Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria (34 page)

"You thought that would work, luring me into this hole. A pity for you I didn't let go of my weapon. And now it’s time for…"

"Look down, Hafiz."

The Major regarded them for a moment, as if this was another trap. He took a swift glance into the base of the hole he knelt in and wailed a loud shriek of terror. The legs of his pants were saturated. Yellow. And then the pain came. "Allah and all his prophets save me, what have you done?"

He screamed again, long and loud, and threw his rifle aside, all thoughts of vengeance forgotten. He managed to climb out of the hole, and they watched him run away, as if that would mitigate the effects of the gas. He made about twenty meters before the toxin reached his lungs. They got to their feet and watched him writhing in terror, suffering the same fate as so many of his previous victims. He couldn't speak, couldn’t draw breath, and as his organs broke down, his hands clutched at his throat while he failed in the attempt to suck in air. His eyeballs bulged out in the full horror of the death that was about to overtake him, and he began to jerk as his body went into spasm. He rolled around on the ground for a time, and then lay on his back gasping like a beached fish.

His movements stopped, but it was an illusion, and he suddenly threshed around violently. Dying. Experiencing a taste of what he'd done so many others. Finally, he gave out a choked, sucking sound, and he fell dead.

"Satisfied?" Jesse asked him.

"Yep.” He looked at the man, trying and failing to feel compassion for such a terrible death. "It's as bad an end as I could have wished for him, so it's some justice for all those people he tortured and killed."

He heard a click in his earpiece, and Guy's voice came through.

"Echo One, this is Two. You need to get back here. The Israeli trucks are close, so we'll be loading up and getting out of Dodge."

"We'll be right there."

"Any problems, Boss?"

"Nope. Not anymore."

Lod Air Base – Endgame

They returned with evidence, enough to satisfy even the most peace-loving members of the Israeli Defense Ministry. Almost two hundred Syrian shells loaded with CX9, hard to ignore. As well as the statement of the treacherous Israeli scientist Professor Benjamin Rothstein, the man who'd sold his nation to the Islamists in exchange for his thirty pieces of silver. If there’d ever been any concerns about repercussions for an unauthorized, unsanctioned operation, they’d disappeared. As for the men who’d buried their heads in the sand, and vowed to trust their Syrian neighbors, they suffered the normal fate of politicians who miscalculated badly and put their nation at risk. Nothing.

Once inside Israel, Echo Six had been transferred to waiting Israeli Black Hawk helos and flown to Lod Air Base, apart from Rothstein, who was led away by grim-faced Mossad agents. On arrival, they were debriefed by Admiral Brooks' Israeli contact.

"On behalf of the Israeli government," a smiling Major-General Weiss informed them, "we are grateful for what you have achieved. If the Syrians had carried out their plan, this nation would have been embroiled in another war. This time, the outcome may have been different. I won’t tire you with a long speech, as I can see you’re exhausted after what you’ve been through. We have rooms prepared, and we’ll issue you with new clothes for the journey home." He smiled. "I assume you'd prefer not to travel in Syrian uniforms. Tell me, is there anything I can do for you?"

Brooks was already shaking his head, but Talley wasn't done, and he had a couple of requests.

"I think we'd all like to know what happened to Benjamin Rothstein."

Weiss frowned. "He’s in prison. For his crimes, he should face the noose. Here in Israel, capital punishment is allowed during wartime for genocide, crimes against humanity, war crimes, treason, and crimes against the Jewish People. We are currently at war, the Arab-Israel war. Therefore, these crimes can result in the death penalty. However, we feel that Mr. Rothstein has a great deal to tell us about our Arab friends across the border. Therefore, he’ll be kept alive, and we’ll pump him for everything he knows."

"And then?"

The General shrugged. "We’ll make an agreement with him, his life in return for information. And unlike our Islamic neighbors, when we make an agreement, we keep it.”

“And then?”

“He’ll spend the rest of his life in the deepest, darkest cell we can find."

"It's no worse than he deserves," Talley mused. "He almost single-handedly managed to destroy the State of Israel, and a lot of good people died as a result."

Many of them my people, Echo Six people.

"But he failed," Weiss smiled, “like his Arab friends tried before him, and failed. They all failed.
 
Even the Minister of Defense, Pasha Jalali, has been arrested. The word is he'll be executed tomorrow. Perhaps these countries will one day learn to live the way we do, in democracies where people have freedoms and rights. Good housing, hospitals, and jobs. Then they’d have no need to constantly target Israel and the other Western countries.”

