He felt the heat of the bullet whiz past him and heard a noise like that of a fist striking a pillow. A wet sucking sound confirmed a bullet had penetrated the terrorist’s flesh.
CHAPTER 93
Ramallah, Palestine
Zima ran to Yatom, not bothering with the dying terrorist behind him. Burke’s men would finish him off. She cut Yatom loose using her knife. Seeing him like this, she felt as though someone had ripped her heart out of her chest. His face was swollen almost beyond recognition. There were gashes and streams of dried blood below his knee. One of his thumbs was missing.
“My God, Meir, what have they done to you?” she said, her voice cracking. Tears shimmered in her eyes. Someone was going to pay dearly for this.
“Zima,” Eitan said, “we have to go.”
“Look what these bastards did to him.”
“We need to go,” Eitan repeated. “We’ll avenge him later, I promise you. But first, we need to get to our extraction point.”
Yatom carried his boss in a fireman carry while two other team members took defensive position around him. Two other men carried Burke and Manchester. Zima picked up her MP5 and inserted a fresh magazine. She jogged to the front of group and was first to climb the stairs.
It was still dark but the sun was just starting to rise.
“Chariot One and Two, this is Team Two leader. We’re coming in,” Zima heard on the radio as she reached the first landing. The body of the terrorist she had killed was still there.
“Copy that, team leader. We’re green, but take note, there are civilians outside. Unarmed for now. Ready to receive.”
She dragged the corpse away so the men carrying the casualties wouldn’t trip on it. She hurried up the stairs. If hostiles were hidden among the civilians, waiting for them to come out, they’d know soon enough. Zima guessed they’d wait until most of the team was out in the open. Since the vehicles were parked less than ten yards away from the entrance, they had a good chance of making it.
Or maybe not, Zima thought, as she remembered the Mitsubishis weren’t armored.
Here we go.
Zima came out with her MP5 up. She scanned the windows and the balustrades across the street. She put herself out in the open so she’d be the first to be engaged. She was aware she was being filmed but, at this point, she didn’t care.
A man in the crowd shouted something. Someone else joined him. Within twenty seconds, the crowd had become wild. Then someone threw the first rock. It landed a few feet in front of Zima. Another rock, thrown directly at her, hit her between the shoulder blades. The tactical vest caught the brunt of it but she almost lost her balance.
In her earpiece she heard, “We’re clear, Zima. Let’s go!”
She started retreating toward the two-car motorcade when a glass bottle smashed into her head. A bright light exploded in her eyes and she lost her vision. Something warm dripped down the back of her head.
“Let’s go, Zima!”
She tried to wipe away whatever was in her eyes but it only caused more discomfort and more brightness.
Fuck!
“I need help, Eitan, I can’t see!”
A series of shots rang out and two rounds slapped her in the chest. She staggered back just as another round hit her in the back with a sickening thud. The wind was knocked out of her as she sank to her knees, her MP5 slipping out of her grasp. For a moment, she felt at peace. She turned her head and through the fog saw Eitan staring at her in disbelief through the Mitsubishi’s windshield. She tried to tell him to go, to save Meir, that everything would be all right but, before she could, someone rammed her at full speed. And then, all at once, she fell on her back and was sucked down into blackness.
........
Eitan was grateful that Zima had moved a bit further up the road. It allowed him and the rest of the team to climb into the vehicles.
“Let’s go, Zima!”
It was time to leave. They had a rendezvous point to make and their window was closing fast.
Then came her distress signal. “I need help, Eitan, I can’t see!”
Eitan looked through the windshield. Zima was holding her weapon with one hand while wiping her eyes with her forearm. Two muzzle flashes to the left followed by another on the right brought Zima to her knees.
Eitan never hesitated; he hurried out of the vehicle and ran toward her, unconcerned for his own safety. Before he could reach her, someone, revolver in hand, tore through the crowd and rammed Zima to the ground. The man had time to punch her twice in the face before Eitan kicked him in the head. The man rolled to his side and Eitan shot him twice in the heart just as someone else opened up on full automatic. Most of the bullets missed him but one round hit him in the thigh and another took off the end of one of his small fingers.
Fuck!
Eitan pivoted to his right and shot the man with a one-handed triple tap. The man reeled back, his chest ripped open by Eitan’s slugs.
Eitan pointed his pistol toward the crowd and yelled in Arabic, “Who’s next?”
The intense sting caused by the bullets made him feel even more alert. Slowly, the crowd scattered. Eitan holstered his pistol and kneeled next to Zima. Her face was white, creased in pain and glistening with sweat. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes closed. She moaned, as if having a bad dream.
“C’mon, baby, I got you.” He took Zima in his arms, wincing at the agony of his own wounds. Blood ran from his thigh, down the back of his leg, soaking his combat pants. He took a step and swayed from the pain but continued toward the vehicle. He placed Zima in the front passenger seat and closed the door behind her.
“Go!”
He limped to the second SUV and sat on the backseat. The Mitsubishi accelerated away. Eitan snatched the satellite phone from one of his tactical vest pockets and contacted Matthias Sachar in Tel-Aviv.
