Infidels (16 page)

“The
Saudi government would probably fall,” replied Dawson.

“Oil
prices would shoot through the roof,” added Niner.

Acton
nodded. “Yup, chaos. And that’s because we’ve been silent so long, it’s now too
late. The pain to fix it is going to be horrible. The risks if we don’t are
going to be far worse.” He stood and perched on the side of Laura’s bed, taking
her hand in his. “Any word on Maggie?”

“No,”
replied Dawson, shaking his head. He motioned to Niner to close the door. “And
things just got worse.”

Acton
and Laura exchanged glances. “How?”

“Red and
the team have been disavowed.”

Laura’s
eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

“It
means they’ve been cut off from any and all help. No communications, no
retrieval options, no resupply, nothing.”

“Why the
hell would they do that?” asked Acton, his face turning slightly red with
anger.

“The
government is terrified of what’s going on. They don’t want to risk there being
any connection between them and that footage.”

“Wouldn’t
it be better to get them out so no one finds them?”

“If I
know my White House thinking, they don’t want anybody spotting any American
assets heading into the general vicinity as it would be an admission of guilt.
If someone got some footage of our guys being helo’d out, they wouldn’t be able
to stick to the party line that the footage is fake and we were never there.”

“But
what about Red and the others?” asked Laura, sitting up slightly straighter,
wincing as her stomach wound compressed.

Dawson
frowned, looking at Niner for a moment. He hated what he was about to ask,
hated that he
needed
to ask. It should be his government taking care of
this, doing the right thing, but it wasn’t. It was up to him to come to those
with money, cap in hand, begging for help.

He
hated
it.

“We need
your help.”

Acton
exchanged a quick glance with his wife, who nodded, as if they already knew
what he meant.

“Anything,”
replied Acton.

“It
could get expensive.”

“Whatever
it takes, BD,” said Laura. “Just tell us what you need, and I’ll make the funds
available to you.”

Dawson
felt a wave of goose bumps rush over his body as he realized how fortunate he
and his men were to have people like this in their lives. These two civilians
had charged into harm’s way to help them in the past, never concerning
themselves with their own lives, always thinking of others first. It was a
trait he rarely saw outside the military or emergency services.

They
were genuinely good people.

Which
was why he felt filled with shame, part of him thinking he was taking advantage
of them, especially with how expensive this could end up being. He had no way
to repay them except with his thanks, and in the end, they might still fail,
and it would all be for not.

Yet he
had to try.

He
couldn’t leave his friends, his comrades, twisting in the wind because of
cowards in the White House.

He
sighed, his lips pressing tightly together as he tried to come up with a number
that didn’t sound greedy.

Laura
saved him, no smile, no judgment, just an answer that solved everything.

“I’ll
have five million put in the account we already set up. If you need more, you
let us know.”

Relief
swept through him as he stepped forward and shook Laura’s hand, then Acton’s,
Niner doing the same.

“You
have no idea how much we appreciate this,” he said, stepping back. “I don’t
know how I’m going to repay you, but I will, somehow.”

Laura
shook her head. “You already have on too many occasions. It’s only money, and
we’ve got too much of it as it is. If we can use some of it to help save lives,
we’re more than happy to.”

Niner
was shaking his head in disbelief, finally jabbing a finger at Acton then his
wife. “You two…you two…” He just shook his head, unable to speak, instead
wiping what looked to be a tear about to escape. He sucked in a deep breath. “I
hate you two. Look, you made me turn into Jimmy. He’s the emotional one.”

Acton
chuckled as he squeezed Laura’s hand, a tear rolling down her own cheek. “We’ll
have the funds transferred immediately. Use it to save the team and Maggie.
Whatever it takes.”

Dawson’s
chest tightened at the mention of Maggie, his own emotions threatening to
overwhelm him. He nodded with a grim smile then stepped out of the room,
fearing his own voice might betray his emotions, Niner saying some quick
goodbyes as he heard Laura asking for her phone.

And now,
with funding secured, he needed Kane to come through for them.

But
how the hell do you mount a rescue operation in the middle of an Arabian desert
with no government assets?

He
feared any rescue might simply come too late.

Northwestern Yemen

Atlas scanned the horizon for any unwelcome guests, turning his
attention to the late evening sky, trying to catch the glint of sunlight
reflecting off a possible UAV or aircraft. Anything that might indicate they
hadn’t been completely abandoned.

But
again he found nothing.

“This is
bullshit,” he mumbled, his ass killing him, Red having wisely kept them off the
roads, instead sticking to the hardened terrain they had found to the west. It
was slower going, rougher going, but it was safer, and according to the GPS
they had covered over a third of the distance they needed to, their start late.

“We’re
going to have to stop soon,” said Jimmy, driving the Toyota pickup truck
bringing up the rear of the two-vehicle convoy. “I’m going to have to turn my
lights on and they’ll be able to spot us for miles.”

As if
reading Jimmy’s mind the truck ahead coasted to a stop near a large outcropping
of rocks. Red stepped out of the lead vehicle. “We’ll set up camp here for the
night.”

Atlas
stepped out, stretching hard, clenching and unclenching his butt cheeks to
loosen them up as Red stepped over. “Take two men, recon the area; I want to
make sure we’re alone. Then set up a rotating watch, four men on, four men
off.”

“Yes,
Sergeant.”

He
pointed at Jimmy, Spock and Wings when his comm suddenly squelched, a tone
indicating a burst transmission had just been received.

“What
the hell was that?” he asked, everyone apparently hearing the same thing.” He
activated his tactical computer and read the message, smiling. “Well I’ll be
damned.”

Spock
slapped him on the back, the first smile Atlas had seen out of any of them in
hours plastered on his face.

For hope
had been restored.

