SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops IV (30 page)

“I don’t accept that line of argument, Mariko. Either she knows me or she doesn’t. Period. If she doesn’t realize that I’m not capable of rape and murder, then as far as I’m concerned, the relationship was always a non-starter. There’s nothing else to discuss.”

She nodded. “Knowing you as I do, I don’t understand how she could think something like that. It does seem weird,” she murmured.
 

He made no reply. This was getting too close to the business of the blackouts. It was not for public airing. As far as he was concerned, it was irrelevant. Either he was a rapist murderer, or he wasn’t, blackouts or no blackouts. There was such a thing as trust, a fundamental principle he’d lived his life believing in. No exceptions. To his relief, she indicated her agreement and understanding. Partnership was about trust, without it, there was nothing. They sat in silence when they’d finished talking. He spent some time checking his weapons and pulling out equipment from the hidden compartments to make everything ready for instant use. He also dragged out the load of machine parts they’d carried as cover so that the truck was empty, and the Platoon would find enough space inside. He put his uniform, helmet and vest, into the cab; ready to change into when they reached the tunnels. Mariko declined to change into her Marine camo and armor.

“I’ll wear the burqa the whole time. If we get into a tight spot, it may give me an edge. They don’t expect women wearing these things to start shooting back,” she’d grinned.

Darkness crept over them, lit only by a quarter moon, and the outlines of the ruined buildings were dark shadows that chased away the last of the light and finally surrounded them. The satphone buzzed.

“Bravo Two.”

“This is One.” It was Boswell’s voice, no question. In the background, he could hear the roar of the turboshaft engines. “We’re dropping in five, and we’ll be with you in fifteen. Everything okay?”

“We’re prepped to go down here, Lt.”

“Copy that. Bravo One, out.”

It was twenty minutes before the first Seal touched down, and Nolan used his NV goggles to recognize in the neat landing the hard competence of Will Bryce, the huge, black rock that was the tough, indestructible core of Bravo Platoon. Boswell landed next, and the rest came down soon after, all touching the ground and taking a couple of steps to get their balance, looking around to check their landing space. He went out to meet them. Boswell nodded a greeting.

“How’re things fixed, Chief? Any problems on the ground?”

“None, Lt. We located Danial’s son, Nazir, and he’s happy to help us.”

“What did he want? What did you offer him?”

“He only wanted revenge for his father.”

Boswell nodded. “That makes sense. I’d have wanted the same.”

“Yeah. The jingle truck is inside the building. We have to get aboard. He’s meeting us soon at the entrance to the tunnel system.” He looked around as Will came up to them. He nodded at Nolan and then turned to the Lieutenant.

“They’re all down, Lt. No problems.”

“Copy that. The truck is inside the building. Get them aboard, and we’ll move out.”

He nodded, assembled the men, and they went inside the dark ruin where they had their first sight of their ride, the jingle truck. Amidst groans and catcalls, ‘Jesus Christ’, and ‘What a fucking heap’, they tumbled into the back. Without an order, they started knocking small loopholes through the sides of the bodywork. If the shit hit the fan, they’d need to see the target. Zeke gave Nolan his commo system, and he pushed in the earpiece, glad to be in touch with the Platoon again. Mariko put on a commo rig inside her burqa and climbed into the cab. Nolan joined her, started the engine, and they drove off. He followed the road into town and took the turn for the tunnel entrance. They were at the end of a street of wealthy houses. There was no other road, and in the distance, Nolan could see the place they were headed. It stood alone in an area of empty ground a few hundred meters away. He drove along carefully, but then they ran into trouble. A cop stepped out and flagged them down. He braked to a stop; thanking the stars he was still wearing the ethnic clothes. A limousine traveling in the same direction had collided with an ancient auto. It looked antique, like something from half a century ago, an elderly, somber black saloon. The driver had stepped out and was cowering at the side of the street, while another man stood shouting at him in rage. With astonishment, Nolan recognized the man. Chutani Muhammad, the Pakistani Minister he’d met after the raid on Kabul International Airport.

What the hell is he doing out here?

Short, plump and obese bodyguards idly looked on as he harangued the shabbily dressed driver of the saloon that had collided with his limo. And then Nolan got it. It all clicked. The fat Paki Minister was going the same direction as they were. The compound! It didn’t take a genius to add two and two together; almost certainly he was heading for the secret tunnel entrance that would lead them to Riyad bin Laden’s compound.

So this is how these al Qaeda terrorists and their Pakistani allies can come and go at will, without being seen by an arsenal of American surveillance technology. Interesting!

A cop stormed up to his vehicle, gesticulating wildly, and diverted his attention. He shouted, and Mariko quietly translated. Fortunately, the cop couldn’t see what they were doing in the dark cab.

“He says we have to turn around and go back.”

“Shit! We can’t. There’s no other way around. Tell him we’ll edge carefully around the damaged vehicles.”

She spoke to him, but the cop shouted some more and put his hand on his holster.

“He says turn back, or he’ll arrest us.”

Nolan began to calculate the odds. Chutani Muhammad had a driver and two bodyguards, and there were four cops. Eight men in all, and they were twenty Seals, plus Mariko. First, they needed to get them off guard.

“Tell him we’re turning around.”

He heard Mariko talking to the cop, pleading with him. Then the Pakistani lost interest and turned away, satisfied. Nolan heard the click as the commo was activated.

“What’s going on, Chief?” Boswell asked from the back.

“Cops, there’s been an accident. They want us to turn back.”

