Fog of War (Justin Hall # 3) (25 page)

He reloaded his gun, then shouted, “Cover fire.”

Yuliya fired single shots to the left, at the van. Then she turned her AK to the right. No shooter was visible, but she still squeezed off a few rounds, to force down anyone who may be hiding around the corners or behind the debris.

Justin ran toward the warehouse. He reached the door and glanced inside. It was dark, but he still managed to make out a few silhouettes. Men running toward the back. Justin took a wary step inside the warehouse, then a second one. Rows of wooden crates lined up the walls, filling a large section. Three jeeps and a large military truck were parked on the other side, next to a small crane and a forklift. A hall led to a separate area by to the main entrance. It seemed that area was used as office space.

Justin heard hushed voices, then feet shuffling on the concrete floor. His eyes caught the glimpse of white robes and headdresses, as a group of men slipped into the narrow space between the jeeps. They began to run down the hall. Justin raised his AK.

Before he could take a shot, someone fired a long burst. Bullets thumped against the wall, three feet away from him. Justin hit the floor. He sought cover behind the crates. He inched forward to the left, crawling on his elbows and feet. Reaching the aisle, he took a quick peek. Two men were running toward his position, their AKs at the ready. Justin fired at their feet. They fell, screaming like wounded dogs. Two more gunshots and their screaming ceased. Yuliya appeared at the end of the aisle.

Justin motioned at her. “Three or four men are hiding at the front. There are some rooms to the right,” he whispered when Yuliya was crouched next to him.

She gestured toward the back of the warehouse. “Anyone there?”

“One or two, but they have nowhere to go.” He wanted to add that Carrie and Nathan would take care of them, but he kept that thought to himself.

They crossed a couple of aisles, their boots barely making a noise. When they came to a clearing, Justin pointed to the left. Yuliya covered that area, while Justin moved into the hall.
I hope Hamidi and Al-Khaiwani are holed up in there.

* * *

“Did you see Justin?” Carrie asked Nathan between gunshots.

“No, I didn’t. Where was he?”

“Right side. Saw him just as those grenades exploded.”

Bullets banged against the truck’s doors serving as their cover. Carrie slid lower to the ground, her body digging deeper in the sand. She reloaded, then fired her AK from behind the back tire.

“Was he alone?” Nathan asked.

“No. Someone was with him.”

She fired again. “Got him. The last one.”

She peeked over the side of the truck. “All clear.”

They ran toward the warehouse back entrance. When they were halfway across the fifty-yard clearing, the back entrance door burst open. A group of insurgents scurried outside. Carrie picked off the first two before they had a chance to raise their guns. The third one was able to fire a quick burst way off target. Nathan buried two bullets in the man’s chest and also shot a fourth man dead. The last man tossed a small object in the air just as Carrie squeezed off a round that cut the man to the ground.

“Grenade,” she shouted.

She sprang forward running toward the door. Nathan was one step behind her. They threw themselves inside the warehouse as they heard the blast. Shrapnel showered the outside walls. A few fragments went in through the open door. Carrie and Nathan were just beyond their reach.

“Nathan?” Carrie whispered.

He raised his head. “All’s good. You?”

“Unharmed. This way.”

Carrie got to her feet, backing against a row of wooden crates.

Chapter Eighteen

Twenty-five miles northeast of Sa’dah, Yemen

September 27, 5:15 p.m. local time

The hall made a sharp left turn. Justin stepped forward slowly, listening for voices and other noises. The warehouse was quiet. After the gun battle blasts, the silence gave him an eerie feeling. It was always silent before an ambush.

A single gunshot shattered the silence. Justin heard the noise at about the same time he felt the dull pain in the right side of his chest. A crunch and a blow, as if someone struck him with a large hammer. The bullet knocked him off his feet. His jaw snapped and he bit his tongue.

He lay on the concrete floor, frozen and disoriented for a long moment. He tried to breathe, but the blunt force impact had sucked the air out of his lungs. He coughed and spat out blood. Hearing footsteps, he dragged himself behind the wall, three feet away. Another gunshot, but the bullet missed, striking inches away from his left leg.

Justin groped for his AK, then remembered it had fallen out of his hands. He took his pistol out of its holster. His eyes dropped to the tear in his chest rig and the dent in the bulletproof vest. He was glad he was not been hit by an armor-piercing bullet, like the ones he was about the spray on his enemies.