He was in no mood for a politics or a philosophy lecture. None of them were.

"The Syrian boy, Ali. You'll take care of him?"

"We don't turn our backs on those who help us, regardless of their religious beliefs. Is that all?"

"Not quite. That operation you conducted to rescue those lost Jews from Ethiopia, do you recall it?"

He nodded. "Of course. Operation Solomon. We were worried about the fate of Ethiopian Jews when the government looked as if they were about to lose their fight with Islamist rebels. The Muslims would have given them a hard time, possibly even murdered them. We arranged to get them out. As I recall, we used thirty-four Israeli aircraft, C-130s and El Al cargo planes, to transport more than fourteen thousand Ethiopian Jews to safety in Israel. Why do you ask?"

He explained about the Jews in Salmeh. "They didn't want to leave either, but their situation has become precarious."

Weiss nodded. "I understand. And these people helped you?"

"A great deal." He thought of Nava, the beautiful Jewess. "Some of them showed incredible bravery, and I'd like to see them safe back in Israel."

And one of them in particular. Am I being stupid, or expecting too much of her? After all, it was fleeting, just a meeting of two people under maximum stress. It’d be worth finding out. Definitely.

"If we can locate these people, you can take it from me we will put every effort into bringing them home."

“Perhaps you can keep Admiral Brooks posted about how the operation goes?”

“I will make certain he’s kept informed. Is there anyone in particular you are interested in?”

He could feel them all staring at him, and his face glowing red with embarrassment.

“Uh, yeah, I guess.”

Rovere rose to the occasion. “Doubt thou the stars are fire. Doubt that the sun doth move. Doubt truth to be a liar. But never doubt my love.”

He mumbled, “Shut up, Dom.” But the genie was out of the bottle, or maybe it’d never been in the bottle. His troopers didn't miss much. He changed the subject, to give him time to think.

"How is Rebecca Dayan?"

"She's still seriously ill, that head wound was bad.
 
But we expect her to make a full recovery.
 
She just needs time."

"That's good to know.
 
And thanks for helping out with our wounded."

"How about your leg, Commander?"

"Sore, but I guess I'll live."

They spent more time going over what they'd encountered in Syria. Something had been bothering Talley ever since the Syrian missile hit their aircraft, killing and wounding many of his men, and almost ending the mission before it started.

Why did they shoot us down?

As far as he knew, the aircraft was inside Turkish airspace and should have been immune from attack. But they still shot it down. It didn't make any sense. It was almost as if the Syrians knew they were coming. That was impossible. No one outside of Echo Six knew about the operation, and no one inside Echo Six would have leaked it. The idea was abhorrent, and besides, who would leak information that may result in their death? When he mentioned it to General Weiss, he shook his head.

“I spoke to no one about that flight or your mission. It was classified SCI, Sensitive Compartmented Information. There’s no way it leaked from my side.”

Talley thanked him and put the thought to the back of his mind. It was something he could go over with the Admiral when they were safely back at NATO Headquarters in Brussels. The immense resources they could bring to bear should uncover something, some pointers to who was responsible. He reminded himself he had a date with that person. To make sure they paid for so many deaths and so much agony. It was a date he intended to keep, no matter what.

He brought himself up with a start as he realized General Weiss was speaking again.

"Just to let you know, the Syrians have already fired the first shot in the diplomatic war. They accused Israel of deploying chemical weapons on the Golan Heights. Needless to say, we all laughed when their protest came through. I guess they're pretty sore their own weapons blew back in their faces. Literally. But if I were you men, I'd stay out of Syria for a good long time, and if you do go back, make sure you have your backs well covered."

Brooks thanked him. "General, maybe one day we can look forward to launching a joint military operation to flush the crazies out of that miserable country."

Weiss smiled. "There's nothing I’d like better. The average Joe has suffered enough; it sure is time for a change. Sadly, the fanatics of the Free Syrian Army aren't like to give it to them. If they get power, the threat to Israel will be substantially greater than that from the Assad regime, and their population will be kept subjugated at the mercy of the Mullahs. It’s a depressing note to end the briefing, but I guess it’s time you guys got some rest.”

