SEAL Team Bravo: Black Ops IV (31 page)

“Fine by me.”

Muhammad shuddered again, and then they entered the tunnel system. Nolan felt the tightening of his own muscles as adrenaline poured through his body, the classic ‘fight or flight’ effect. They were closing the target. The tunnel, green in his night vision goggles, was about two meters high, enough for most of them to walk upright or with only a slight stoop. There were numerous branches, and without Nazir, they would have been hopelessly lost. They’d been walking for about five hundred meters when he heard Boswell’s whispered warning in his earpiece.

“Hostiles approaching. I’d guess about four men, so keep it quiet! All of you, get out of sight in one of the side tunnels.”

Nolan pushed Muhammad into a side tunnel, and Mariko held her small pistol to his head.

“What’s going on, Muhammad?” Nolan murmured. “Four men, is this a normal patrol, or do they suspect something’s up?”

“I will not…”

He smashed the butt of his MP7 across the man’s face; a cruel blow, meant to stun and terrify rather than to seriously injure.

“Last chance. The next one breaks your skull. Tell me about them.”

“I think it will is a special group sent out to investigate something. Normal patrols are in ones and twos.”

“Good.”

He passed it on to Boswell and turned his attention back to Muhammad. “That’s good. You have one chance to get out of here alive, Minister. That’s to cooperate, and next time make it snappier. Got it?”

The man nodded sullenly. Boswell’s whisper sounded in his earpiece.

“We’re letting them go past us. Stay out of the main tunnel, and we’ll hit them from behind. Chief, as soon as the shooting stops, I want you to block any leakers.”

“Copy that.”

He turned to Mariko. “Keep this guy quiet. If he makes a sound, shoot him dead. And stay in here, they’ll be firing along the main tunnel in a few seconds.”

She nodded and put the barrel of her Baby Glock against his forehead, between his eyes; the first time a woman in a burqa had threatened the Pakistani, but the Minister was a fast learner. He kept his mouth shut.

They waited, silent and out of sight in the branch tunnel. Then Nolan heard the ‘phut, phut’ sounds, as Boswell’s group took down the patrol with precise, well-aimed double taps. His earpiece replayed the action as they called it in.

“First guy is down, the other three don’t know where it came from. They’ve started to run.” Vince Merano’s soft voice.

The sound of more suppressed gunfire, “Two down, we have a squirter running on toward the entrance. He’s carrying an assault rifle. If he gets off a shot, it’ll make one hell of a noise.”

Nolan could hear footsteps racing toward him.

“I’m on him. Leave him to me. Keep the main tunnel clear.”

He waited. The footsteps came nearer and nearer. At last, he stepped out into the tunnel, and in the wash of green light saw the man racing toward him, his expression one of both fear and triumph. He’d evaded the silent and terrifying ambush from whoever had invaded the tunnel system, and was making his escape. At the last moment, he spotted Nolan in the gloom, and his thick lips drew back in a snarl. He raised his assault rifle and prepared to gun down the man standing in front of him. Nolan saw his fingers curl around the trigger. He couldn’t allow the sound of a shot that would alert the compound. They would be waiting for the patrol to call in, and so far they had nothing to alert them to the Seals’ presence. With a fluid motion, he put the selector to ‘auto’ and aimed the suppressed submachine gun. He emptied the clip into the man’s hand, the one with the trigger finger about to squeeze. And then there was no trigger finger; it was blown off, shredded along with most off his hand. All that was left was a bleeding, ruined mess. Part of the burst hit his body, protected only by a chest rack of spare clips. He opened his mouth to scream in shock and terrorized agony. In a single, flowing movement Nolan drew his combat knife and lunged, taking him in the mouth with a powerful, arcing slash. The victim’s eyes, a ghostly green in the goggles, dilated even wider, showing his agony as the heavy blade slashed through his mouth, all the way to his throat, then drew back across and ripped back out the way it had gone in. But no sound emerged through the ruined vocal chords. Nolan gripped him as a gush of green blood poured out of his neck, and the body went limp. As he gasped his last breaths, his heart pumped the lifeblood onto the dusty floor of the tunnel. He eased him to the ground, pulling the body back into the side tunnel and out of sight.

“Bravo One, this is Two. Target is down.”

“Copy that. Move out.”

Nolan pulled Muhammad out of the side tunnel by the collar, and Mariko kept hold of his arm to stop him running. He was more docile now. He’d seen enough through the gloom, enough to realize that the Seals meant business, and he hurried along in silent obedience.

They moved almost without a sound, keeping up a fast pace to get to their target before whoever had sent out the patrol began wondering where they were. They reached their destination, and Boswell called over the commo net.

“This is One. Nazir says we’re right under the compound. If the command bunker exists, it has to be here. Hold your positions. We’re taking a look around.”

Nolan gripped the prisoner by the throat. “If you want to live, you have one chance. Where is bin Laden’s underground bunker?”

“I can’t…”

He drew out his combat knife, still wet with blood from the encounter with the patrol. Even in the darkness, the man could see it, or more accurately, smell it, the rank, metallic odor of fresh blood.

“Yes, you can. This is your last chance. Where is it? You’re no use to us if you can’t help.”

He put the sharp edge of the blade against his neck and applied pressure.

“I will show you,” the man muttered hoarsely.

“Okay, let’s go forward.”

Mariko followed as Nolan dragged him along the dark, narrow space. They reached Boswell, who heard them coming.

