Authors: Mark Young
As they rolled to a stop, a sentry left the guard shack and raised the barrier barring their way. The guard seemed to recognize the driver and engaged him in conversation. The driver cussed and put the truck in gear, pulling ahead. The sentry looked puzzled.
“Good man,” Gerrit whispered. “Now, drive where I tell you, nice and slow.” He directed the driver in the direction of where Shakeela’s GPS tracker last recorded her location. Just as they started up the hill, Gerrit’s phone vibrated. He started to ignore it, but thought better of it. Maybe they had an update on Shakeela’s location.
He put the phone to his ear without even looking at the caller ID. “Gerrit, here.”
“It’s Shakeela. I need help.”
“Shakeela? Where are you?”
“I’m right on top of where Hanano and his people are manning a command center for the launch. Where are you?”
“Near where we lost your signal. Are you near the big white house on the hill?”
“Just to the rear of it. Don’t come up here. Circle around and I’ll meet you on the other side.”
“See you in a few minutes.” Gerrit disconnected and yelled out for the driver to stop. The man complied and Gerrit gave him the new directions. The soldier yanked on the wheel and turned the truck in the direction Shakeela gave them. She was alive. That was all he wanted to hear. The rest they’d figure out when they met up.
Pulling out another cigarette, Kadar lit up and took a deep drag. Strict rules forbid smoking in the bunkers. Supplies and ordnances had been stored for the Army down below, and some rooms still contained weapons and ammunition. Even explosives. Though Kadar never thought rules applied to him, these rules he’d follow in the interest of self-preservation.
He grabbed his cell phone and checked for messages. He’d misplaced his phone downstairs and confiscated one of his men’s phones as they left for a detail. Belowground, he could not get any reception. Seeing no messages, he quickly dialed the leader of his surveillance crew, wanting an update.
The phone continued to ring until it switched over to allow the caller to leave messages. As the automated message started, Kadar ended the call, frustrated. Where were his men? They never failed to return his call. Maybe they were in an area with bad reception. Unlikely, but he’d give it a few more minutes and try again.
He just finished a second cigarette when his phone vibrated. Finally, some news. He pressed to receive the call. Another man’s voice came over the line, a person from their communications center in Damascus. “Yes?”
It was an automated alert to his unit to call the communications center. He dialed the number, identifying himself when a caller picked up the call.
“Sir, we just received a call from the Army. Four men attached to your unit have been found shot and killed in the city limits.”
“Did the Army make the discovery?”
“No, sir. A man living in the area on his way to work saw the bodies and called it in. The Army responded and they relayed the information to us.”
“What can you tell me about the shooting?”
“Not much, sir. The Army cannot find anyone who admitted to hearing the shots. Your men’s cars were left at the scene.”
“Okay,” Kadar said, processing the information. “Anything else?”
“The bodies were picked over, but no valuables taken. Just radio equipment and weapons.”
“Do they suspect SLA rebels did this?”
The caller hesitated. “They don’t know, sir. But if it was the rebels, why would they leave money and valuables behind?”
Kadar hung up and stomped toward his car. How did the Jews get to his men? Were there others working with them that he did not know about? Too many questions. Not enough answers. He needed to check this out firsthand.
As soon as they came to a stop, Shakeela emerged from the darkness. Alena leaped from the back of the truck, gave her a hug, and then trained a weapon on the driver as Gerrit joined them.
Quietly, Gerrit ordered the man to step from the truck and turn around. He bound the man’s hands behind him with duct tape before turning to Shakeela and giving her a hug. “You had us worried.”
“I’m so sorry. It was stupid of me to lose the cell phone, but I couldn’t go back and get it. I didn’t want to lose Hanano.” She pointed to a car that was just leaving the military post. “I spotted him leaving just before you got here. Everything we need to know about the assault is downstairs in that building. We need to get it, give it to the Israelis when we can, and clear out before Hanano returns.”
“You’re kidding, right? Three of us against the 4th Armored Division? I say let’s get out of here. Max and the others are finishing the recon at the airport.”
Shakeela shook her head. “We need proof, Gerrit. No telling what else Hanano has down there. Let’s grab what intelligence we can while we have a chance. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find out more names in this plan of theirs.”
