Read Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria Online

Authors: Eric Meyer

Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Military, #Spies & Politics, #Assassinations, #Terrorism, #Crime, #Mystery, #Thriller, #War & Military, #Thrillers

Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria (23 page)

BOOK: Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria
11.37Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

“No, I can’t show you. It’s too painful. The memory is awful."

“Did they hurt you on the back of your body or the front?”

A pause. “The back. Look, where are you going with this?” he spluttered. “I spent an entire day in hell! They worked me over badly. I nearly died. You should…”

“How?”

“Excuse me?”

“How did they beat you? Fists, boots, whips, an iron bar, what?”

“Er, they whipped me.”

He nodded at Rovere and Buchmann, who stepped forward. Rovere held him, struggling and shouting protests, while Buchmann seized his shirt and pulled it off in a single wrench. Rothstein went into a huddle, holding his arms around his body as if to protect it from their gaze. As well he might.

The skin on his back was like the rest of his body. The tanned skin of a person who had lived most of their life in the Middle East. Smooth, olive, unscarred. If there were any marks or scars, they'd healed up in record time. He started to jabber, tears streaming down his face.

"It's not what you think. It was terrible. They put so much pressure on me and…"

Buchmann's fist slammed into his stomach, and he lifted off the ground and sailed across the sand, landing in a heap next to a crude hut. He lay unmoving, whimpering. Buchmann started to move toward him, but Talley put up a hand.

"Leave him! You can have him later if he doesn't cooperate with us."

The German nodded and backed away. Talley helped him up.

"Professor Rothstein, tell us why you helped them. What was it? Blackmail?"

The Israeli was expressionless.

"Money?"

He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, and they all knew.

"How much did they pay you?"

He started to shake his head, but when Talley looked pointedly at the German hovering nearby, it all came out.

"You have to understand. I was broke, in debt. The Israeli government paid me peanuts. I was behind with my mortgage, and the bank was threatening to foreclose on my beach house. I would have been ruined, left penniless. It started as a simple transaction. They wanted me to give them the structure of a chemical compound. It was no use to them! But they said they would pay me ten thousand dollars, and I couldn't afford to pass it up."

"And then you were on the hook?" Brooks snapped out, his face full of contempt.

He nodded. "Yes, they had evidence of my dealings with them, and they threatened to pass it to Mossad if I didn't do as they said. A few weeks ago, they told me they needed me to work on a project inside Syria. They arranged for my apparent abduction, using the cover of the terrorist raid on the Cairo Embassy. They’d already started preparing the CX9, and it only needed the addition of a catalyst to make it active. A few hours work, little more, and they promised me…"

"We get the picture," the Admiral interrupted. "How bad is this weapon?"

He looked around guiltily. "It all depends on the direction of the winds when it disperses. In general, a single shell will spread the gas around a radius of about one square kilometer."

"And the effect of this stuff? We saw it back at Sheikh Najjar. It seems to affect the victim's breathing."

Rothstein grimaced. "It is far worse than that. CX9 is a yellow gas, heavier than air. The delivery method, artillery shells, distributes the gas, but it sinks to the ground rapidly. It attacks lung tissue, and within minutes the lungs are rendered useless. Obviously, death follows very quickly. But the gas is only active for a short time, and then it becomes inert, so it’s an ideal weapon. It means troops can follow the gas attack within hours to take ground.

"And the antidote?" Brooks prompted.

He shook his head. "There is no antidote, not yet. My next task was to work on a drug that would counter the effects of the gas; perhaps it could be injected into those troops who were using the weapon. But so far I have had no success."

The Admiral closed his eyes briefly. "Jesus Christ, so you're telling me anyone who is downwind of one of those shells is a dead man?"

"Yes, that's true."

Talley felt his anger grow. The man had clearly not told them everything. He stepped forward and gripped Rothstein by the neck. "I could take you apart myself if you don't help us put a stop to this. We have to know where they took those shells? Tell us the location, or I hand you over to Buchmann."

