Counterblow

by Ethan Jones

  “Good to see you. And you’re on time.”

  “I think we got them all.”

  “Where’s Keung?”

  “Down here,” he replied from the front of the truck.

  Javin looked to his right and found Keung stretched under the truck by the front tire. “Any movement?”

  “Nothing. I think everyone’s dead.”

  “I’ll mop up the place. Call Chen and tell him not to fire the last missile.”

  “Right away.”

  Wu pulled out his phone and made the call.

  Javin waited until Wu had given him a hand signal, then he popped around the truck. He moved in swiftly, keeping the AK at eye level. He held the rifle tight with both hands, with the right-hand index finger on the trigger.

  Javin reached the last military Jeep, which was still intact. As he came to the back, he recognized the flag painted on the driver’s side: the green, white, and red bands of the Iranian flag. What are Iranians doing meeting with Mossad operatives?

  He checked to make sure no one was hiding in the Jeep, then began to check the bodies. Most of them were burned or dismembered because of the missile explosions. However, when he came to the SUV, to his surprise, he saw a body stretched on his back just outside the twisted door.

  Javin knelt near the body and examined the blackened face. He thought he recognized the middle-aged man, even though his ashen hair had been singed and his face burned. Javin went through his pockets and found the man’s ID. Yes. Colonel Dabiri. The Iranian commander of the Quds Force… What was he doing embracing Mossad operatives?

  Javin looked around the burning SUV. A small duffel bag had caught fire at one end. The small flames were eating through the fabric and had started to lick at the bag’s contents. Javin took a closer look. The bag was filled with US currency.

  He quenched the fire with his boot, then opened the zipper. There was perhaps a million dollars in the bag, considering its size and weight. A million dollars were going from the Quds Force to Mossad. Now, that’s something you don’t see every day…

  Javin zipped the bag and moved it to the side, away from the invading flames.

  He moved to the other bodies, scorched or shrapnel- or bullet-ridden, along the SUV and the front military Jeep. There had been no survivors.

  A little farther, he found the body of one of the Mossad operatives. Javin clenched his teeth. You finally paid for what you did to Yael and to Claudia, you dirtbags…

  He rummaged through the bodies, collecting cellphones, wallets, and anything else of value from their pockets. Then he picked up the duffel bag with the wads of cash. It was only a matter of time until someone—a civilian, but most likely Iranians, Iranian-backed militia, or Syrian government fighters—would reach the scene. They’d clear everything, and they’d start chasing Javin and his team.

  It was time to disappear.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Two and a Half Kilometers South of Al-Qudin

  Syria

  Li had brought the Nissan to the scene of the drone attack. Chen had already gotten in the front seat, and Wu was in the back. Keung sat on the truck bed, his back to the side, holding an AK rifle in his hands, like a battle-hardened fighter.

  Javin hopped in the back. “Go, go, go,” he said to Li.

  Chen shifted in his seat and gave Javin a big toothy smile. “We did it, boss.”

  “It’s not over yet,” Javin said in a voice full of caution.

  “So, we head back?” Li asked.

  “No.” Javin shook his head. “That was the original plan, before this happened. Now, everyone’s awake.” He gestured with his hand at the village lights turning on at a distance. “The road will be crawling with militants of all stripes. We’ve got to disappear.”

  “How do we do that?” Wu asked.

  “Turn left as soon as you can, right there, at that trail.” Javin gestured with his head.

  “To Iraq?” Li yanked at the wheel.

  “Are we going to Iraq?” Wu asked.

  “We have to,” Javin replied. “Twelve klicks that way, and we’re free.”

  “I don’t think so,” Chen said in a somber voice. “Look.” He tipped his head toward the windshield.

  A couple of SUVs and sedans were heading toward them. A group of fighters was assembling, running from a cluster of houses to the right about three hundred meters away.

  Keung opened up on the group.

