Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut (4 page)

Jensen was furthest away, faced by two Arabs. They were both armed with wicked looking daggers, and one was pointing at the Patek Philippe. Their intention was obvious, but the Commissioner was either very brave or a fool. He shook his head.

"Do you know who I am? You can't just rob a Commissioner of the United Nations. My security staff will hunt you down, and you'll spend a long term in prison."

One of the men grabbed his wrist and tried to wrestle the watch away from him, but Jensen resisted. The other man hissed out a warning.

"Give us the fucking watch, infidel. We don't give a shit who you are. Hand it over, or we'll cut your wrist off. We want your wallet as well, and you'd better make it fast. Unless you want us to cut your throat first and leave you choking and bleeding to death on the floor."

With a shrug, Jensen gave in and started to unstrap the Patek Philippe. Talley had had enough. Even though the unlikeable bureaucrat had done him no favors, he couldn't see any man robbed by a pair of murderous Arabs. He wasn't carrying a weapon, but he had something else; long and bitter experience of dealing with men just like these. He stepped forward.

"Let him go!"

They swung around to face him, and both smiled when they saw he wasn't armed.

"Fuck off, Mister. Unless you want a knife in your guts and blood on your pretty uniform."

Talley walked forward slowly and calmly, his hands outstretched, palms upward. As if to say, 'look, I'm unarmed. You've nothing to fear from me.' The man who'd made the threats came to meet him, his knife pushed forward ready to stab. He had the stance of someone who knew how to use a knife.

Which Arab doesn't?

He swung, just as expected. The knife was aimed at his stomach, and Talley moved slightly, allowing it to slash empty space. As it went past, he gripped the man's arm and used the forward momentum to jerk upward. There was a loud crack as the bone dislocated from the shoulder, and the Arab screamed in pain. He kneed him in the groin just to make sure, and pushed him to the floor, moving to meet the second man, who was already coming at him.

"You will die for that, infidel," the man spat at him.

His knife slashed side-to-side and forced Talley back. And then it came in a fierce stabbing motion, calculated to finish the uneven fight. In the blink of an eye, the knife disappeared, only to reappear in his left hand, flashing toward his eyes. Talley was ready for it; he swept the thrust aside, pulled the man closer, and butted him in the face. The Arab’s eyes closed momentarily as the bones in his nose gave way, and blood poured out of his nostrils. He quickly opened his eyes, realizing the danger, but he was a fraction of a second too late.

The hard edge of Talley's right hand smashed into his windpipe, cutting off his cry of pain, and he sagged to his knees, gasping for air. He wavered for a few moments, looking at his knife, which had fallen to the floor. Talley kicked it away and swiveled, to connect his boot with the man's stomach. Whatever air was left in his lungs whooshed out with a sound that echoed around the bathroom. He fell to the floor next to his accomplice. Talley picked up both knives and turned to Jensen.

"Are you okay, Sir?"

The Commissioner nodded, stunned by the sudden violence. "I, I think so…"

"I'll get you out of here, and I'll go find the airport cops to take these two guys into custody. The Israelis will take a dim view of attempted robbery in a high security area."

The Dane was frozen, so Talley took hold of his sleeve and gently led him out of the bathroom. It occurred to him he still hadn't taken a piss, and he smiled to himself.

It can wait.

Jensen was still in a state of shock as they spoke to a pair of cops who were nearby. They rushed into the bathroom to pick up the Arabs and led them away. Only then did Jensen find his voice.

"Commander, I don't know how to thank you enough. Those men would have killed me for my possessions."

"I doubt it. They just wanted to rob you."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. I still think they were intent on doing me harm. You wanted a ride to Beirut? My aircraft leaves in forty minutes. You'd be more than welcome to join us as an honored guest. And please accept my apologies for earlier. I get a lot of odd requests, as you can imagine."

"I'd be very grateful for the ride, Sir."

"Is there anything else you need?"

Apart from a piss?

"No, Sir."

Jensen nodded and shook his hand. "Very well, I will see you on the aircraft."

The diplomat managed to stand erect and seemed to change back in an instant, recovering his poise after the shock of the attempted robbery. Once again he was the smooth, confident UN Commissioner. He gave his rescuer a final look and walked away.

Talley found another bathroom and managed to relieve himself. Then he returned to the departure lounge and found the VIP section. Jensen had told them he'd be on the flight, and they led him straight to the luxurious aircraft.

The Gulfstream G550 was a long-range business jet. Not only was it fitted with every conceivable luxury; it was also capable of traveling vast distances without refueling. He sat down in the soft, sumptuous leather and admired the rich wood paneling inside the cabin. A pretty young cabin attendant came forward and offered him refreshments. It made no difference that they weren't due to take off for another twenty minutes. The rich and powerful traveled differently to everyone else. As he sat sipping his coffee, Jensen joined him.

"You like my aircraft?" It wasn't a question. "When it was first produced, one of these G550s flew nonstop from Seoul, South Korea, to Orlando, Florida. That's over seven thousand miles in fourteen and a half hours. It set a record, and for long-distance travel it can't be beaten. I find it more than useful for my work."

"I'll bear it in mind when I'm shopping for a jet."

The man frowned at his flippant remark. Then his stern face relaxed into a smile.

"No doubt. Tell me, why is it so urgent you reach Beirut tonight?"

He explained about the girls who had gone missing from the El Al flight.

"It's been more than twenty-four hours, and every hour that goes by means they could be that much further away."

"I take it one of these young women means a lot to you?"

"Yeah, Nava Khalil, she's Jewish, from a lost tribe who were trapped in Syria. They finally managed to get permission to leave, and now she's lost."

"You don't know that for sure," the diplomat pointed out.