“Matthias, this is Eitan. We have him. He’s alive. Please tell me the choppers are on their way.”
“They’ll be at the extraction point on time, Eitan. Any casualties?”
“One dead, three critically wounded, including Meir,” Eitan said, forgetting he was wounded too.
“There’s a medical team aboard one of the choppers. I’ll see you soon, Eitan. And please share my gratitude with Captain Burke’s team.”
CHAPTER 94
IMSI Headquarters, New York
They were still ten feet over the building when Davari saw a man emerging from the rooftop’s trapdoor. The man was dressed in a black security guard uniform and carried a sidearm. For the moment the sidearm was still holstered, but the security guard was waving off the helicopter with his arms while trying not to fall off the rooftop. The helicopter’s main rotor generated enough wind that the guard had to lean into it to keep his balance.
“The trapdoor is open. This is our chance,” Davari said to his team. They gave him the thumbs-up. He switched radio frequency so he could talk to the pilot.
“Jennifer, bring it down.”
The moment the skids touched the rooftop, Davari opened the door of the AS350. The security guard had his pistol out, but he was aiming at Jennifer. Before he could switch his aim to Davari, Mariwala opened up with his MP5K on full automatic, striking the man with multiple bullets. With the guard down, Mariwala jumped off the helicopter. Davari and Mondegari followed.
A head popped outside the trapdoor and Davari fired, the sound of his MP5K lost in the chopping of the helicopter blades. The man fell back into the hole but Davara wasn’t sure if he had hit his target. With his MP5K at the ready, he peered into the trapdoor. A large ladder with thick steps led down to a locker room. The security guard lay motionless at the foot of the ladder.
“Cover me, Musa, I’m going down.”
Davari hurried down the ladder by taking the steps two at a time. He jumped the last three and assumed a kneeling shooting pos
ition. The locker room was just that, a room with four dozen blue lockers. From his position, Davari could see only one point of entry, right in front of him. He signaled Mariwala and Mondegari to come down.
Davari activated his throat mike. “Malegam from Davari, radio check, over.”
“Five by five, sir.”
“Davari copy. Cover our six, Variyan. Keep an eye on that ladder on the south side. It leads to the front of the building.”
“Yes, sir, will do.”
Confident Malegam would cover their rear, Davari shared a few words with his two teammates.
“Let’s create as much chaos as we can. If you see a computer or a server, destroy it. Remember, our objective is to give General Kharazi enough time to activate the final phase of his operation.”
........
Special Agent Jordan was shocked by what she had just witnessed. Two men were dead already.
Madness.
This was a fully fledged assault on the building. How come she had no idea what this building was? She’d been briefed on all the potential targets the terrorists might be interested in, but there had been no mention of this building.
Why?
Maybe this was one of those CIA “black sites” she kept hearing about? Could this be it? It had to be.
How long would it take for the police to arrive? From her vantage point, she could see numerous police cars racing down the Brooklyn Bridge and Manhattan Bridge. Three minutes? Four minutes?
That was too long. More people would die if she didn’t act now. She had to do something. She couldn’t stay still. Taped under the pilot seat was a small Colt Mustang XSP. If she could get to it . . .
Her peripheral vision caught movement. On her left, a guard was making his way to the rooftop using the ladder. The terrorist next to her saw him too and raised his arm to take a shot through the window.
Jordan didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the barrel of his pistol and angled it toward the roof of the helicopter just as Variyan pulled the trigger. The bright flash made her blink. In that small space, the sound was deafening. Jordan struggled to keep Variyan from firing at the guard but he was much stronger than she was. He twisted his arm out of her grasp and smashed the butt of his pistol into the bridge of her nose with such force she almost blackout. Her head was spinning. She tried to reach the Colt taped under her seat but her safety belt and shoulder harnesses restrained her.
Variyan fired again. The window to her left shattered. Thousands of glass fragments were sucked back into the cockpit, cutting her neck and face. She couldn’t be sure but she thought she heard him yelled in pain too. They were both shouting. He tried to hit her again, this time with his elbow, but only grazed her cheek. He started pumping rounds out the window so fast it sounded like an automatic weapon. She tried to grab his arm again, but he pushed her back and continued to fire.
The guard fell, clutching his leg. Another guard, who had just climbed onto the rooftop, ran to him and tried to pull him to safety. Variyan fired another round, and then the slide remained open.
His magazine was empty. She saw him reach for another.
It was now or never. Jordan unclipped her harness and seat belt and reached under her seat. She almost made it. She had her hand on the Colt when Variyan pressed the hot barrel of his pistol against her temple. It burnt her skin.
Then it dawned upon her that he couldn’t shoot her. She was their exit strategy, their only way out. She went for it. She pulled the gun from under the seat and brought it up. She jerked the trigger just as Variyan deflected her arm away with his right forearm. Her shot went wide and punched a hole in the windshield. He chopped down on her wrist with his left hand. She dropped the gun.
In desperation, she grabbed the stick and pulled it hard toward her while opening the throttle wide. The helicopter lifted off. Variyan jumped on her. She tried to push him off but he was too heavy. He fought her for control. They were almost clear of the antennas when the rear rotor hit the highest one. The back blade exploded and came off the chopper. The engine spooled, building power. The whole chopper vibrated, and Jordan knew she was in trouble. The chopper pitched forward and up, its nose rising.