  Javin doubted he hit anyone, but the group began to scatter. A few returned fire, but no bullets thumped against the truck. Javin said, “Chen, hit them with the last missile.”

  “Yes, let’s blow them up.”

  Li slowed down, then pulled to one side.

  Javin stepped out of the truck and leveled his rifle at the nearest SUV. He fired single rounds, which shattered the headlights. He followed up with two-round bursts, piercing the windshield. One of the bullets must have struck the driver, because the SUV rolled to a slow stop in the middle of the dusty trail.

  He had the other SUV in his sights when it exploded into a fiery blast. Two of the doors flew to the sides as fragments rained over a large area. The driver of the next sedan was startled by the explosion and blinded by the veiling smoke enveloping the area. He plowed right into the side of the burning SUV.

  A second, less powerful blast followed. High flames swallowed up the sedan, and plastic and metal pieces were thrown in all directions.

  Javin fired a long volley at the scattering fighters. Then he looked at Chen and said, “Good job. Let’s go now.”

  He jumped into his seat, and Li hit the gas before Javin even had a chance to close the door. The Nissan swerved away from the trail and the houses. Keung and Javin squeezed off round after round, emptying their magazines and reloading fresh ones. Suppressive fire to keep the fighters at bay.

  They still returned fire.

  Bullets struck the sides of the Nissan. Tracer rounds skimmed over the hood. Others kicked up plumes of sand and dirt in front of the truck.

  Javin kept his finger on the trigger. Occasional silhouettes of shooters appeared in between alleys or firing from terraces. He took down a couple standing near a corner two seconds too long, but the one who fired had disappeared.

  “Get us out of here,” he shouted at Li.

  “How? It’s all sand and no cover,” Li shouted back.

  Chen fiddled with the tablet.

  Javin slammed a fresh magazine into the AK and asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Bringing the drone down.”

  “We have no missiles left.”

  “Right, but they don’t know that.”

  Javin smiled. “Yes, do it.”

  He slid half his body out the window and fired short bursts at the Whac-a-Mole fighters.

  Keung squeezed off a few rounds from the truck bed as well, then his rifle went silent.

  Javin looked over his shoulder and through the window. Keung was lying on his side, and the rifle had fallen from his hands. “Keung, hey, Keung,” Javin shouted.

  Wu also turned around. “Keung, Keung.”

  Javin slammed the metal stock of his AK into the glass, shattering it. He cleared the remaining shards with the rifle’s stock, then slid through the window and into the truck bed.

  The Chinese hacker had been shot in the neck. A pool of blood was already forming around his head. Javin knelt next to him, holding onto the side of the truck as it bounced over the broken sandy terrain. Keung’s eyes were closed, but he was still breathing, barely.

  Javin looked at the wound. It was an inch away from Keung’s ear. The CIS operative cursed. Keung was going to bleed to death in a matter of seconds. They could have saved his life, but not in this situation, fleeing in the back of a truck bed while taking fire from hordes of jihadists. If he tried to patch up the wound, he’d just prolong Keung’s suffering.

  “Keung, you did your best, man. You fought like a lion.”

  Javin’s warm voice caused Keung to open his eyes.
He gave Javin an unfocused look, then his parched lips tried to form a smile. “I’m… sorry…” he said in a wheezy voice.

  “No, don’t be, don’t. You did so well. I’m so proud of you, Keung.”

  He tried to smile again, then drew in his last breath.

  Javin cursed and punched the side of the truck. “No, no, no.”

  He closed Keung’s eyes, then laid his head down.

  “Keung’s gone,” he said to Wu, who let out a cry of pain and despair.

  When Javin looked up, Li was driving the truck around a mosque, then going through a narrow back alley. “Where are we?” Javin asked.

  “No idea,” Li replied. “Just getting the heck out of there.”

  Javin sat up and readied his rifle. He aimed at no one in particular, but aligned it with the rooftops, then pointed it at windows and doors appearing and disappearing with blurring speed.