He struggled back to his feet, then backed away, hiding behind the first row of crates. A man stepped out from around the corner. Justin shot him in the face. A second man running behind the first tripped over the dead body. Justin’s first shot hit the wall. His second nailed the man to the floor.

Justin took a deep breath, tasting blood at the back of his throat. He touched his chest and clenched his teeth. The pain burned around his breastbone. He wondered for a moment about a broken rib or a bruised lung. Erratic shots came from down the hall. Justin stepped forward, covering the hall from behind his gun sight. A few more shots, then the hollow click of an empty gun. Followed by cursing in Arabic. Two different voices. Two men.

After sidestepping around the dead bodies, Justin peeked around the corner. He moved fast, swinging his pistol as he took long, quick steps. He passed by the first few offices, the voices guiding him. Then he heard scrapping and clanging, like someone trying to pry open or break down a door.
The rats are scrambling, but they’re not going anywhere.

After turning the last corner, Justin faced two men in white robes and headdresses about eight feet away from him. They were working furiously to break the glass of a small window in the wall, about six feet off the ground. Justin grinned. The first man was too large for the window, even if he could somehow be able to climb that high.

“Show me your hands and turn around. Slowly,” Justin called at them in Arabic.

They both froze.

“Turn around with your arms high above your heads,” Justin shouted louder.

He fired a round that shattered the window’s glass.

They got the message. The large man spun on his heels faster than what Justin had anticipated, considering his size. A pistol was still in his large pudgy hand. Justin’s eyes gazed at the man’s bulging face. He had red cheeks and a large forehead, covered by his headdress. Fear was clear in his eyes.
He has to be Hamidi, the gun dealer.

“Drop it, Hamidi,” Justin said.

The man tossed the pistol by his feet.

The other man Justin had rightly pegged as Al-Khaiwani was unarmed. Justin noticed an AK was on the floor.
Probably empty, otherwise it would be in his hands.
Al-Khaiwani was thin, with sharp facial features. A square jaw line and a large nose. He had a three-inch-long, unkempt, black-and-gray beard. His hands were bony with long fingers. His small black eyes showed anger and hate.

“I’ll make this easy, Al-Khaiwani. Who is your man inside my agency?”

“May you die, you infidel dog,” Al-Khaiwani replied.

His voice was calm and emotionless. The man was not going to break without a lot of effort. And a lot of time. Justin did not have time. The helicopter crews were going to raid the camp and whisk away both men. He hated torture, but Al-Khaiwani was going to talk, one way or another. The threat of torture, a glimpse and maybe a foretaste might change his mind.

“I didn’t come here for a curse,” Justin said. He kept the tone of his voice calm and emotionless to show Al-Khaiwani his resolve. “Give me what I want and you can live.”

Al-Khaiwani spat in Justin’s direction. “Death as a martyr is a welcomed gift from Allah.”

Justin shook his head. “It’s not going to be death. And you’ll be no martyr. You’ll rot in jail, after long tortures in Egypt, Jordan, and Iraq.”

Al-Khaiwani flinched.

“The name. Give me the name.”

Al-Khaiwani shook his head.

“Justin, watch out,” a familiar voice called to him.

As he turned his head to his left, two gunshots rang. A man fell through the open door of an office. Two large wounds were visible in his chest. An AK slid to the ground, away from his hands.

Justin took a step back. His eyes were still on Al-Khaiwani. He kept his pistol trained on both men. “Carrie? What are you doing here?”

“Well, what does it look like?”

“Crashing my party.”

He gave Carrie a quick sideways glance.

She grinned.

“Thanks,” he said. “I would be a dead man now.”

“Any time. Even when you don’t want it.”

“Justin, I’ve got them.” Yuliya stepped next to him, her AK pointed at Al-Khaiwani and Hamidi.

Justin turned around and fell into Carrie’s arms. She held him tight, so tight he felt the pain from the gunshot jabbing through his chest. He tried to hide his wince, but Carrie noticed it. She stepped back and looked at him.

“What is it?” she said. “You’re wounded?”

“Took one in the chest. The vest stopped it. Are you OK? What are you doing here?”

