A Thick Crimson Line (Mike Walton Book 3)

by Simon Gervais

  Mike opened his eyes. What had happened? He was between Zima and General Adbullahi. He had been thrown backward when the car crashed. The air bags had deployed on impact and had apparently done their job. At least for Zima. She seemed all right albeit with a bloody nose. She was cutting at her seat belt with her combat knife. He turned his head. The general wasn’t moving and his legs were stuck under the dashboard.

  Not good.

  Eitan was sprawled with half his body on the rear seat and the other half on the floor. He was breathing and appeared to be regaining consciousness. The few windows that had survived the gunfight had all shattered when the Audi hit the wall.

  Mike was still assessing his own condition when Zima started shooting.

  “They’re coming, Mike,” she warned him.

  Mike frantically looked for his pistol. When he couldn’t immediately locate it, he filched Eitan’s. It had strangely remained in his hand. Mike got in position and saw that Zima’s fire had been accurate. One man was down clutching his leg while the other was doing his best to drag him out of the line of fire. Mike aimed at the man’s center of mass and fired. His round hit the man on his right side and spun him around. Another round fired by Zima struck him in the back a millisecond later.

  ........

  Davari watched in horror as his two men fell. They were still alive and one of them stretched his hand toward him.

  Shit! Davari rushed to their assistance as rounds continued to hit the pavement close by. He took cover behind the rear left wheel of a car. His men were less than fifty feet away. He crawled to the front of the car, hoping to get some cover from the engine block. Police sirens were wailing close by. Davari was almost out of time. He had to make a move. He got up, but small arms fire forced him to seek refuge once again.

  One of his men had stopped moving while the other was using his good leg to push himself to safety. He was less than twenty feet from Davari’s position when he was struck again.

  No!

  For the next three seconds, the enemy fire seemed to intensify, forcing him to stay under cover. There was only one reason this was happening. They were covering their withdrawal. The moment the shooting stopped, Davari got up and brought his rifle to bear. A man had taken position behind the crashed Audi and was in the process of reloading his firearm. Another one was running away, carrying someone on his shoulder. General Adbullahi? A dark hair woman followed a few steps behind.

  Davari fired two rounds at the man behind the Audi before switching his fire at the escaping trio.

  ........

  “Eitan, Eitan,” Mike screamed, shaking the Israeli back to his senses. “We need to go.”

  “Where’s my gun?” Eitan uttered, spitting blood as he spoke.

  Mike firmly placed the pistol in Eitan’s hand and said, “Keep their heads down. I’ll get the general. We’ll leapfrog out of here.”

  Mike tried to open the door, but it was jammed. He kicked away the few pieces of window still in place and crawled out of the car. He landed on his hands with pieces of glass cutting his skin. He ignored the pain and reached inside the passenger seat as Zima and Eitan continued to shoot at the Iranians. He grabbed the general by the shoulders and pulled him out of the car. He hoisted him up in a fireman’s carry and was already a good forty feet away when he heard a rifle opening up.

  The next second, Mike was propelled to the ground. He fell face first and felt the general’s body roll over his neck and head. Zima had placed herself between him and the shooter and was returning fire with her pistol while Eitan—in a half-crouch—sprinted toward them. The general moaned. Mike examined him and found an entry wound in his lower back. Mike flipped him around. The general grimaced.

  “Get . . . Get . . .” he mumbled.

  “We’ll get your family,” Mike told him, even though he had no idea how. “Did you tell me the truth about the Canadian assassin being yours?”

  The general’s face had grown pale, his eyes red and unfocused. His mouth was distorted and twitching. The man was dying. Mike grabbed his hair.

  “You want us to take care of your family? Talk.”

  “It’s all . . . It’s all . . . the briefcase,” Adbullahi managed to say before he took his last breath.

  Damn it! The briefcase had stayed in the car.

  “We need the briefcase,” he said to Eitan who had just taken a knee next to him.

  Without waiting for a reply, Mike dashed back to the car.

  ........

  Davari watched in satisfaction as the man carrying the general fell. But before he could pump more rounds at him, he started taking fire from the female operative and ducked back behind cover. Two Hellenic police cars came to an abrupt stop next to the van. They were immediately engaged by Raham and the driver. One more police car arrived, and its two occupants joined their colleagues in the fight. Seeing that his men were about to be overrun, Davari took aim at the closest officer and fired. The officer was hit in the chest and dropped on the spot. Davari moved his sights to the next officer and dropped him with a double tap in his center of mass. It didn’t matter that the officers were wearing bulletproof vests; the C8 rounds easily punched through their Kevlar.

  Raham succeeded in taking another of the officers down before being hit again. He stumbled backward as more rounds hit him. Davari found the shooter, adjusted his aim, and then fired once. The cop’s head split in two as the bullet struck him right below his left eye. Seeing the carnage around them, the other officers took cover and Davari seized the moment to glance back toward the Audi.

  They had all vanished. His only solace was the sight of General Adbullahi’s corpse.

