The mountain on which Zim's palace sat had three layers of defense.
The road leading up to it was about a half mile long, and it was covered with motion sensors, remote-controlled mines, and automatic-machine-gun nests. All of this was watched by an umbrella of hidden TV cameras that left no part of the winding mountain passage uncovered.
Anyone intending on getting to the palace without using this road would have to scale the sheer rock face that led up to Zim's lair via the western side of the peak. Even a military alpine unit would have a tough time climbing this hazardous 2,500 feet.
But to make it even more unapproachable, Zim's defensive specialists had installed a variety of bizarre but effective weapons up and down the rock face. Many of these Zim's people had bought at bargain-basement prices from various warring factions in central Africa. Most were of homemade design but ingenious. Most prevalent was an exploding glass bomb, a devious device that when set off by a trip wire, sprayed up to five hundred shards of glass in a depressed 45-degree conical sphere. This was enough to shred anyone within fifteen feet. There were nearly two hundred of these mines hidden among the steep rocks.
There were also five remotely controlled gun emplacements tucked away in the cliffs, each one packing a 30-mm cannon. These guns had a full range of fire at anyone coming up the mountain's west side. They were worked by an operator stationed up above, using a fire-control system taken off an Iranian destroyer and sold lock, stock, and barrel to Zim.
The third and final line of Zim's defense protected the palace's east side. This had not cost Zim a thing. Rather this barrier came courtesy of a massive land shift eons ago that left a peak soaring about 750 feet above the highest point on Zim's domain. No mines were laid on this enormous, jagged piece of rock. No automatic guns or TV cameras watched over its approaches. There was no need to. The peak was absolutely impossible to scale.
Or so everyone thought.
*****
The 150 mercenaries guarding the interior of Zim's palace were broken up into four squads, each with approximately three dozen members.
The so-called Red Squad was responsible for patrolling the high outer walls of the compound. Specialists within this group also operated and maintained the Rapier antiaircraft systems found in the palace's four minarets. Most of the Red Squad soldiers were white South Africans, veterans of many African conflicts.
Yellow Squad patrolled the interior of the compound itself. They were like the local police force. They responded to anything from a broken door lock to complaints of rowdy guests inside the "Hotel." Like Red Squad, they were mostly South Africans, and carried Uzis or elderly but effective Bren guns.
Green Squad was responsible for protecting the grounds outside the palace. They maintained the weapons imbedded in the roadway and on the cliff face. They frequently patrolled all the way down the mountain, to the flat desert valley beyond. They were a mix of former East German and Swiss mercs.
The fourth squad was called Black Squad, and they could usually be found lounging in their luxurious barracks located near the rear of Zim's main residence and hard up against the 750-foot peak that looked out over them all. Black Squad did not walk patrol or maintain weapons. Black Squad did only special ops. Favors for Zim, the orders for which came from his lips alone.
The people in Black Squad were all Muslim fighters, veterans from various wars, arrogant with power, and usually disparaging of the other mercenaries
on-site. They were, however, the toughest of the bunch and the highest paid, simply because they had no qualms about doing the dirtiest jobs for Zim. In fact they enjoyed many of them.
Black Squad also functioned as Zim's personal body-guards. It was they who stood watch over the doors leading into his chamber, they who stood guard outside his bedroom, his kitchen, his bathroom, his sauna, wherever he was at any given moment. All of Black Squad carried AK-47's and long Sherpa knives usually honed to a razor-sharp edge.
*****
There was not a red alert per se that could be called inside Zim's palace.
If an emergency arose, which had never happened, Zim's orders would filter down to Black Squad, who in turn would inform the other three squads of the situation and then instruct them what to do about it. But because the palace was deemed impregnable and since no enemies had ever dared come near, there had never been any drills or any rehearsals, not even a lengthy discussion about what to do should an adversary approach the compound in force.
That was why even though Zim had given the order for the compound to prepare for attack, no one among his security forces really knew what that meant. Usually in times like this, the squads would have looked to Major Qank, the intelligence chief, for guidance. But it was well known by now that Major Qank was not among them anymore.
So for what was about to happen, the mercs were on their own.
*****
The first sign that things were not right came just before midnight.
There was a shift change on the outer parapets among the Red Squad members. Those soldiers charged with watching the Rapier radar-acquisition screens had spotted two dots out on the very fringe of their missile system’s operational range.
This was not unusual. Iraq aircraft could be seen on their radar screens occasionally—Iranian aircraft too. But these two blips were acting very strangely.
They were moving back and forth, on the edge of the screen—appearing here, disappearing there, then reappearing way over there. The Rapier's electronics told the operators the blips were not airplanes. No, the way they were flying, they could only be one thing: helicopters.
Again, to see Iraqi military helicopters passing by the Qom-el-Zarz palace was no big deal. But these helicopters were not acting like typical Iraqis. Their pilots must have known they were being painted by the Rapier long-range radar system, this the first step in being shot down by the highly accurate SAM system. Even friendly airplanes were always reluctant to get tangled up inside their own SAM webs. Accidents happened, and Rapiers rarely missed their targets.
Why then were these helicopters playing such a dangerous game?
Things had been weird around the compound in the past couple of days; that was probably the only reason why the Red Squad commander was called to look at the radar screen just as the midnight shift change was about to take place.
His name was Bumpin Slakker; he was a former South African military officer. Slakker understood Rapiers. He knew what they could do and that it was highly foolish for anyone to play tag by passing in and out of their fields of fire. Yet that was exactly what these two blips were doing.