Alena, keeping her eyes on the driver, said, “I’m with her, Gerrit. We’re so close. And this intelligence is exactly what Frank and the Israelis needed to make their final decision.”
Reluctantly, Gerrit agreed with their logic. “Okay, but we’ll have to take the Syrian with us.” He looked at the driver for a moment. “That means we have to go in the front way. Let’s drive this ton of bolts right up to the front door, guns blazing. At least we’ll have the element of surprise.”
Alena laughed. “What is it with you Marines? Gun’s blazing, kick in the front door. Do you always have to make a lot of noise and shoot a lot of bullets when you do something?”
“I guess Mossad does things differently?” He pulled a large duffel bag from the back of the truck.
“We take care of business—quietly.”
Shakeela said, “My guess, at this hour there’s only one or two guys down in the command center right now. The rest of the building appears to be unoccupied.” She quickly gave them a description of the building, including access to the command center.
“Do they have any cameras in the building?”
Shakeela grimaced. “Yes. When I got to the command post, I saw monitors that keyed on several locations in this facility—but no one was in a position to monitor. Maybe we’ll time it just right and catch them unaware.”
“Okay, let’s do this.” He opened up the duffel bag and pulled out two 4.6mm Heckler & Koch gas-operated MP7A1s, handing one to Alena and a bandolier of magazines, fully loaded. He gave Shakeela one of three 9mm Sig Sauer P226s, each equipped with a silencer, from the bag. “Remember how to use one of these babies?”
Shakeela gave him a look as she grabbed the weapon, expertly ejecting the magazine and checking the load before reseating it and chambering a round.
He smiled, grabbed the duffel bag and his weapon and inserted the first magazine.
Thanks for coming through again, Frank.
The old man had worked through Jack to arrange for a shipment of weapons, ammunition, and other equipment to be delivered to a house in Damascus. Gerrit had plenty of firepower to pull off this assault—weapons, ammunition, flash-bangs, night-vision goggles, a dozen grenades, detonation cord, and his ever-useful duct tape.
In addition to the H&Ks, he and Alena armed themselves with the remaining two Sig Sauers. They had about ten magazines of ammunition, not counting those already locked and loaded.
Gerrit lowered the tailgate and gestured to the driver in Arabic. “Get in. Do what I say and you won’t be shot.”
The soldier glared at Gerrit and then down at the bulge in his shirt.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Gerrit said. “I promise not to blow you up if you follow my instructions. Otherwise…” He just gestured. “Now, get in the truck.”
Once the driver lay sprawled in the back, Gerrit turned to Shakeela. “You ride in back with him till we get to the target site. Then once Alena and I clear the entryway, one of us will come back to get the two of you.”
Shakeela nodded and climbed inside. Gerrit raised the tailgate and he and Alena climbed into the cab. “Ready to rock and roll?”
Alena looked puzzled. “Why would I waste time listening to music?”
For a moment, her question confused him. “Rock and roll? That’s just a term to…oh, forget it. Let’s get this over with.” He fired up the engine and turned the truck around, heading toward the roadway that led to Hanano’s base of operations.
He stepped on the gas as the truck whined and coughed up the hill, and sputtered, and the speed seemed slower than a sea turtle moving across a sandy beach. As they approached the building, Gerrit drove straight toward the front door with the headlights on bright. He searched for any movements from the building as they screeched to a halt. The darkened windows above him would give a gunman great advantage when they approached. Too late to worry about that.
“Let’s go.” He swung his driver’s door open and jumped to the ground. Raising his H&K, he dashed toward the entrance, Alena running a few steps behind with her own weapon raised.
“Ready,” he whispered, motioning toward the door.
She nodded, grasped the handle, and quickly yanked it open as Gerrit slipped inside.
Once through the doorway, he cleared the foyer and saw the stairwell Shakeela described. He motioned to Alena, whispering, “Let’s clear the downstairs area and assume that no one is upstairs. Just cover my backside as we move through the building. I’ll set up here while you get Shakeela and the prisoner. Keep an eye down the road. Don’t want to be surprised by any late-night visitors.”