  “Where is everyone?” Wu asked.

  “Maybe the village is abandoned,” Javin replied. “ISIS ravaged the area, killing thousands. Some of the survivors never came back.”

  It was not until they were almost out of the village that they heard the crackle of rifles at a distance. A couple of rounds whacked the tailgate. Javin lay back down and looked for the shooters. He couldn’t find them, but it didn’t matter. They were out of the village, and the Euphrates River would soon come into their view.

  “Where’s the drone?” he asked.

  Chen gestured up ahead. “Somewhere over that village back there. It scared most of the fighters. Some tried to take shots, so I had to pull up.”

  “Leave it there, since we might still need it, but put it on auto-pilot,” Javin said.

  “What do we do now?” Li asked.

  “We’ve got to cross the river.”

  “What river?”

  “You still going east?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’ll see it. There, it’s coming up.”

  Arable fields with olive trees and dates came up to their left.

  “We’re close,” Javin said. “A hundred meters, maybe.”

  “I don’t see the bridge,” Li said.

  “There isn’t any. We’re swimming across.”

  Li stepped on the gas as they came to a straight gravel path, then came to a screeching stop as the road meandered first left, then right, sloping down toward the riverbank. At this point, the Euphrates River was maybe two hundred meters wide.

  Javin jumped out of the truck bed as it rocked in the sudden stop. The water lapped gently along the low banks, and he felt a sense of calmness wash all over him. We’re so close to freedom. We’ll do this.

  He opened the tailgate and pulled Keung’s body out. “Wu, help me here,” he said.

  Javin walked to his seat and collected his rucksack and the duffel bag. Along with Wu, he carried the hacker to the riverbank, while Chen and Li brought everything else from the truck. Javin was the first one to step through the reeds and other vegetation into the cold, muddy waters. He ignored the goosebumps forming all over him and the shivers running down his spine. He waded through the mud, then lost his footing on the slippery riverbed and vegetation. Neck deep, he held onto Keung’s body and began to swim.

  Wu stayed close to him, while Chen and Li followed about ten meters away.

  The team was almost halfway to the other side when shouting came from the riverbank they had just left. Then came a burst of gunfire. Bullets struck a dozen or so meters to their left.

  Javin whispered to Wu, “Dive down, quick.”

  He drew in a deep breath, then lowered his head under the water. He kept his eyes open, but the water was too muddy and the night too dark for him to see anything. Javin held Keung’s body by the arm.

  The CIS operative stayed there for perhaps thirty seconds. He couldn’t hear anything but the gentle splashing of Wu next to him. At the forty-second mark, Javin lifted his head and blinked to clear his eyes.

  He looked at the riverbanks on both sides.

  No shooters.

  He listened.

  No shouting.

  “We can go now,” he said to Wu, who had popped up on Javin’s left side.

  “Where’s Li? Where’s Chen?”

  “Right there.” Javin gestured with his hand, then cleared a leaf that was stuck to the side of his face. “Let’s go.”

  They struggled to continue. Javin’s arm had grown weak from supporting Keung’s weight. The water seemed to be getting colder by the second. And he wondered what would happen when they got to the other side. He had no idea if the area was in the hands of rebel fighters, Syrian government supporters, or Iranians. We’ll deal with it when we get there.

  He shrugged and pressed on, pushing hard with his legs and swimming with just one arm. He switched Keung’s body to the other, struggling to keep him afloat. Wu came around to assist him, and they both reached the shore. They crouched by the low vegetation, waiting for Chen and Li while observing the area.

  It was quiet, perhaps too quiet. There were open fields and orchards between them and a few houses in the distance, about three hundred meters away.

  Javin tried to control his shivers as the cold night air began to chill him to the bone. “Here… here’s the plan. Stay here, in case they come over the river. I’ll get us a vehicle.”

  Chen nodded. “We’ll stop them.”

  Javin took his rifle and stood up. “I’ll be back soon.”

