FATAL eMPULSE (42 page)

He raced down the hallway. As he rounded the corner, he yelled down to Alena, “All clear.”

“Copy that.”

As he approached, he thought he heard a moan. Getting closer, he saw the sound came from Shakeela, lying on the ground.

“Is she—?”

“Alive,” Alena said. “A ricochet caught her across the scalp, knocked her out. She caught a through-and-through in the upper thigh. No major arteries, just muscle. We need to get her out of here.”

He knelt beside Shakeela. “Hey, I hear you have a tough noggin. We’re going to get you out of here in just a few minutes.”

Shakeela started to shake her head, and then let out a groan.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Take it easy. Let’s—”

“You have to get that information, Gerrit.” Shakeela said through clenched teeth. “Find that information and get it to Jack and the others.”

“But—” he began, looking down at her leg.

“I’m going to make it. At least make this pain count for something. Get that information into the right hands.”

He glanced up at Alena, who nodded. He looked over at the fallen soldier and saw the man caught a round to the head. The soldier died at the hands of his own people.

Gerrit stood. “Okay, give me time to gather what I can.” He glanced at the dead man at his feet, knelt, and peeled back the man’s shirt. “And then I’m going to leave Hanano a little present.”

Kadar drove to the first Army patrol Jeep, parked near where his men had been ambushed, and brusquely moved to where the headlights pointed. Glancing down toward the pavement, he saw the bodies of his men scattered on the ground. They’d been ambushed.

Clenching his fist, Kadar moved among them and then glanced in the direction he assumed the weapons had been fired. One of his men from downtown had arrived before him and stood on the sidewalk, grimly watching Kadar.

Motioning the man over, Kadar waited until he was in earshot. “What do you have for me?”

“The shooters left their vehicle and stole another from the lot. The owner just reported it missing.” Kadar’s man looked down at his fallen comrades. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to track these people down and let me interrogate them—slowly.”

“Where will you be, sir?”

Kadar eyed the man. “I’ll be heading back to the command center. Call me with an update.”

They moved off in opposite directions, Kadar walking toward his car. He glanced at his watch. Dawn would be breaking in less than an hour.

Gerrit opened the command center door and methodically searched the room for information.

He pulled out his cell phone and began photographing and grabbing all the documents he could find that looked interesting. He only needed to gather enough to justify to the Israelis that they were on the right path. Later, when they had more time, they could search through this more thoroughly, sifting out the intelligence that might help them build the bigger picture here. Now was not the time.

Once he finished, Gerrit took out three bricks of C4, which he had ripped from the Syrian soldier’s chest, and a blasting cap triggered to fire when a string was pulled. Very carefully, he strung a wire from the explosives to the doorway, where he looped one end of the wire around the interior door handle before closing it. The next person who opened the door was in for the surprise of his life.

He grabbed his weapon and duffel bag, then raced down the hallway and rejoined Alena and Shakeela. He handed Alena the duffel bag and slung his rifle over his shoulder before kneeling. “I did what you asked, Shakeela. Now, can I get you out of here?”

Trying to smile, she nodded, groaning.

Gently, he brought her to a sitting position, slipped his arms beneath her, and carefully stood. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

Her arm tightened around his neck as she kissed his cheek.

March 15
Washington, D.C.

A
ir Force One lifted off the ground before making an arcing turn to the east. Frank Collord sat in a seat close to one of the windows and looked out at the lights below. It was 9:00 p.m. here in Washington, and he wondered how the operation was going in Syria. He estimated they were seven hours ahead, making it about 4:00 a.m on March 16.

He contacted Jack Thompson just before takeoff and learned that they had not been able to contact any of the team members in Damascus. The GPS tracking device seemed to show them all over the place—Max’s team at first at the airport, then on the outskirts of Damascus; Gerrit and Alena somewhere on the military base of the 4th Armored Division until their tracking broadcasts ceased. Either they went underground looking for Shakeela, their tracking microchips became compromised, or they were dead and the chips destroyed.

The American scientist’s microchip still beeped his location as being at the Damascus International Airport probably in military custody of some sort. And the last microchip, hidden aboard the An-26 aircraft, just sat there beeping, waiting for the launch. Max and his team had not reported in, although their tracking beacons showed them on the move again.