Rothstein resisted at first, shaking his head and burbling protests.

"They'll find out I told you, and they'll kill me."

"No, we’ll kill you if you don’t level with us, I guarantee it. Believe me, if I give you to Heinrich, what he does to you will be a thousand times worse than anything the Syrians could do. By the time you die, you'll be a lump of bloody gristle, unrecognizable as a man."

"No, no, please, you must understand. I can’t.”

"Buchmann! Take him. He's all yours."

The big German loomed forward and stretched out a hand to grab the scientist. The threat was enough to convince him.

"All right, all right. I will tell you. It’s a small village called Al Jasan, about ten kilometers from the border with Israel. The entire place has been taken over and fortified by the Syrian Army. It’s impossible to attack. There's an artillery battery just outside the village. The guns have been modified to fire the gas shells."

"Do they store the shells in the battery?"

Rothstein flashed a look of defiance. "No, it would be too dangerous. They keep them in a place impossible to reach. A cellar beneath the village mosque."

Brooks nodded. "I'll get back to General Weiss. He’ll want a major response. Although what the Israelis will do with it, I've no idea. An airstrike, maybe but…"

Rothstein giggled. He'd become almost hysterical now his secret was out.

"You're wasting your time. They tried airstrikes against Hezbollah during the Israeli invasion of Lebanon, and all they did was dent the ground. The shells are stored deep in a reinforced bunker. They are unreachable by anything less than an atomic weapon. These people are not fools. Do you think it did not occur to them the Israelis might try destroying them from the air? No, if you want to save lives, the only way is to give in to the Syrians. Persuade Israel to pull back from the Golan Heights, and they say the West Bank must be restored to the Palestinians."

"The Palestinians never owned it. I thought it was Jordan that owned the West Bank," Brooks smiled. Rothstein didn't reply.

The Admiral wasted no more time on him. He left for the hut with the communications equipment, and Talley gave orders to Buchmann to secure Rothstein. "Don't hurt him, not yet. I've no doubt there are a lot of things he hasn't told us. Find somewhere to lock him up."

Buchmann nodded and dragged the man away. Rebecca Dayan had been silent, staggered by what she'd heard.

"I can't believe any Israeli would do what he did," she muttered to Talley.

"Me neither, but the fact is he did it. It's no good looking back, we have to go forward. Finish what we came here to do. The operation was to destroy the Syrian’s WMD capability, and so far we've only done part of the job."

She looked at him open mouthed. "You're not thinking of going to Al Jasan? You heard what he said; the place is impregnable. We'll have to leave it to the Israeli IDF."

He shook his head. "If they can't reach it from the air, the only way is a ground assault. And the moment the Syrians see the Israeli Army cross the border, they'll start lobbing shells. CX9 shells. Even with NBC suits, the casualties will be bad. Remember, the Syrians don't have to target the troops. They can threaten any town within range of their artillery. Even Jerusalem, if they use one of their missiles to carry the gas. The loss of life would be incalculable, and the Israelis would have no choice but to pull back. There's only one way to do this, and that's our way. A small unit to go in undercover and hit them hard before they see us coming."

She shook her head. "You're mad! You wouldn't stand a chance. Whichever way this plays out, my country will be damaged badly, perhaps permanently. The risk is too great."

She stormed away, and Rovere gave him a sympathetic glance.

"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more; it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

"What the fuck does that mean," he snapped.

The Italian smiled and shrugged. "She's just angry, forget it."

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"Because Shakespeare said it so much better.” He saw Talley’s glare. “I'll go and check on the sentries, Boss."

"Yeah, do that."

He found himself alone. The settlement was empty of life, except for the Italian who was striding toward one of his sentries. The man was tucked behind cover, watching the road to Aleppo. Talley decided to check on the wounded Syrian boy they’d brought in, and he went toward the doctor’s hut. As he reached it, Nava stepped out through the doorway. She gave him a shy smile.

"Can I help you, Abe?"