Talley shook his head. "Two Jewish girls, missing in an Islamic country, in a city that is erupting into full-scale violence, there's no other explanation."

"They could be sheltering from the fighting. Unless they were caught up in it, in which case you may have to face the possibility that…"

The man didn't finish, but it was clear what he meant. They could be dead. He felt the cold chill of loss, but only for a moment. He stared at the Dane.

"She's alive. I'll bring her home, just as soon as I locate her. The other girl too, if that's what she wants."

"In that case, I wish you luck. And again, my thanks for saving me at the airport."

* * *

It was a short flight from Ben Gurion to Beirut, and a half-hour after take off, the Gulfstream wheels smacked down on the Lebanese tarmac. It immediately veered as the pilot steered violently away from a shell that exploded less than a hundred meters away. He taxied at high speed along the runway and came to a stop close to the terminal. The airport was in chaos, lit by the flashes of exploding shells, and the tracer fire of machine guns as the rebels traded shots with the Lebanese Army. The second the wheels stopped turning, the pilot instructed the crew to open the doors and lower the airstair. They raced across the stand and soldiers escorted them to safety inside. The airport manager ran up to them, sweating with anxiety in his efforts to greet the VIP, but Talley pulled him to one side.

"I need to get into the city, right now. Can you help me? Where can I find transport?"

The man was short and obese, his expression screwed up with anxiety. He was dabbing at his perspiring face with a handkerchief.

"Transport? Impossible, no taxis or buses are running. You'll have to wait until morning."

"What about a hire car?"

The man gave him a pitying glance. "You don't understand. There is a full-scale battle underway in the city, and the Lebanese Army has closed the roads. There is no way to reach Beirut tonight. You must wait here until morning."

Before Talley could reply, a line of bullets stitched through the windows of the terminal and drilled holes in the plasterwork twenty feet from where they stood. His training took over, and he shouted at Jensen's group.

"On the floor! All of you."

They looked at him in astonishment for a moment, but he shouted again, and they hit the dirt. He crouched low and ran over to them.

"Those shots came from inside the fence. It means the airport is under attack. You need to ensure the Army establishes a strong defensive perimeter around the terminal. Tell them they have to hold it at all costs."

He looked out the window onto the tarmac as the landing lights suddenly flicked out, and the area was plunged into darkness. Then the terminal lights went out, but the emergency lights came on. In the dim illumination, he saw a squad of soldiers rush into the terminal. They spotted Jensen's party and an officer, a captain, ran toward him.

"Sir, we've come to take you to a safe place," he shouted, "You must follow us."

Jensen nodded his agreement and looked at Talley. "You should come with us. There's no way you can reach the city tonight."

"Maybe not, but I'm still going."
 

Jensen gave him a sad look. "She means that much to you?"

"That much, and a whole lot more."

"Then I wish you luck, Commander. I hope we will meet again."

Before Talley could reply, the soldiers hustled Jensen away. He strode toward the nearest exit in the almost empty building, still lit up by the flashes of exploding shells.

* * *

It took him four hours to cover the first mile, and he was only halfway to the city. He’d dodged scores of uniformed and civilian militias, soldiers, and cops. It seemed half the city was armed and out for trouble. He hadn’t a clue who most of them were, or what or whom they represented. They were Arabs with guns; it was a simple equation. They were the kind of men he’d fought for so long. The kind of men who would kill without compassion to perpetuate their absurd notions of truth, religion, and morality. Their truth was carried in the brass jacket of a 7.62mm bullet.

At times he was reduced to crawling along the rubble-strewn ground. Beirut was no stranger to violence, and the broken masonry was like an indelible part of the landscape. It was as if the city welcomed the fresh damage like an old friend. Time was a problem, and at the slow speed he was going, it would be daylight before he reached the city. He would lose his greatest advantage, maybe his only advantage. Darkness. He watched a line of five trucks race past him, coming from the airport. They were the infamous 'Technicals', converted trucks mounting a heavy machine gun or artillery piece in the bed. All of them were crammed with armed men, and he hugged the ground to make sure they didn’t spot him. Going up against a truck mounted anti-aircraft gun armed only with a handful of rocks wasn’t his idea of good odds.

He crawled forward again. The battle was growing bigger by the minute, as each side brought up reinforcements and fired off heavier artillery. He knew if he didn’t make it now, the city could be closed off to him forever.

He inched forward again and stopped as a shadowy line of fighters moved in single file less than twenty meters away. If they saw him, they'd kill him, no question. He was unarmed and unable to defend himself. Yet he was clearly soldier. He may as well have a target painted on his back. Dead, he would be no use to Nava. They moved on, although they were still close. Meter by meter, he kept moving from one pile of rubble to another, hugging the folds in the ground, knowing that every step took him nearer to the woman he loved.

I’m coming, Nava, wherever you are. Hang in there, and don’t do anything stupid. I’ll get you out, and soon you’ll see the city of Jerusalem, surrounded by the fertile fields of oranges, irrigated by clear streams of running water; the land of milk and honey.

His flinched as his cellphone vibrated. He grinned to himself; even in the middle of a battle zone, the damn things still had the capacity to divert you when you needed it the least. But he couldn’t turn it off. Nava had his cell number, so it was possible she was calling for his help. And he was using the earpiece, so there was no sound to alert an enemy.

It wasn’t Nava. The voice of the NATFOR commander in Brussels came into his ear.

“Talley? Where are you?”

He had to whisper, “Beirut.”

”What’s that? Beirut, you said?”

“Yes.”

“Whereabouts in Beirut? Speak up man. I can’t hear you very well.”

He murmured into the phone, conscious of the fighters only fifty meters away.