  CHAPTER 37

  Athens, Greece

  Mike led the way through the small alley. They had holstered their weapons. They needed to get out sight. The odds that someone saw them run away from the battleground were high. Mike had no choice but to consider that a police report with their descriptions had already been issued. And it was hard to blend in when one had blood all over his clothes.

  They were the only ones outside. The gunfight’s cacophony had forced the shopkeepers to close their doors and the citizens to seek refuge anywhere they could. He gave Zima the briefcase he had risked his life to retrieve from the Audi.

  “I need to call James.”

  Mike punched James Cooper’s number on the SAT phone.

  “I’m listening, Mike,” the Support Six leader said.

  “Can you locate me with the SAT phone’s signal?”

  “It’s gonna take a minute but yes, I can. What do you need?”

  “Another safe house. And we need it now, James.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll call you back in two minutes.”

  Three police cars sped past them with sirens blaring. They needed to put some distance between them and the crime scene. The moment the police had the scene secured, they would start asking questions. They had to be gone by then. Mike spotted a small white Fiat Punto parked between two larger vans.

  “We’ll take the Fiat,” Mike said. “You guys cover me while I hotwire it.”

  There were still no other pedestrians in sight. Mike tried the door but it was locked. He was about to smash it with the butt of his pistol when he noticed the door-lock pull pin on the passenger door was up. He crossed to the other side and opened the door.

  It had been a while since he had hotwired a car, but this was why he had chosen an older model vehicle. They were much easier to steal—when you didn’t have the proper equipment—than the newer ones. If you tried to hotwire one of the newer models without being familiar with its quirks, you were likely to end up not only setting off the alarm but also the lock attached to the starter.

  Mike removed the plastic cover under the steering column. A coil of electrical wires appeared. The trick was to
recognize the right bundle. He took half a minute to differentiate the wires leading to the lights and other dashboard indicators from those leading to the ignition and starter. Mike used his knife to strip about an inch of insulation from all the wires. He twisted the battery wire to the ignition wire. The dash lights came on and the radio started blasting dance music. Mike jumped and knocked the back of his head on the steering.

  He turned off the radio but it was too late. Alerted by the music, the car owner walked out of the restaurant to investigate. He became alarmed when he noticed his car door was opened. His eyes then moved to Eitan. The man must have spotted the blood on Eitan’s shirt and realized he had walked in on something he shouldn’t have because he immediately raised his hands.

  Mike let Eitan handle the situation and got back to work. He grabbed the starter wire he had stripped earlier and touched its end with the battery wires. The engine started and Mike used his right hand to rev the engine a few times. Once he was sure it wouldn’t stall, he cranked the wheel hard left and right until the steering lock broke.

  He rolled the driver side window down and yelled at Zima and Eitan to jump in. The car owner was nowhere to be found.

  “What did you do with the car owner?” Mike asked Eitan once he had taken his seat in the back of the car.

  “I gave him seven hundred euros,” Eitan said.

  “You did what?”

  “It wasn’t worth that much, in my opinion. Please let me know what forms I need to fill in to get reimbursed,” Eitan joked.

  Before Mike could reply, the SAT phone rang. It was James Cooper. Mike threw the phone into Zima’s lap.

  “Talk to him and tell me where to go.”

  CHAPTER 38

  Athens, Greece

  Colonel Davari was running for his life. The police had killed the embassy driver and were now after him. He had no idea where he was but he felt trapped. He needed a place to hide. He had left his rifle at the scene. It was too cumbersome to carry while trying to blend in. He thanked Allah for not getting shot in the back as he jumped the cement wall bordering the road where the firefight took place. He sprinted across the road and ran as fast as he could for nearly three minutes before he was nearly hit by a speeding car. Fortunately for Davari, the drive managed to brake and swerve out of the way at the last second but lost control and bumped into a parked car, nicking its side mirror in the process. He climbed out of his vehicle, throwing a bunch of insults at Davari.

  It was obvious the man wanted a fight and Davari was glad to oblige. He let the man throw the first punch. Davari bent his knees and lowered his body just as the driver threw a left-hand jab. Davari counter-jabbed him straight into the solar plexus and followed it up with a hard left cross to the chin. The man fell to his knees and Davari finished him with a savage elbow strike to the head.

  Davari looked in the man’s pockets for the key before realizing the car was still running. A couple of bystanders had seen what had happened but Davari didn’t care.

  He accelerated away and called Musa.

  “I tried to call you numerous times, sir—” started the Quds Force soldier.

  “Are you at the safe house?” interrupted Davari.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We ran into problems. I’m on my own. We’ll regroup at the safe house and figure a way out of here.”

  “The others?”

  “All dead. I’ll be there in less than fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Davari entered the address in his smartphone and followed the directions to the safe house. Had they been successful? Had they killed General Adbullahi before he passed along the intelligence to their enemies? Davari had no way to know. With most of his team dead, he sure hoped they had succeeded. But one way or the other, he’d find out who had helped Adbullahi. His gut feeling was that it was the damned Israelis.

  Again.

  He would track them and he would kill them. Just as he had done so many times in the past. He didn’t care where his quest led him. People were going to die.