"I was just checking on the kid."

"He's fine. He's asleep. The Rabbi feels that because he is so young he will recover quickly. Perhaps you would like me to make you some tea. You will find it very refreshing."

"Yeah, that'd be great."

He followed her to her hut and went inside. It was unlit, dark, and cool. As his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, he saw the room was in was like the Rabbi’s hut, the walls covered with fine rugs, as was the floor. The effect was like being in a tent, a very plush, and very comfortable tent. The floor was strewn with cushions, and she indicated he should sit down.

“Would you like some tea now?”

He nodded. “Thanks, that’d be nice.”

She disappeared for a few minutes and came back with a silver tray carrying the pots and cups. She sat down as lithe and graceful as a ballet dancer. When they were both served, she gave him a warm smile.

"After what we shared, Abe, I feel I know so little about you. Tell me about yourself."

He talked for what seemed like forever. It was more like an hour, and he told her about his ex-wife, Kay, and his two sons, Joshua and James. She was interested in his military career, and he told her of his early days in the US Navy, then a stint in the Navy Seals after which he joined the NATO Special Forces outfit, NATFOR. Then they sat in silence, enjoying each other’s company.

"It's not going well, is it?" she said abruptly. Her face was grave. "I mean, if these Syrian pigs manage to fire off the CX9 shells, Israel will find it hard to respond. It could even be the end."

"They do have the nuclear option,” he pointed out. “They could threaten to fire a nuclear missile at Damascus. That would make the Syrians stop and think."

She sighed. "We've been there too many times before, threat and counter threat, and these Arabs always have an answer. Hezbollah. They use them as their lap dogs, to strike at Israel in the guise of an insurgent militia rather than using regular Syrian troops. How can Israel hit back at insurgents?"

"Maybe they should nuke Hezbollah," he grinned.

“It would be cruel, although the world would be a better place without them.” Her face darkened. "I hate them all! Those Muslim fanatics, they're not men. A bunch of sociopathic misogynists, women haters, who’ll stop at nothing to get what they want, no matter how many of their people are killed or suffer."

"What DO they want? What would satisfy them, and make them lay down their arms?"

"Are you serious?” she chuckled. “They will never lay down their arms. They seek an Islamic Caliphate in the Middle East, and then they’ll spread out and dominate more and more of their neighbors. They’ll never stop, and in the areas they control, like parts of Lebanon, they rule with the gun under the boot. Once they have power, the methods they use to gain supporters, building schools and hospitals, start to disappear. They run out of money, and an Islamic dictatorship is no way to run a nation’s finances."

He'd fought most of his battles against the Islamic fanatics intent on imposing their iron rule on an ignorant populace. Wherever they set foot, they screwed up just about everything it was possible to screw up. Their economies were often the first to go, as in Iran, which had been a prosperous nation until the Ayatollahs seized power. Since then, it had become a poverty stricken backwater, with a nation desperate to escape the grip of the Muslim fanatics, yet kept down under the guns of their militias, like the Iranian Revolutionary Guard.

And there was always enough cash to buy guns, armaments, and bomb making materials. Maybe one day the people would rise up and put a stop to the cruelty, but that day may be a long time coming. The communists had lasted eighty years in Russia, and that nation was still torn apart by their legacy of mismanagement and corruption.

I feel so powerless, facing the grip of such cruel and pervasive evil. All I can do is the job I'm paid to do. Keep fighting, and keep hitting the enemy. And let someone else worry about the bigger picture.

He started as she took his hand. She looked up at him, and he thought her more beautiful than ever.
 
And the scar, that was just part of her.

BOOK: Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria
11.37Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

One Letter by Lovell, Christin
Taken by Chris Jordan
Closer by Maxine Linnell
Requite by E. H. Reinhard
Judged by Viola Grace
The Launching of Roger Brook by Dennis Wheatley
Took by Mary Downing Hahn
Savage Tempest by Cassie Edwards
Chalice of Blood by Peter Tremayne