She gave him a glare. “This is not my first time to ride a horse.”
“Huh? Oh, never mind.” He pointed toward the metal door below. “Let me go first and then we’ll take the stairs one at a time.”
Gerrit started down the stairwell just as he heard the door above pop open. A gunman emerged, aiming an assault rifle toward the group. Gerrit shot first, hitting the attacker with a close three-round burst. The rounds jerked the gunman backward against the doorpost, the man dropping to the ground as the door started to swing shut.
As Gerrit raced up the stairs he realized that this place was probably laced with cameras. Whoever was in the command post below must have seen and heard them coming. He quickly checked to see if the man was dead. No pulse. Gerrit recovered the man’s weapon and motioned for Alena to join him.
“Hold this door open but stand to one side. I’m going to move the body out of sight, and then once I enter and give you a shout, have Shakeela and the prisoner come up the stairs.” Slipping an arm through his rifle sling, he hung the weapon behind him, grasping the gunman’s arms and dragging him behind the desk to his left. Swinging his weapon to the ready, he gripped it as he approached the door. He dashed back through the opening, sweeping the corridor beyond with his H&K, searching for more targets. Nothing moved.
“Okay,” he whispered to Alena on the other side of the doorway. “Have them come up the stairs—quickly. I need you to help me sweep the rest of this place.” She turned and dashed down to quietly convey his message.
As he continued to peer down the corridor leading to the command center, he heard footsteps behind him as Alena and the others approached. They brushed past. He closed the door and moved farther down the corridor, the others following. “Alena, let’s do a sweep. Shakeela, keep an eye on the prisoner and I—”
Gunfire erupted from down the passageway as a man darted around the corner, spraying gunfire in their direction. Gerrit answered with his own burst, forcing the gunman to pull back. “Cover me, Alena.” He dashed toward where the gunman disappeared. Pausing for a moment, he sensed Alena failing to follow. Glancing backward, he saw her standing over two fallen bodies—Shakeela and the bound soldier.
He resisted the urge to race back. He was committed. From this distance, he couldn’t make out Alena’s expression. She would have been standing beside him right now if Shakeela was okay. Maybe the fact Alena held back meant that Shakeela was in need of medical attention—not dead.
Clenching his jaw, Gerrit turned and worked his way toward the gunmen. He’d have to clear this passage on his own. They’d lost the element of surprise.
As he crept down the corridor, he realized this place felt like a tomb. He peeked around the corner. Silence and darkness greeted him. The gunmen must have knocked all the lights out leading up to the main command center. Smart move. He would have to clear this passageway in the dark. Any of the rooms he passed posed a potential ambush.
He reached into his backpack and withdrew a red-lensed flashlight. At even intervals, he passed doorways that led to smaller rooms or storage units. At each of these entrances, he quickly scanned the interior to make sure no one lay in wait.
About fifty yards into this tunnel-like passage, Gerrit heard a foot scrape the cement. It came from one of the rooms to his right. A second later, he heard two men whispering. The sound allowed him to zero in on one particular room. He loved going up against amateurs—nothing was fair in love and war.
Reaching in his duffel bag, Gerrit withdrew a flash-bang grenade. He crossed to the right of the tunnel and crept along the wall until he reached the entrance to the room where he’d heard the sounds. They must have thought they could get the drop on him by hiding in this darkened room until he crossed their path. They should have kept their mouths shut. Stupidly, they stayed together instead of splitting up and catching him in a cross fire. They were about to pay for their mistakes.
He flicked the pin on the flash-bang and tossed the grenade into the room, closing his eyes until he heard the explosion. A second later, he dropped and rolled to the doorway, firing short bursts, allowing the flash from his muzzle to illuminate his targets. The men—sprawled on the ground—would never raise their weapons again.
March 16
O
nly one room left. Gerrit closed in on the final door that led to the command center. He paused for a moment, grasped the handle, and ripped the door open. He dashed inside and peeled to the right, searching for movement.
Empty! Not a threat in sight.
He searched each crevice, making sure there were no more deadly surprises. Satisfied that the room was clear, he retraced his steps, propping the door open to the command center. He wanted to find out if Shakeela was alive.