We’re gonna stall. Fuck.
A second later, it came down, missing the rooftop by less than five feet. The chopper crashed next to the garage door and exploded on impact.
CHAPTER 95
IMSI Headquarters, New York
Mike ran up the stairs to the ground floor where the control room was located. For the time being, he wasn’t worried about his colleagues working there. Since this was the spot from where the analysts and case officers ran all the IMSI’s operations, the control room was the most secure location in the building. The minute the intrusion alarm rang, it locked itself and became impregnable from anyone on the outside. There was enough food, water and other supplies for a full contingent of employees to last five days. What worried him was the server room on the second floor. If the control room was IMSI’s heart, the server room was its brain.
The issue at hand, though, was his pistol. He needed something with more stopping power. His Taurus was nice and compact but not the ideal weapon for taking down a group of well-armed assaulters.
How many were they?
By himself, Mike knew his chances were limited. He needed to link up with Sanchez or with the three security guards posted on the second floor to protect the armory and the server room.
Were they after the servers? What had prompted the Iranians to conduct such an attack in broad daylight? Why were they so desperate? Hopefully Anna Caprini had shut the server room down, but, to do so, she needed to be in the room. A breach there would be catastrophic. Since the majority of the IMSI employees working at headquarters were analysts and support personnel and most of the assets—the operators who were actually conducting the missions—were presently overseas, Mike could only count on Lisa and Sanchez to help him flush the intruders out. With Lisa on bodyguard duty, Sanchez’s help was crucial.
The police were certainly on their way, but it would take them time to breach the security at the front gate. As per protocol, a skeleton crew would stay at the gate while the other guards would rush in from both entry points to secure the building. The objective was to sandwich the attackers and counter-attack them on two fronts.
His phone chirped in his pocket. Three long bursts, followed by two small ones.
Sanchez.
With his left hand, Mike pulled his phone out. He read Sanchez’s message:
Where r u? Im in Charles office. Lost contact with security team. Anna up in the server room. Bout 2 go hunting. Believe bad guys came in through trapdoor.
Mike replied:
Don’t move. On my way. I’ll knock twice.
If he could link up with Sanchez, they had a chance. Mike put his phone in his back pocket and made his way to Mapother’s office, making sure to clear every angle before committing to a new direction.
The corridors were empty. Mike was glad to see everyone had followed the protocols Charles Mapother and Sanchez had put in place for such an eventuality. Not only were the IMSI employees better protected in their offices, it made the security team’s job much easier.
Mike knocked on Mapother’s door twice. The door opened automatically from the inside.
“Jonathan, it’s me,” Mike said, loud enough to be heard.
“Come in.”
Mike entered Mapother’s office. Sanchez was standing in one corner, his pistol at the low, ready.
“How much ammo do you have?
“I have three mags of fifteen plus one in the pipe,” Sanchez told him.
“I have twelve plus one, and a spare magazine.”
“That’s not much, buddy,” Sanchez said.
“Agreed, but remember what they say: The battle isn’t won with the first short; it’s won with the first accu
rate shot.”
CHAPTER 96
IMSI Headquarters, New York
Mike held his Taurus at eye level as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. Sanchez was on his heels. They were heading to the server room, hoping to link with Caprini.
Mike climbed slowly, arms extended in front of him with both hands firmly on the Taurus’s grip. His sights were aligned with the opening at the top of the stairs. His eyes, his ears and his mind were alert for anything suspect.
There was a time when once the adrenaline had kicked in, Mike’s senses would be enhanced, and his reactions sharpened. A detached sense of anticipation would envelop him and make him more efficient in every way. Now, nothing was the same. His throat had dried up and sweat formed on his forehead. It was already trickling down, stinging his eyes. His chest tightened, and his vision grew fuzzy at the edges. Mike had to hold on to the railing to steady himself. He took two deep breaths and forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
“You’re okay, Mike?” Sanchez asked. “What are you doing?”
“Sorry, I missed a step. I’m fine,” he replied.
Mike continued but stopped four steps from the top. He could make out the sounds of one or more people moving somewhere up ahead. Since all the IMSI employees were locked in their respective offices, Mike was confident the sound didn’t come from friendlies—unless it was Caprini? Mike remained low and moved up one more step. With his pistol up and ready, he peeked above the last step.
At the opposite end of the hallway, three men armed with compact sub-machine guns walked down the last step of the staircase. Mike was struck by their efficiency. Their guns were extensions of their arms, sweeping left to right and right to left, seeking targets. Mike stepped back and whispered, “Three tangos moving this way. Fifty yards and closing in. They’re armed with sub-machine guns. No friendlies in sight.”
They couldn’t engage the three terrorists from this distance with their pistols and hope to win. He wondered where the three guards assigned to the second floor were. The comms had ceased working right after the explosion. Had they climbed to the rooftop to investigate? If so, it meant they were either dead or incapacitated since the Iranians were now on the second floor.
A Thick Crimson Line (Mike Walton Book 3) Page 25