Carrie grinned. “I’m good. But I couldn’t let you have all the fun. McClain wanted someone to stop the rogue agent.”

Justin arched his eyebrows. “Me? A rogue agent?”

“Apparently. He dispatched me and Nathan.”

Gunshots erupted outside. Justin’s fingers tightened around his pistol.

“It’s OK. That’s Mossad cleaning up the place.”

“Mossad?”

“Yes. Their choppers. They’re here for Hamidi. He sold guns to Hamas and Hezbollah.”

“Uh-uh,” Yuliya said. “He’s mine.”

Justin shrugged. “Maybe they’ll be happy to give this scumbag a ride to Tel Aviv as well.” He looked at Al-Khaiwani. “I’m sure you’ve pissed off a lot of Israelis. How would you like a one-way trip to Israel in Mossad’s company? They’ll treat you well, really well.”

Al-Khaiwani kept his stoic face, but Justin noticed a sliver of fear in his eyes.

The credible threat of imminent harm changed the point of view of even the staunchest leaders. There was no need for torture. Just the threat of unavoidable, endless pain and unbearable, horrible suffering usually did the job.

“Think about it. You’ve got thirty seconds,” Justin said.

Loud voices came from outside, then heavy boots thumping on the concrete floor.

“Nathan should have already explained our situation to Mossad,” Carrie said to Justin.

“Drop the guns, all of you, drop them,” a strong voice in heavily accented English came from down the hall and around the corner.

“Friendlies, we’re friendlies. Canadian agents,” Justin shouted back.

“And Spetsnaz, Russian special forces,” Yuliya said.

“Drop your guns. Put them down,” the voice commanded them.

Justin raised his pistol an inch.

“We’re on the same side here,” Carrie said. “Friendlies.”

Another voice was heard talking in Hebrew, then a man stepped out into the hall. He held his empty hands to his sides in plain view. He was dressed in olive drab fatigues, complete with a chest rig, gun holsters, and all the tools of the trade. “My name is Ben-David and I’m—”

Carrie interrupted him. “Eliakim? Here of all places.”

“Carrie, why didn’t you say so?” Eliakim said with a smile.

He spoke a few words in rapid Hebrew. Three men in similar uniforms stepped out of their positions. They pointed their assault rifles at the two men in white robes.

Carrie began the introductions. “This is my partner, Justin Hall and this is—”

“Yuliya Markov, Spetsnaz.”

They all shook hands.

Justin asked, “How are your men?”

Eliakim’s face fell. “One is grave. We may lose him. Two have broken bones, but they’re stable. They’ll make it.”

Justin sighed. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Eliakim replied.

He turned to Yuliya and began to talk to her in Russian. Yuliya pointed a few times at Hamidi, shaking her head. Her voice grew louder, and she became more animated. Eliakim tried to keep a cool tone, once in a while rubbing his black anchor beard.

“What are they saying?” Carrie whispered to Justin.

“Deciding Hamidi’s fate,” he replied, then pulled Carrie aside. “Yuliya’s boyfriend was killed in Sana’a.”

“She wants revenge.”

Justin nodded. “And I want the traitor’s name.”

He turned to Al-Khaiwani. “Your last chance.”

“What do you give me?” Al-Khaiwani asked in Arabic.

Justin frowned. “I give you your life, as I don’t hand you over to the Israelis. You’ll come with me and face a fair trial.”

“And I’ll end up in prison? For life?”

Justin shrugged. “Unless you prefer Mossad and their hospitality.” He gestured toward Eliakim.

Al-Khaiwani hesitated for a moment. Justin knew it was not easy for him to give out his secrets, but it was not difficult either. When pressed with their back against death’s door, most people chose life. He hoped Al-Khaiwani was one of those people.

“I want to talk to you alone,” Al-Khaiwani said.

“She comes with me.” Justin pointed at Carrie. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it in front of her.”

Al-Khaiwani nodded.

“We’re gonna have a little chat, while you figure things out,” Justin said to Yuliya and Eliakim.

He nudged Al-Khaiwani, and the man began to walk in front of them. Carrie kept her AK at the ready, in case the man got any ideas. Justin still held his pistol in his right hand.

They stopped when they were beyond earshot of the closest Mossad agent.

“The name,” Justin said.