up to speed on the task.”

  Molka sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  “Tariq told me he only pretended to flip against us so he could get in here and help me escape and that he did help you escape. Is that true?”

  “He helped me escape.” Molka gazed at Tariq. “What else did Tariq tell you?”

  “He said he needs to leave with us because he won’t be safe in Zoran the Great’s domain anymore. Because Zoran the Great does not abide any type of betrayal, even if it was just a ruse to assist us. And since Tariq all but works for Azzur now, I agreed he should come with us.”

  “Do you, team leader?”

  “Yes, and he said you would have a way of smoothing things over with Zoran the Great and get his permission to let Tariq leave.”

  Molka moved in front of Tariq’s cell. “Uri, please take the general upstairs, and I’ll meet you in the yard.”

  “What are you doing?” Uri said.

  “I want to talk to Tariq.”

  “About what?”

  Molka glanced back at Uri and smirked. “About our mad love affair.”

  Uri grimaced. “Gross. Please come with me, general.”

  Tariq laughed and put his leather jacket on.

  Uri and the general headed upstairs.

  Tariq moved to his cell’s door. “What’s up? Unlock it. Let’s go.”

  Molka stared at him and spun the key ring around her finger.

  Tariq viewed the keys and smiled. “Oh…ok. I know what you’re thinking. But don’t even think it, Molka.”

  Molka smiled. “What am I thinking?”

  “You’re thinking about leaving me locked in here, so I’ll have to answer to Zoran the Great for my moment of moral weakness.”

  “You mean your moment of moral weakness when you conspired with his most hated rival and two German mercenaries to steal his money, which resulted in four of his best fighters dying.”

  Tariq nodded. “And you’re also thinking about leaving me locked in here for deceiving you. Which you are taking very personally, I can see.”

  “That’s right, I am.” Molka tossed the keys back onto the desk. “And now you’re going to tell me since you let me escape, I should let you escape, and that would make us even. But it wouldn’t come close. Because your deceit got me captured in the first place. If anything, I still owe you one for almost causing the task to fail. But if I did let you out, just because I’m a little soft-hearted to people locked in dungeons, you’ll never make it out of Zoran the Great’s domain alive anyway.”

  “I know,” Tariq said. “That’s why you’re going to tell Zoran the Great you have forgiven me for my treachery against you and that you wish to take me with you because your boss, Azzur, has recruited me into your organization, and I have much important work to do for your country.”

  Molka grinned. “And why would I want to do that?”

  “For the simple reason that I didn’t tell Uri about my moment of moral weakness, which means he can’t tell Azzur. And the general also didn’t get around to telling Uri, and before he did, I convinced the general not to tell Uri or Azzur because a man like him falling for my deceit would make him look like a fool in Azzur’s eyes and then to be thought of as useless after Azzur gets his list.”

  Molka shrugged. “And what does that have to do with me not leaving you here for Zoran the Great and not telling Azzur what you did myself?”

  “When Azzur finds out about how I deceived you, he will consider that an egregious failure of your security specialist duties and immediately dismiss you from the program. And then you will never get the chance to avenge your little sister’s murder.”

  Molka’s face hardened. “How did you know about that?”

  “I did my research on you.”

  “Well, if Uri can’t tell Azzur and the general and I decide not to, he’ll never know, will he? I guess I should thank you for that as I decide to leave you here.” Molka stepped back. “Goodbye.”

  Tariq moved forward and grabbed the bars. “Think about this, Molka. I had no idea that psycho Fuchs would kill those men. You saw my angry reaction in the ravine. So I shouldn’t also be made to pay for it by Zoran the Great. But if you leave me here, I’ll die or perhaps disappear forever. And since Azzur has recruited me, he will want to know what happened. He’ll make all inquiries, and he will find out why I won’t be working for him. And that means he will also find out about your unforgivable failure. But if you take me with you and we both keep it a secret about what I did, you will get to stay in the program, and I’ll get to work for Azzur for life. Which means I’m not entirely escaping punishment.”

  Molka sighed and shook her head. “Behind that pretty man face lurks a dangerously devious mind.”

  Tariq’s face teased with an ultra-charismatic smile. “Then we have a deal?”

  Molka moved back to the desk, grabbed the keys, and opened an ecstatic Tariq’s cell.

  CHAPTER 41

  Two Kilometers North of “The Red Lion’s Den”

  12:34PM

  In a huge expanse of boulder and large rock formation strewn ground, a fake boulder made from fiberglass tipped over, and Fuchs climbed from Rivin’s “mutiny hole” exit hatch.

  He had donned his surveyor costume complete with desert camo bush hat. His p
ipe case was tucked into his right-side cargo pocket. He ran for cover behind a real boulder nearby and watched a rolling firefight 100 meters ahead on the dirt road approaching the fortress.

  About a dozen Rivin dark green with brown and black camouflage SUVs and technicals sped for home, throwing up a large dust cloud. A few Rivin men hung out the side windows or manned the bed-mounted weapons and fired at their pursuers.

  Their pursuers, less than a quarter kilometer behind and closing, consisted of over 30 SUVs and cars throwing up a huge dust cloud. Men hung from the side windows on every vehicle and sprayed heavy fire toward their prey.

  The carnage moved past Fuchs’ position and continued toward the fortress. When the dust cloud cleared, he viewed two Rivin vehicles driven off the road: an SUV and technical mounting a 12.7mm heavy machinegun behind an armored shield.

  He left cover and jogged toward them.

  The SUV contained two bullet holes in the rear window, and a slumped over, dead driver.

  The technical featured a shattered rear window, two dead men in the cab, and three more piled in the bed.

  Fuchs opened the SUV’s driver door, and an MPT-76 assault rifle fell onto the ground. He picked it up and released the mag: full. He reinserted the mag, leaned the weapon against the fender, pushed-rolled the dead driver over the center console into the passenger seat, retrieved the weapon, and got into the driver seat.

  Binoculars hung from the rearview mirror.

  He shifted the stalled vehicle into neutral and pushed the start button.

  The engine started.

  He viewed the fuel gauge: plenty.

  He put the vehicle into gear and raced down the road away from the fortress.

  A few minutes later—after passing several more abandoned Rivin vehicles with dead occupants—Fuchs spotted a khaki-clad man ahead walking down the road’s center with a slight limp:

  Jäger.

  His hat was missing, his face blackened from burning oil smoke, and his right sleeve ripped, exposing a bloody abrasion.

  Fuchs stopped just short of running him over.

  Jäger came to the rolled down driver window.

  Fuchs grinned. “You’ve looked better, captain.”

  “What is the situation inside ‘The Red Lion’s Den?’”

  “You mean, the general’s situation?”