  He stepped up onto the field and began to walk toward the nearest house.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Across the Euphrates River

  Syria

  Javin stepped carefully through the field until he reached an olive grove. He crouched behind one of the thickest trees and observed the houses. The lights were on at two windows on the ground floor of the nearest house. He couldn’t see anyone in the rooms or outside in the yard. The other houses and their windows were dark, but that didn’t mean that their residents weren’t awake. Who do they support? Whose side are they on? One way to find out.

  He listened for another long moment, then stood up and walked at a brisk pace. He covered most of the distance, ignoring the shivers from the gusts of cold winds as his wet clothes stuck to his body. When he was about twenty steps from the house, an old man appeared. He was dressed in a brown robe and was hunched over a cane near the entrance to a small veranda. He was wearing a white prayer cap and was unarmed, but Javin wasn’t sure if he was alone in the house. The door behind him was slightly open, and someone could burst out at any time.

  Javin lowered the muzzle of his rifle an inch, so that it wasn’t aimed directly at the old man’s chest and said in a warm, firm voice, “Salam Alaykum.”

  The man gave Javin a startled look, obviously not expecting the greeting in his native tongue. He cocked his head to the left, and the sea of wrinkles rippled in his face. “Alaykum Salam,” he replied in a weak, rasping voice of a lifelong smoker. “Are you American?”

  Javin shook his head.

  “Are you a part of that?” The old man gestured with his bony hand toward the river and leaned on his cane.

  Javin turned his body very slightly, so he could see where the man had pointed, but also keep him and the door in his peripheral vision at all times.

  A pillar of smoke was spiraling toward the sky.

  Javin studied the man’s face and thought he noticed a slight smile. “What if I am?”

  The man nodded and returned his eyes to Javin. “If you’re fighting the brutal government regime, then I can help you with dry, warm clothes.”

  “And a car?”

  The old man shrugged. “Old car, like me.”

  “Whatever you can spare.”

  The old man took an uneasy step toward him, hobbling heavily on his right leg. He sighed and looked at his leg dragging uselessly behind him. “Those government butchers did this to me, because my son joined a rebel group.”

  “What happened to him?”

  The man shrugged
and shook his head. He looked away as his eyes began to well up. “The government took him, and I never saw him again. He was about your age, but taller. Darker skin, of course, but same brown hair and eyes.” The man limped closer to Javin and touched his arm. “You’re soaking wet. Come inside. I’ll get you dry clothes.”

  “I… I have friends who need help too.”

  “Where are they?”

  Javin didn’t answer right away. “Who is in the house with you?”

  “Only my wife. No one else. You can trust me.”

  “They’re by the river. If I can have your car…”

  “Sure, it’s out in the front. I’ll get you the keys. But here you’re safe.” The man waved his hand around. “This entire area, the Syrian Democratic Forces control it. So no one will be coming after you from that side of the river…” He turned around and shuffled toward the entrance.

  Javin stood in place and cast a wide gaze around. He listened and thought he heard distant shouts and perhaps a couple of gunshots. We’ve got to move. We’ve got to get out of here.

  He readjusted his rifle and kept it aimed at the entrance, just in case. The old man seemed genuine, but Javin couldn’t be absolutely certain.

  A few tense moments stretched out before the old man reappeared. He shook the keys at Javin, then limped along the cinderblock house.

  Javin followed a few steps behind, his eyes covering every corner. The area was dark, and there was not a soul around them. But there were many windows and doors, and danger could be lurking anywhere.

  When they got to the front, the old man gestured with his cane to a battered silver Mercedes-Benz sedan. It was a model from the eighties when cars were built to last for decades. The old man looked at Javin and handed him the keys. “It was my son’s… He loved it, but I… I can’t drive it. You can have it.”

  “I’ll bring it back. I promise.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “But I will.”

  Javin slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. The engine rumbled beautifully, and Javin smiled. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  “We’ll have some warm clothes ready.”