He
looked again at the display.

You
have not been forgotten. BD.

The Unit, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours, Colonel.”

Clancy
was exhausted. He hadn’t been home since his men had been sent into Yemen, and
hadn’t slept a wink in two days.

But that
was nothing compared to what his men were going through, abandoned and alone,
probably without a clue as to what was going on in the world around them.
Official estimates were that hundreds were now dead but the tally was
ratcheting up quickly, the latest CIA briefing suggesting thousands, mostly in
Muslim countries where the violence was being used as an excuse to settle old
scores.

But
dozens were dead in Western countries, hundreds injured, protests swelling as
word spread. Military personnel around the world were on high alert and
confined to base when off duty for their own safety. Even here at home there
had been some violence, mostly targeting Jewish stores. Some peaceful protests
were being held but the violence seemed to be contained overseas.

Paris
and London were the worst hit.

And
Dawson was in the thick of it there.

The
American embassy was surrounded by protesters, a cordon of French police
holding them back for the moment, but the violence was getting worse, random
attacks on civilians growing in numbers, retaliatory attacks by bands of
vigilantes and white supremacists increasing.

It was
chaos with no end in sight.

Unless
we get the Black Stone back into the right hands.

It
wasn’t his job to question his orders from the White House, though he did feel
they were completely wrong in their approach. He had it on good authority that
the backchannels were being worked, but that could take days, and his men might
not have it. He was convinced that if they could hand over the relic to the
Saudis secretly, the situation could be quickly defused and his men retrieved.

Yet he
couldn’t officially act on it.

However
disavowed soldiers could.

He just
needed to get the ball rolling, and the only way he could see how was getting
Colonel Faisal bin Nayef involved.

“I’m so
sorry, Colonel, but things are quickly falling apart here. I’m sure you’ve seen
the intelligence reports, your Pentagon and CIA are very thorough.”

“Yes, I
have.” The briefing he had attended less than an hour ago indicated several
units of the Saudi military had confined themselves to base, refusing to take
orders from Riyadh, violent protests erupting across the volatile country. The
situation was quickly worsening, the House of Saud beginning to lose its grip
on power, the Iranian backed opposition speaking out openly now for their
overthrow.

“Then you
know I don’t have much time. We shouldn’t even be speaking. If someone found
out, I’d be executed.”

“Listen,
you know my men have been disavowed—”

“Yes, I
assumed that was the case when your government denied their troops being
involved.”

“Well,
your government knows damned well that my men have nothing to do with this. We
need to end this insanity, and quickly.”

“Colonel,
I realize what you are saying is true, however at this time it is easier for
our government to claim that
your
government is responsible. To do
otherwise would make us look weak. Imagine if our citizens knew it wasn’t the
mighty American military that had stolen the relic, but a group of our own, led
by one of our own princes, that had done it. We would lose what little control
we have left within hours. Just an hour ago a rogue military unit attempted an
attack on Murabba Palace to assassinate the King. More and more units are
breaking off communications with central command. Things are falling apart here
quickly.”

“Then we
need to stop it. We need to get the stone back into Saudi hands.”

Nayef
sighed. “Colonel, I agree with you, but there’s no way my government will
officially endorse such a plan.”

“Unofficially?”

“Right
now the Royal family is too busy trying to survive. Our airports are filled
with planes loaded with the ruling class. Half our government offices are
empty. I fear there’s no one here to take your government’s call.”

“Then
let the two of us put an end to it.”

“There’s
no way I can mount an operation to get the stone from your men. They’ll have to
get it to me.”

Clancy
frowned.

Coward.

Nayef
could easily send a chopper to collect the stone, he just didn’t have the balls
to admit he knew where the stone was and who it was with. In times of crisis
there were too few good men willing to stick their necks out to do the right
thing. Sometimes it got hacked off, sometimes it was kissed. If things were as
bad as Nayef was describing, he had a funny feeling a head cleaving was in his
near future.

“Where
can they meet you?” he asked, fearing the answer.

“Our
loyal forces are consolidating around Mecca to preserve the Sacred Mosque in
the hopes that when we do get the stone back, the Kaaba will still be there to
receive it.”

Clancy
shook his head.

Mecca!

It was
hundreds of miles north of where his men were and the route between was
probably swarming with hostiles.

Yet he
could see little choice.

“We’ll
be in touch.”

Main Gate, Embassy of the United States, Paris, France

Corporal Charles Griffith stood at the front gate of the embassy,
the metal bars providing little comfort as the angry mob being held back by the
Paris Gendarmerie only ten yards away grew. Scuttlebutt suggested an evac was
being prepped, but he knew damned well the Marines would be the last out.

Not that
he had a problem with that.

He
didn’t have a problem dying for his country, not that he was eager to do so.
His only problem was
how
he might die. The news reports were
terrifying—people being hacked to pieces by machetes and butcher knives, burned
alive and even mowed down by cars.

It was
ridiculous.

The
hatred displayed by those who practiced the religion of peace never made sense
to him. The fury in their eyes whenever they felt slighted by anyone had always
made his skin crawl. After two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, he had
come to realize that when happy, these people could be the friendliest of
sorts, but when angered, especially over something religious, they were
uncontrollable.

He had
loved history in high school, it his best subject—his only one he ever got an A
in, if he recalled correctly, and it was one of the few subjects he had
actually read any books on outside of school. And as part of his Marine
training, whenever going into a foreign culture, they were briefed on the
history, the customs, the dos and the don’ts. One of the biggest things drummed
into them, unofficially, was ‘don’t piss off the Muslims’. Don’t touch a Koran,
don’t step inside a mosque, don’t lay a finger on an Imam, don’t even use the
word Allah, it apparently an affront if one wasn’t Muslim.