Easy Day for the Dead (2 page)

The sound of the helos became louder. Alex's left eye wasn't looking through the scope, but it remained half open. He marveled as the Black Hawk blades whipped the smoke into a frenzy.

One Black Hawk hovered above the target building with its skids almost touching the roof. White shapes jumped out onto the roof—SEALs. They quickly blew a hole through the roof and entered the top floor of the building from above. If intel was correct, they'd land in the hallway. If intel was wrong, they could take a flight down the stairwell.

A second Black Hawk landed in the street, kicking up dust and trash, which did obscure Alex's vision. More SEALs hopped off. Four SEALs ran to the four corners outside the building to seal it off while the rest stacked up at the main door. A loud bang and brilliant burst of light marked the detonation of a flash-bang grenade. The SEALs burst through the front door a moment later.

Alex scanned the middle smoky area through his thermal sight—no threats. He panned to the right and up to the top of a building, where he spotted a white silhouette, but instead of holding an AK-47, the terrorist held a much larger, black object.

Damn!
It was a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG). Alex's heart jumped. He placed his crosshairs on the terrorist's neck to compensate for the distance and squeezed the trigger. The shot hit the terrorist in the gut, folding him in half like a lawn chair.

In Alex's earphone, he heard the SEALs continue their assault. He scanned back to the target building and saw a figure drop out of a second-story window. The figure stood up and limped away from the building, heading through the smoke toward Alex.
Is he limping from the fall, or is he Verbal? Is he a SEAL?

“Rover Team, Rover Team, this is Ambassador,” Alex said. “One unidentified just jumped from a second-story window, south side. He's moving south across the street and limping, over.”

“This is Rover Five, south corner. I don't see him. Is he in the smoke?”

“Affirmative,” Alex said. “He's limping through the smoke toward my position.”

For several agonizing seconds the radio remained silent.

“He's not one of ours, Ambassador. I repeat, he is not one of ours. You are free to engage, over,” the SEAL said.

Alex was tempted to take the shot then and there, but there was no way the other SEAL could be 100 percent sure, could he?

When the limping figure exited the smoke, Alex still couldn't recognize his face through the thermal sight. Alex took his eye off
the thermal scope and looked through the Leupold scope. The world and all its color came into view, but he lost the man with the limp.

Alex laid Betty down on the deck, so it wouldn't slow him down. He leaned over on his left side and drew his pistol just as a bullet cracked the sound barrier where his head had been.
Countersniper!
He crawled to the steps and down them. On the second floor, he rushed to the next set of stairs. Without thinking, he almost ran down them, but the sight of the claymore reminded him he needed to disarm the mine. He did.

Boom!

Did the claymore blow up in my face? No, it's still in one piece. Was I shot? I don't feel any pain.

Alex remembered the front door. He walked down the steps and looked at the front door. The claymore there had detonated and the door was shredded. The person who had picked the lock was shredded, too. Blood had splashed all over the ground and into the street. When Alex stepped outside, he slipped on the blood and almost fell. He examined the face and upper row of teeth, but they weren't gold: this wasn't Verbal.
Who was it?

Alex went back in the house and set up his claymore on the first stair landing before returning to the roof. He carefully retrieved his rifle without exposing himself. Then he descended to the second floor. Staying far back from the window, he scanned the area through his sniper scope, but he couldn't spot the countersniper. He checked Jabberwocky's position—he was gone, too. He'd probably returned to the helo.
I better move my ass, or I'll miss my ride, and I do not want to walk through booger-eater territory in broad daylight.

Alex disarmed his claymore, grabbed what was left of the mysterious lock picker on the first floor, and dragged him to the helo. Alex looked inside the helo for his sniper mentor, but he wasn't there. “Where's Jabberwocky?” Alex asked.

“You didn't hear?” a SEAL with a bushy beard asked.

“Hear what?” Alex asked.

The SEAL shook his head. Minutes later, two SEALs loaded Jabberwocky's body onto the helo. Blood covered his face, which was swollen from a bullet wound. His trousers were torn and wet like he'd been shot in the crotch several times. The helo lifted up, but Alex felt a part of him had been left on the ground.