A Secret Service agent approached. “Sir, the president would like a word with you.”

Frank nodded, making his way to the president’s cabin. Another agent, standing near the door, opened it and gave him a quick nod. Frank returned the greeting before entering. “Mr. President, what can I do for you?”

Chambers looked up. “Frank, take a load off and tell me what our friends are doing overseas.”

Choosing a chair across from Chambers, Frank lowered himself, sighing. “I wish I could report progress, sir, but quite frankly they have me a little worried.” He quickly briefed the president, adding, “Unless they come up with something soon, Jack Thompson tells me the Israelis will have to move. They must make a decision before your trip to the Golan Heights. If Syria makes any aggressive moves, the die is cast.”

“And the others?”

Frank scowled. “Atash Hassan is in Tehran at the moment, Ivan Yegorov is getting drunk in Moscow, and the others—who knows.”

“What about this Muslim Brotherhood leader who visited our city? Mohamed Abul Fotouh.”

Raising his eyebrows, Frank looked at the president with surprise. With all the events President Chambers must be dealing with around the world, he still remembered all the names of this ongoing conspiracy without a staff member slipping him a cheat sheet. Speaking of staff, he noted that they were alone in this cabin. “The last we heard the man was in Damascus, trying to avoid Assad’s security detail. Raed, one of Hassan’s Syrian contacts, is watching over our American scientist at the airport.”

“Did you get the hardware Gerrit requested to the Israeli’s?”

Frank nodded. “Delivered and installed. Colonel Perlman said they are ready to launch as soon as we give the word—unless something else changes.”

Chambers folded his hands on the desktop, staring across the table at Frank. “Have they been able to locate Agent Vaziri?”

Frank leaned forward. “We’ve lost signals for all three—Shakeela, Gerrit, and Alena. They got onto the Army base to search for Shakeela, and then shortly thereafter we lost their signals. They may be underground—which would account for the lost signal—or they’ve been killed and the tracking devices destroyed. We’re waiting to find out.”

“Anything else?”

“One more thing, Mr. President. As part of the operation you authorized, Colonel Thompson ordered a Marine Force Recon unit to fly in along with the ordnance Gerrit requested. They are going to coordinate with the Israelis when the time comes—if anyone is left to pick up when the shooting stops.”

It was the president’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “The Marines? Why not our SEALs?”

Smiling, Frank leaned back in his chair. “Actually, Gerrit and Jack cooked this up. They both admire the SEALs—after all they are a part of the Marines, according to Gerrit—but they wanted their own guys backing Gerrit’s play when the time comes to get down and dirty.”

Chambers smiled. “I don’t have to tell you that I was a Navy pilot back in the Dark Ages. And that I prefer Navy over Marines.”

“Yes, sir, but I wouldn’t let the Marines hear that. Particularly Gerrit.”

“And yet you went ahead and authorized this action under my name?”

“Gave them your stamp of approval, sir.” Frank grinned broadly.

Chuckling, Chambers looked at him. “And when were you going to tell me?”

“Just told you, sir.”

Chambers placed both palms flat on the desk. “My point exactly, Frank. You tell me this when it is too late to change the operation.”

Frank tried to hide a smirk. And then he thought of the upcoming mission and his smile vanished. As he got up to leave, he prayed the GPS tracking signals from Gerrit and the others would go live. That the screens would show Gerrit alive and moving. So far, the grid maps showed no signs of life.

He returned to his seat near the window and stared out into the dark sky as they began to cross the Atlantic. He thought of Gerrit and the others, risking their lives out there somewhere while the rest of the world went about their normal routines, completely unaware of the sacrifices being made to keep them safe.

March 16
Al Horjelah, Syria

G
errit carefully laid Shakeela in the truck bed, putting a folded-up canvas bag behind her to brace against the metal. He placed her weapons beside her with a number of loaded magazines. “Alena will ride up front with me in case we run into trouble. Yell out if you need us, okay? It will be faster if we use your car and leave this tank behind.”