At first, Slakker wasn't sure what to do. It was late, he was tired, and he certainly didn't want to go around yelling that the sky was falling just because of two weird radar blips. However, he was concerned enough to decide that he would pass this information on to the Black Squad. He would explain the helicopter situation as best he could to the Black Squad's CO, and let him decide whether or not to bring it to the attention of the Great Zim.
And because it was the end of the shift, and Slakker was due to go off duty anyway, he would deliver the message to the Black Squad CO himself.
It was exactly midnight when he started making his way across the vast compound. Down from the outer wall, through the inner perimeter, towards Zim's chamber itself. He nodded to a pair of Yellow guards on patrol near the inner gate, and finally reached the alley that led to the Black Squad's barracks. His immediate plans after passing on the information to the Black Squad were to inhale a plate of food, then drink a bottle of wine, and then go to sleep. He'd worked three shifts in a row and was dead-tired.
He deserved a little shut-eye.
*****
Slakker reached the huge black ornamented door that led into the Black Squad's billet and pounded on it three times.
There was no answer.
He pounded three more times. Again, there was no reply.
There was a window next to the door, but it was made of thick yellow glass and only the barest of shadows could be seen through it from the outside. Slakker rapped on this window several times, but saw no movement inside.
Now this was odd. The Black Squad had little to do with the palace security, except to guard Zim himself, and they did this just two at a time. Even in a shift change, that would mean only four men could be out of pocket at any given moment. So where were the other thirty-two members of the squad? Asleep? Drunk? Both?
Slakker considered just forgetting the whole thing and simply retiring to his billet. Choppers out along the radar perimeter? What was the big deal?
But something was stuck in his craw about this one, and it wouldn't let go. So he decided to take one last step to pass the information along.
He began walking around the back of the small villa that housed Black Squad. Here, he knew, was a secret, emergency exit through which the Black Guards had been known to take delivery on drugs, booze, girls, and other very non-Muslim temptations usually supplied on the sly by the less-than-savory guests at the palace's Hotel.
Slakker figured that a knock at this hidden door was one the Black Guards would always answer.
But when he made his way to the back of the barracks, he was surprised to find this secret door unlocked and wide open.
Now this was getting
very
strange. He knew the Black Squad was very careful about this rear portal. He'd seen the myriad of locks on the door from the inside. Why now had it been left so carelessly ajar?
Slakker went through the door slowly, his hand on his pistol. The first thing he saw was a pool of blood gathered around the billet's refrigerator. He slowly pulled the pistol from its holster. He took one step forward, followed the stream of blood with his eyes, and made a shocking discovery.
Thirty-four members of the Black Squad were lying facedown on the floor of the barracks mess hall. They were lined up so neatly, it was obvious great care had been taken in leaving them just this way.
They were all dead.
Each one had been shot in the back of the head.
*****
Slakker ran across the compound, out the inner gate and across the courtyard, reaching his squad's position in thirty seconds; it was a trip that would usually take about two minutes.
His mind was reeling. What he'd just seen in the Black Squad billet had not yet registered fully in his brain. But he was relying on instincts. He was a soldier, he'd been in combat before. The Black Squad was dead—their killers unknown. His job now was to get to his own position and make sure it was secure.
That was why he made it back to the first minaret in one quarter of the normal time.
But another nightmare was waiting for him there. He burst into the Rapier control hut only to see yet another pool of blood. Two of his men were still in their seats, heads hanging back, throats slit from ear to ear.
Slakker lost his poise at this point. A bunch of guys from Black Squad getting killed was one thing. He'd just talked to the men in front of him not five minutes before. Now their heads were hanging off their bodies in the most ghastly fashion. Slakker threw up in the corner and then staggered outside.
The compound was eerily quiet. He could see no one moving about. This was not all that unusual. The palace was usually sedate, especially at night. Yet amidst this deathly silence, three dozen men had been very quietly killed.
Slakker was convinced the bloodbath was the work of Zim—a coup pulled off by the palace king himself. But then Slakker heard a low growl coming from off in the distance. Suddenly his mind switched back to the matter at hand: the mysterious helicopters orbiting just beyond the Rapier's missile's range.
He looked to the west and heard the noise again, and saw two helicopters flying very low and heading right at him.
He stood, stunned, as they went over his head, so low he could see the faces of the men at the open loading door staring down at him. In the next instant, he felt a cold sensation below his right ear. Then he heard a horrible slitting sound. Then he felt strange hands grabbing his chest and a foot kicking his legs out from underneath him. Then he hit the hard wooden floor of the parapet and saw yet another pool of blood gathering. This blood was his own. His neck had been sliced, from ear to ear, with no noise, no muss, no fuss.
As Slakker's life ebbed away, he became aware of two things. The helicopters were almost right above him now. And many feet were rushing by him—and still there was so little noise. Who were these silent warriors?
Two pairs of boots stopped right next to where he lay dying. One boot was so close to him, he could actually read the serial numbers on its heel: 97846304991. Beneath these numbers it read: MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
Americans?
Slakker thought in his last instant of life.
How did the Americans ever find us here?
*****
Unlike the four color-coordinated squads of mercenaries protecting the outer and inner walls of the palace, a hodgepodge of paid soldiers guarded the Hotel, many from black African nations, wearing nothing more elaborate than plain green camo battle fatigues and bush hats.