M
AJOR
G
HOLAM
K
HAN STOOD
at the doorway of the American safe house, looking down at the blood-splattered ground. The infidels had taken Abubakar Sawalah's body. Khan knew Abubakar was dead. There was no way he could have survived the blast. The amount of blood and bits of brain matter on the ground made that clear. Khan crouched down, placing himself where he imagined Abubakar had been the moment he was killed.

It was his fault Abubakar was dead. Khan had told him to work his way toward the house across the street where the second American sniper was hiding. The boy, just twenty-one years old, was always eager to please. With a quick mind and sharp eye he was easily Khan's best student. He had all the potential to be a shooter as good as Khan himself, maybe even better. But his youthfulness made him reckless. Khan knew that, but in the middle of the fight there had been no time to caution the young man. Khan stood up. He would have gone through a window, maybe even climbing the wall to the second story. It would have taken time, but it would have been unexpected.

A Shiite fighter ran up to him out of breath. “Sir, I am sorry, but we must leave. American patrols are coming.”

Khan waved the man away, but he did turn and follow after him. There was nothing more to see here. He had the satisfaction of killing one of the snipers, of that he was sure, but the other had lived. It was, what was the saying . . . a draw. He spit on the ground.

He didn't play for draws.

M
ajor Gholam Khan didn't give much thought to who he was ordered to kill. He'd done the deed many times before, and he thought tonight's assignment would be one of his easier tasks. Now he was in a highly secret and secure Iranian biological weapons lab. As a member of the elite Quds Force within Iran's Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution—the Revolutionary Guard—Major Khan moved about the country with ease. It was widely known, if not spoken about in public, that the Quds' mission was to export Iran's vision of Islam abroad by financing, training, equipping, and organizing foreign revolutionary units. Moreover, the Quds reported directly to the Supreme Leader of Iran, the Ayatollah himself. That made Major Khan all but untouchable, at least in his country. After almost being captured in Iraq several years ago, however, Major Khan had been ordered home. Greeted as a hero, he nonetheless felt cheated. He'd groomed several Shiite countersniper teams in Iraq, many of whom were killed after he left.

Major Khan opened the door to a classroom within the facility and stepped in. A podium with a chair on either side of it stood at the front of the classroom. Behind the podium and chairs a large
Iranian flag covered the whiteboard. In front of the podium were tables and chairs for fifty people. Major Khan had arrived early. It was the sniper in him. To his surprise he saw he wasn't the first. Scientists, assistants, and workers were already filling the seats. It occurred to him that their early arrival had more to do with fear of being late. A few, perhaps, were actually eager to see the star of the show, General Behrouz Tehrani, one of Iran's greatest leaders from the Iran-Iraq War and a celebrated hero. Major Khan took a seat next to the podium and waited for the general's arrival.

Captain Rapviz Shokoufandeh entered the room. Khan and Rapviz had been friends for years, a rare instance of comradeship for Khan. Rapviz nodded at Khan and walked to stand behind the podium. He coughed and then spoke into the microphone: “When General Tehrani enters the room, please stand until he says to be seated.”

The crowd stirred.

Five minutes later, General Tehrani entered, putting his black cell phone in his pocket as he did so. It was a subtle but powerful gesture. He was a busy man, an important man. He wore shiny black boots, an olive drab uniform, and four golden stars on his epaulettes. He was a thin man with a white beard that gave him a distinguished appearance.

The crowd stood.

His voice roared, “Take seats.”

The scientists and others sat down. Some watched him nervously. Others watched him with anticipation.

General Tehrani stood behind the podium studying them for a moment.

The audience waited for him to speak.

“People, the so-called Arab Spring in Iran is bullshit,” General Tehrani began. Those who'd never heard him unedited were clearly shocked by his speaking style, especially the Arab-Iranian scientist sitting near the front. “We are not Arabs. We are Iranians. True
Iranians love their Ayatollah and their government. True Iranians love their families. True Iranians love themselves. We don't give a damn about any Arab Spring in Iran. It isn't going to happen. Ever. You are here because you worked harder than everyone else and because you're smarter than everyone else. True Iranians are hard workers and intelligent.” He paused and scanned the audience.