Shakeela nodded, but she was struggling with pain. She gave him directions where she’d parked it.

“Okay, try to get comfortable and I’ll make this trip as quick as possible without torturing you.”

Again, she nodded, her eyes squinting from the pain.

He leaped off the bed of the truck and dashed around to the driver’s side. Alena sat on the passenger side, waiting. “We lost our ticket out the front gate when they put a bullet in our prisoner’s head. I’ll have to make another exit.” He started up the truck and jammed the accelerator down.

As he veered to the west, away from the main security gate, he saw another vehicle pull off the highway and approach the front gate. A civilian vehicle, possibly a Mercedes-Benz. He continued on for about a mile along a stretch of the military base that seemed to be barren desert, a single cycle fence between them and the highway. He pulled away from the fence about fifty yards and parked.

Gerrit reached back and grabbed his satchel. “Give me a minute.” He ran to the fence, pulled out a small drum of detonation cord, and made two long strips running the height of the fence and linking them to the remaining brick of C4. He joined the two strips together and ran a burning fuse with enough delay to give him time to get back a safe distance. No time for finesse. This was going to be down and dirty—and leave a big hole. Once in place, he lit the fuse and took off running. Shakeela was right, Marines did like to make a lot of noise.

Kadar slowed at the security gate as he entered the military post, and parked near the building where his operations center had been set up. Dashing up the steps, he entered the building and immediately sensed something was wrong. Inside, he smelled the lingering odor of gunpowder. He pulled out his weapon and started upstairs when he saw the metal door to the underground facility standing open.

He passed through the open door, glancing at the body of one of his men blocking the door from closing. A few yards farther, he came across the dead body of a Syrian soldier he did not recognize. Anger made him grit his teeth. Carefully, Kadar crept down the hall, peering around the corner where the L-shaped passage led toward the command center. As he worked his way closer, he smelled an even stronger odor of spent gunpowder.

Slowly, Kadar moved toward the command center, the door to the center tightly closed. He reached the door and pressed his ear to the metal, straining to hear any noise from the other side.

Only silence.

Carefully, he grasped the handle, took a deep breath, and yanked. A second later Kadar’s world exploded.

Gerrit climbed into the truck and started the engine, staring at his watch.

Shakeela called out from the back. “What are you waiting for, Gerrit?”

“Just listen.” He watched the fence below. Suddenly an explosion ignited the sky to their west. He jerked his head in the direction of the noise. “Man, I wasn’t expecting that explosion so soon.” He used his binoculars to zoom in on where the blast took place. He saw a black Mercedes-Benz parked out front, smoke billowing from the building they just left. “Well, I’m not absolutely sure, but I think we can scratch one intelligence officer. I think Hanano just got himself killed.”

About thirty seconds later, Gerrit saw the dawn light brightened by another explosion that ripped through the air along the security gate. “That was the one I was expecting. When it comes to explosives, I’m Michelangelo.”

Alena gestured toward the torn fence. “Oh modest one, can we get out of here before the rest of the Army shows up?”

Gerrit drove toward the fence. One whole section had disappeared, leaving a gaping hole wide enough for a tank. He easily maneuvered through the gap. A moment later, he pulled out on the highway and headed toward where Shakeela left her car. He pulled into the parking lot alongside her car. In a few moments, they transferred their weapons and equipment to the little car, Gerrit making Shakeela as comfortable as possible in the backseat.

Gerrit glanced back at the Army compound and saw a number of headlights circling the building where the first explosion erupted. Other patrol vehicles were branching out, apparently getting reports of the second explosion.

Gunning it, he sped out of the parking lot and headed toward the farmhouse. “It’s time to make like a tree and leave.”

Alena glanced over at him. “Better stick with explosives, Gerrit. A comedian—you’re not.”

March 17
Tehran, Iran

A
n hour until midnight! He could not wait any longer. Atash Hassan began typing an e-mail that would be left in draft form in an account shared with Raed Al-Azmah. Thirty minutes earlier, he’d conferred with Mohamed Abul Fotouh by telephone. The Muslim Brotherhood leader seemed almost giddy as they discussed in very general terms the next day’s events.