“What’s this?”

“He’s going to show us the bunker.”

The Lieutenant smiled. “Go ahead.” He looked at Moseley, standing next to him. “Dan, take care of Nazir, and don’t let anything happen to him. He’s coming out with us when this is over.”

The son of Danial Masih looked anxious. “It feels strange, to contemplate leaving here, even though the Muslims make life hard for Christians. My home is here, my job…”

“They’ll kill you if you stay.”

He shut up, and Dan Moseley pulled him into the entrance of yet another branch tunnel, away from any possible gunfire. Chutani Muhammad walked slowly forward, his hands feeling the contours of the side of the tunnel. Nolan kept a tight hold of his collar with one hand, the huge knife held in the other hand, ready to slash down if he looked as if he was about to shout a warning. But the man was cowed, a professional politician to his fingertips. He’d clearly worked out what was to his best advantage. He was already calculating how to make the new arrangement work for him, and even turn it into a profit. He stopped and looked at Nolan.

“What will you give me if I show you this place?”

“We let you live.”

Muhammad shook his head. “I want more than that. Give me something worth helping you for, a reason to join you. You will not find the bunker without me.”

Nolan smiled inwardly; obviously loyalty to his own people was not this guy’s main priority.

“We’ll get you to the States, American citizenship.”

“I want one million dollars, enough for me to start a new life. And a US passport.”

Yeah, along with ninety percent of the Muslim world.

“How about a Manhattan apartment and a late model Chevrolet?”

The Pakistani sensed the irony in his words. “I have told you what I want, a million dollars and a passport. Do we have a deal?”

Nolan nodded without any hesitation. Killing Riyad bin Laden was beyond price, and he knew the Pentagon would okay any arrangement, if the Minister lived. “Deal. Where is it?”

“It’s along here, about another ten meters up ahead.” He started to go forward, but Nolan gripped him harder.

“Be careful! If you want to live long enough to spend that money, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

They crept forward until Muhammad whispered they should stop. There was a right-hand branch leading off from the tunnel, but he ignored it and looked to the left. A section of the tunnel wall had been repaired recently with new metal beams and signs of fresh concrete. He pointed to a piece of rusting steel, part of the reinforcing structure.

“You press down hard on that metal, and a section of wall opens out to a doorway. On the other side is the bunker system. It is soundproofed, so they cannot hear us, and we cannot hear them.”

“Does it lead up to the surface?”

“Yes, of course it does. The entrance is in front of the stairwell of the main house, a trapdoor concealed in the floor.”

Boswell was watching and listening nearby. Nolan turned to him. “That should take care of getting inside, if he’s telling the truth. Can you get someone to take care of this guy, Lt? It’s about time we started the assault.”

“Yeah, Whitman, where are you?”

Jack Whitman appeared a couple of seconds later.
 

“Take care of this prisoner, Jack. We may need him again, so don’t let anything happen to him.”

“I’ve got it.”

He took hold of the man’s arm and led the Minister into the right-hand tunnel branch. Boswell called the Platoon to cluster around him.
 

“Brad, I need a rearguard. Stay here and watch our six. You’re designated,” he paused, and smiled. “Bravo Six. I don’t want to get trapped inside the compound if anyone comes in behind us.”

Brad Rose cursed under his breath, “Who the hell wants to be left behind at this moment?” But he nodded his agreement.

“We’ll go in hard and fast,” Boswell continued. “I want you right behind me. I’ll pull the door open. Will, you can go in first and clear any obstacles in our way. Lucas, you stay with him. Remember, this is it. There are hostiles the other side, so keep sharp. And if you see this Riyad character, you know what is required of us.”

Bryce nodded. “Copy that.”

“Chief, you’ll come in behind me with Captain Noguchi. We may need her language skills if we have to question anyone. The rest of you, we’ll split into two squads when we’re inside. I want half the men to follow me, the rest go with Will. If we don’t find Riyad the other side of this door, and the action spreads through the main house, I’ll take the first floor and hold it. Will, you take the second and third floors. Chief, you hold the rear with Mariko and wait for orders. Make sure you guard against anyone coming into the house from outside. Any questions?”

There were no questions. It was a simple plan, and simple plans were always the best. Boswell nodded, satisfied.

“Will, Lucas, do it. Let’s go.”

The Lieutenant put his hand on the rusty metal bar. At first nothing happened. He pushed harder and hammered hard until it finally gave and slid back. The wall swung out into the tunnel, revealing a short passage, no more than a meter long. They pointed their weapons inside. All that was revealed was an empty space with no signs of life. Will ran forward with his squad on his heels, and entered. A few seconds later, his voice came over the commo.

“There’s no one in here, but we’re in the right place. The bunker system looks like it has several rooms. We’ll check them out one by one, but I don’t see anyone down here.”

“Copy that,” Boswell replied. “Second squad, stand by. We’re moving in.”

They crept forward, and then Nolan’s whole world erupted in smoke and flame. As his brain registered ‘stun grenade’, he was automatically diving for cover as a huge shockwave sucked the breath out of his body. Everything went dark as his NV goggles overloaded, and he wrenched them off. Mariko was lying on the ground groaning, and he crawled over to her.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, it wasn’t the grenade. Someone hit me.”

She got to her feet, and he looked around.

Chutani Muhammad, the bastard’s gone. So much for making deals with politicians. Where the hell is Whitman?