“Is there another way through?”

“No.”

“We’ll have to clear them out the way. How many are there?”

He told them and explained about the high-ranking politician and the civilian.

“Copy that. Mariko, that cop you’re talking to, can you take him?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, on my order. Chief, try and keep the Paki Minister alive. We may be able to use him. Vince, get out the back so no one sees you, and find a good place to target those gomers. The rest of you, shoot through the holes in the side of the vehicle. As soon as you’re ready, Vince, call it in, and we’ll take ‘em.”

“Copy that.”

A couple of minutes later, Nolan heard Vince Merano.
 

“This is Merano, I’m ready. I’m lined up on the two bodyguards.”

“Copy that. Open fire!”

His command was not overly loud, but the effect was awesome. Merano’s sniper rifle spat out four bullets, and both bodyguards went down like broken dolls. Mariko’s pistol coughed twice, and the cop confronting her lurched back and slumped to the ground. The rest of the Platoon opened fire, and more than a dozen sound-suppressed assault rifles fired short, targeted bursts that tossed the remaining cops into bloody ruin. Chutani Muhammad stood stock still, his mouth opening and closing in shock. Nolan could see his legs were visibly shaking. The driver of the old sedan was trembling too, actually rocking and moaning with fear. Boswell came back on the commo.

“Nice shooting men. We need to get those bodies off the street. Chief, get the Minister, and make sure he doesn’t try to run. Move, people, I want the area cleared fast so we can push on. You can drive the limo. I’ll get someone in the cop car to follow us, and we’ll find somewhere to lose them when we reach that wood near the tunnel entrance.”

They tossed the bodies into the rear of the cars, and the Seals piled into the front seats and started the engines. Mariko went to the civilian and told him to get out, fast. If he cleared the area, they wouldn’t kill him. He gratefully jumped into his vehicle and drove off. Nolan ran up to the Minister of Foreign Affairs.

“You’re our prisoner, Sir. Come with us.”

He stared at the Pakistani who wasn’t a Pakistani. “You’re an American!”

“Yeah, an ally. Isn’t life strange? Let’s go, Minister. Climb up, you can sit in the center of the cab.”

“You, you can’t do this to me. I am a government minister.”

“Sure I can. Like I said, we’re allies.”

Nolan pushed him up, and with a length of thin cord, tied his wrists. Mariko climbed in beside him, and they continued along the street to their destination. The tarmac petered out, and there was the building they sought that housed the tunnel entrance just a few meters ahead, exactly as Nazir had described it. He drove up and doused the lights. Nazir was waiting for them, and he glanced at the procession of vehicles with apprehension.

“What is this? Police, a government vehicle, what is happening?”

“We’re good, Nazir. Don’t worry about it,” Nolan told him.

“But they will link this all to me. They know I have access to these tunnels.”

“Yeah, it’s tough. You got family here?”

“No, no one.”

“Then you’d better come back with us. We can offer you US citizenship.”

Nazir was astonished. “You would do this for me?”

“It’s yours if you want it.”

“I accept. Thank you.”

“No problem. I have to get out of these clothes and into my gear. Give me a few minutes, then you can show us the way, and we can move off. You do know where we’re going?”

“Yes.”

“Good. While I’m changing, you’d better talk to the Lieutenant, and give him some idea of where we’re going.”

He sent Nazir across to Boswell, ripped off his robes and turban, and thankfully donned his camo kit and armor. Mariko, still anonymous in her blue burqa, helped him remove some of his skin makeup, and he strapped on his weapons. He carried his Mk 11 barrel down on his back, and the MP7 across his chest, ready for instant use. He felt better in his normal gear. Wearing the ethnic gear made him feel alien, naked. He joined the rest of the men who were preparing their weapons to go in. Chutani Muhammad caught sight of Nolan in his Multicam and gaped as he recognized him, the soldier from Bagram Air Base.

“You!”

“Yeah, me.”

“I know your name. I will contact the authorities and have you arrested and imprisoned when I return to Islamabad. This action is criminal. It’s nothing short of kidnap! I am a government minister. You can’t do this to me.”

“I’d suggest you get yourself an attorney, my friend. But you’re not going to Islamabad, I can tell you that much.”

His eyes narrowed. “Where are you taking me? Why are you doing this?”

“As for the why, I guess you know that well enough. We both know this street only leads in one direction, unless you were planning on taking a walk in the countryside through the night. As for the where, option one, if you cooperate, is we find you a tropical retreat in the Caribbean, and you can take a nice long holiday. It’s called Guantanamo Bay. Option two, if you’re unlucky, is you’ll be going straight to hell.” He saw the man shiver. “Yeah, it kind of limits your freedom of action. If I were you, I’d think about cooperating. Tell us about Riyad bin Laden.”

“I will tell you nothing,” he muttered. “I know nothing of this man. You cannot do this to me.”

“If that’s the way you want it, then it’ll be option two. It’s your choice, Muhammad. I’d think seriously if I were you.”

“We’re ready to move off,” Boswell’s voice came over the commo. “Zeke, contact J-bad. Tell them we’re moving into the tunnel system, and we’ll be in position shortly to start the assault on the compound. I’ll take the lead, along with Nazir to guide us. Chief Nolan, bring up the rear.”

“Copy that. I’ll bring this prisoner along. He’s one of Riyad’s buddies.”

“You’d better keep him quiet,” Boswell warned.

“Either he sees sense and keeps his mouth shut, or he gets a bullet between the eyes.”