  But for now, he had a call to make.

  CHAPTER 39

  Tehran, Iran

  General Kharazi, commanding officer of the Quds Force, feared only one man. And that man had just summoned him. The supreme leader Ayatollah Bhansali wasn’t someone you said no to. The debacle in Greece was on every Europeans news channel. This and the assassination of the Canadian prime minister seemed to be the only things worth reporting. The ayatollah had seen it too. Officially, the authorities had no suspect. General Kharazi had called the Iranian ambassador to Greece to let him know what to do. It was imperative that the local news channel didn’t mention any Iranian involvement, and the ambassador was given permission to blackmail prominent Greek journalists and politicians to ensure it stayed that way.

  A knock on his door told him the car the ayatollah had sent for him had arrived. He didn’t look forward to his meeting with the supreme leader. His numerous attempts to reach Colonel Davari had failed, and he feared that his new deputy had been killed in action. His death was better than the alternative. Capture would have been worse.

  Much worse.

  Another knock at the door angered him. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he yelled.

  He was surprised to see a lieutenant enter his office without being invited. The young officer looked terrified as he stood at attention twenty steps away from Kharazi’s desk.

  “What is it?” Kharazi barked at him.

  “Colonel Davari has made contact, General,” the lieutenant said, looking straight ahead.

  Kharazi jumped to his feet. “Lead the way.”

  ........

  General Kharazi followed the lieutenant into the elevator that would take them to the sub-basement communication room. He didn’t like to keep Ayatollah Bhansali waiting but talking to Davari had to be his priority. It took less than a minute for the elevator to descend. The door opened automatically, and Kharazi entered the room where most of Iran’s secret communications took place. There were over one hundred communication and intelligence specialists seated in front of their screens.

  Colonel Mirzaei, the senior Quds Force duty officer, welcomed General Kharazi.

  “Sergeant Musa Mariwala contacted us via secure email a few minutes ago, sir,” Mirzaei said. “He said Colonel Davari was on his way to his location. It seems that Sergeant Mariwala is the only one left with Colonel Davari.”

  “They’re the only ones left?”

  “Yes, General. The others were killed, including the embassy’s driver.”

  At least Davari hadn’t been captured. “I want to talk to him.”

  “He wanted to talk to you too. That’s why I’ve asked Sergeant Mariwala to contact us again in exactly—” the colonel looked at his watch “—eight minutes. Even though he’s using a secured network, I prefer to keep all communications short.”

  “What do we know so far?” Kharazi asked.

  “We know that General Adbullahi had split his forces in two once he got to Athens. Colonel Davari did the same and sent Captain Yavari and two other men after the beacon while he and the rest of his team went on to the King George.”

  General Kharazi accepted a cup of coffee from one of Colonel Mirzaei’s staff. He nodded his thanks. “What else,” he asked after taking a sip of the hot liquid.

  “For a yet unknown reason, General Adbullahi came out of the King George accompanied by people we’ve never seen before.”

  “How many were they?”

  “You’ll have to ask Colonel Davari, sir. I don’t know.”

  “What happened next?”

  “They followed the general for a while and decided to strike once they were on the highway—”

  “What I really want to know, Colonel, is this: Is General Adbullahi dead?”

  “Yes, sir, he is.”
>
  At last something that will please the ayatollah.

  “What about the general’s protective detail?” Kharazi inquired, thinking about his son-in-law.

  “Colonel Davari confirmed that at least one of them was killed by his men. A third one, Sergeant Sanjar Behak, was already dead upon the arrival of Sergeant Musa Mariwala, the only other survivor of Colonel Davari’s team.”

  That meant that whoever had captured Adbullahi had also taken care of the rest of his protective detail. Kharazi didn’t think captured was the right word to describe what had happened as that would mean the general had fought back. Which was obviously not the case here. An unknown enemy had rescued Adbullahi. That was more like it.

  “Colonel,” the lieutenant said, holding a phone in his hand,” it’s Colonel Davari.”

  CHAPTER 40

  Athens, Greece

  Colonel Davari ditched the stolen car six blocks away from the safe house. He thought about setting it on fire but it would only draw attention. Instead, he left the doors unlocked and the ignition key on the dash. He had briefed Sergeant Mariwala on what to say to General Kharazi in case he didn’t make it to the safe house. He had asked him to send him a preliminary report.

  The safe house was a second-floor apartment located in Kolonaki, an Athenian neighborhood close to the city center. Once regarded as one of Athens swankiest places, it had become an area filled with artists and wannabe writers once too much traffic and polluted air began to tarnish its high-class image. But its restaurants and small cafes were full and the nice boutiques that had taken over the ground-floor apartments were attracting many shoppers, which was great news for Davari who was trying to disappear in the crowd.

  The door to the apartment opened before Davari even reached it. Sergeant Musa Mariwala was waiting for him, a Sig Sauer in his right hand.

  “Glad you made it, Colonel,” Musa said. “Come in.”

  The apartment was small but adequate. A large window faced Xenokratous Street from which plenty of sunlight entered the living room.