The meeting broke up, and they were shown to their quarters on the air base. Talley took a good long shower and changed into the new civilian clothes they'd provided. It felt strange to wear pants and a shirt again, with loafers on his feet, but a good feeling after so long in sweaty military camos. He lay on his bed, letting his mind run over the events of the past few days. So many dead and wounded, the times they'd come close to losing everything. So many kids sent to die in pointless battles by their cruel Islamic masters. And there was Nava. He resolved to visit when the Israelis got her people out of Salmeh. And that was a resolution he’d keep, no matter what. The phone on the bedside table rang, and he picked it up. It was Admiral Brooks.

"Commander, I've fixed up transport. It's laid on for tonight. NATO chartered a Boeing 777 out of Brussels. They'll refuel here, and then we can board and get home. I know your men are all due some leave, but first we’ll need a full debrief as soon as we get back."

"What about passports, Sir?"

"Travel documents are taken care of. The flight has also been cleared through air traffic control for the entire journey, so you don’t need to worry about any more Syrian missiles. Just take it easy, and they'll call you when the aircraft is boarding." He chuckled. "It's just us, so we'll have room to get plenty of shuteye on the way."

"That's good to know, Admiral."

Several hours later, Guy banged on the door and invited him to join them for drinks in the air base bar. But he turned them down, giving tiredness as an excuse. He didn't sleep. He had too much on his mind, thinking about the brave Jews who'd endured so much in that tiny, ramshackle settlement, hiding from the wrath of the brutal Islamic government. He couldn’t get Nava out of his mind.

Is she still alive?

The fury of the Syrians would know no bounds now their scheme to attack Israel had been thwarted. If they suspected for a moment the inhabitants of Salmeh were not what they pretended to be, they'd fall on them like a pack of rabid dogs. There was nothing Talley could do. He'd done everything he could; now it was in the lap of the gods. Those fickle gods of war, the mythical beings who decided who would win, and who would lose. Who would live, and who would die.

There was something more, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. The nagging question of how the Syrians had known to target their aircraft. It was an intelligence failure of huge proportions. Although he'd have to wait until they could run it down with the NATO intel specialists, he couldn't help speculating about the answer. The more he thought about it, the more incomprehensible, more impossible the puzzle became.

He finally dozed until the call came to board their flight. As Brooks had promised, it was a Boeing 777 reserved entirely for their use, so they traveled first class. He looked around at his men, relaxing in the overlarge, sumptuous seats. There were so few. He’d brought twice their number out of Cairo to jump into Syria. Someone had to pay for the leak that led to that disastrous missile strike. No way was it just chance, an accident, or some trigger-happy battery commander. It was a mystery, and he wouldn’t be able to rest until he’d solved it. He needed a name, the name of the rat that sold them out. When he had that name, someone would learn the price of their treachery.

They were still exhausted, lulled by soft seats and rounds of free liquor. After the cabin attendants served them still more drinks, they all dozed. He was only jerked awake by the cabin loudspeaker. They were coming in to land at Brussels. The aircraft touched down for a gentle landing, and they deplaned for the short walk to a discreet corner of the terminal reserved for NATO flights. Brooks handed over their travel documents to a bored-looking immigration officer, who glanced at them and waved them through.

Talley walked into the terminal with a slight limp, back on Belgian soil, and looking forward to a vacation, however short. And some answers. He still felt tired and dispirited, weighed down by the knowledge of those who hadn't made it back, and the one who’d brought about their deaths. He looked up casually as a man wearing a suit came toward him, but the words he spoke were anything but casual.

"You're under arrest!"

He stared at the man and recognized him almost instantly. FBI Special Agent Dwight Masterson, the man who'd born a grudge ever since the US operation to rescue Talley's sons from kidnappers. Masterson had made poor decisions, showing him to be an inept desk warrior. But they were Talley’s sons, and he’d taken over the rescue. He got the boys away safe, but it made the FBI man look a halfwit.

He stared at the FBI parasite. "Get out of here, Masterson. This isn't the US of A."

The man smiled. His eyes alight with triumph. "No, it isn't, but Belgium allows our people to operate here under a transatlantic agreement." Another man came up beside him. "Agent Breakspeare, put the cuffs on him. He is a prisoner and subject to FBI jurisdiction."

The man looked uncertain. "You sure, Sir? This man is military, part of NATO. I mean, arresting him is one thing, but putting the cuffs on a NATO Commander within spitting distance of their headquarters seems like overkill to me."

Masterson looked irritated. "Did you hear my order, Mister? I told you to put the cuffs on him. Do it, now!”