“Now I am told,” he continued, “that we're maintaining production levels of MBD21. I don't want to maintain shit. Maintaining is what Americans do. We're going to increase production until we have enough bacterium to obliterate half the American population.”

Some in the crowd let out their enthusiasm: “Yes!”

“We are true Iranians, and true Iranians don't wait for Americans to kill Iranian families. True Iranians protect their families by killing Americans first. You are the brightest people with the best equipment in the world. We can't fail now. We've come too far. We must never give up. We must never let the infidels win. I know it hasn't been easy, but don't let this moment fall into mediocrity. We must work harder than ever. Show the infidels what we can do. Become mean, insanely aggressive. Cut the infidels' hearts out. We must want this more than life itself. This moment will be the greatest for Iran. We must defend our families and country. In the same way I use bullets and bombs, you use science. Will you fight for your families and country with me?”

The scientists applauded: “Yes!” The Arab-Iranian scientist's response was weaker than that of the others. In contrast, the scientist with a crooked nose who sat next to him applauded louder than everyone else.

“Will you fight for your families?”

“Yes!” the crowd cheered. The Arab-Iranian scientist continued to respond weakly. Major Khan recognized him as a brilliant scientist who placed little value on politics and speeches.

“Your honor?”

“Yes!”

“That's the spirit. Let's do this! Maybe Iran will fall into mediocrity someday. But not today.”

Major Khan stood and then walked over to the weakly responding scientist. All of the scientists were smart, but not all were wise. From beneath his jacket, Major Khan swung out his shoulder holster containing a sound-suppressed MPT-9KPDW, the Iranian copy of the German MP5K-PDW short submachine gun. The weapon remained attached to his shoulder holster and the folding stock remained folded, allowing him to fire quickly with the submachine gun still in its holster.

The Arab-Iranian scientist leaned back in his chair and put his hands out in front of his face. “No! Please, no!”

The crowd became silent.

Major Khan stood in front of the scientist, taking an angle that wouldn't injure others. Not that Major Khan cared about their lives—he cared only about the mission, and this mission needed scientists. Major Khan pivoted, and pointed his gun at the scientist with the crooked nose, the one who had applauded louder than the others. He waited for the man's eyes to register what was happening and then squeezed the trigger, firing a short burst. A single shot to the head would have sufficed, but the general had wanted something loud and exceptionally violent.

General Tehrani cleared his voice and patiently waited for the assembled scientists to direct their attention back to him. “Applauding loudly when I'm around is one thing, but slackening effort when I'm not around is another. It sets a bad example—it's bad for morale.”

One of the scientists began applauding loudly. No one followed his example—they were too much in shock to move.

A
lex Brandenburg wandered the aisles of the supermarket without noticing the food. His mind was on a mission. More specifically, the fact that he and the Outcasts' SEAL Team didn't have one. As the very sharp edge of Operation Bitter Ash, the black ops program that grew out of Operation Phoenix and the targeted killings of North Vietnamese communists during that war, Alex expected the missions would come fast. There was no end to terrorists looking to do America and her allies harm. Administering a lead aspirin at high velocity seemed just the ticket to cure what ailed these sick bastards, but so far the phone hadn't rung. Instead, just like when he was on the regular Teams, downtime stretched to seeming eternity while he waited for another chance to suit up.

Realizing he'd wandered into the cat food section, he decided to focus on the mission at hand—buying groceries. The food quality at the Navy Exchange and local supermarkets was okay, but Alex preferred the quality of foods available at Whole Foods. Until recently, the nearest one was located just outside Richmond, nearly a two-hour drive from his home in Virginia Beach, where he was stationed at SEAL Team Six. Of course, Alex could put the cold foods
in a cooler to keep them fresh for the drive home from Richmond, but he was on standby, and if Team Six called, he had only one hour to get his ass on the plane and be ready for the brief—and driving over one hundred miles an hour down Interstate 64 didn't seem like a wise option. Thus, Alex eagerly attended the newly opened Whole Foods store in Virginia Beach.