Infidels (25 page)

He made a
command decision.

“Very
well, Colonel, I’ll give you their location.”

Rue de Colonel Delorme, Paris, France

Dawson looked through the infrared goggles, frowning as he counted
the number of hostiles they were about to engage, but breathing a sigh of
relief to see that Maggie was alive, though her condition was questionable. She
appeared to be in a second floor room, tied to a chair set against the wall,
next to the door, with one guard watching her.

“I’m
reading twelve hostiles,” said Niner, rolling onto his back, the morning sun
just starting to take the chill out of the air. “What do you think their orders
are?”

“I’m
guessing for the moment it’s to not harm the hostage, but that might change
once we make entry.”

“There’s
only three on the second floor plus one in the room with Maggie by the door,”
said Niner. He rolled back onto his stomach and peered through his goggles.
“The roof next door is too low, there’s no way to jump across and access the
second floor directly.”

“I
know,” said Dawson, taking another look with the infrared turned off. “The only
way in is through the main floor.”

Niner
pushed back from the edge, sitting up on his haunches. “Well, if Liam Neeson
can do it, so can we. He’s like sixty and just an actor, so this should be a
piece of cake for us.”

Dawson
crawled back from the edge of the roof and looked at Niner.

“If
we’re using movie metaphors, then you’re the expendable sidekick.”

“The
lovable
expendable sidekick.”

Red Sea Coast, Saudi Arabia

57 miles from rendezvous coordinates

“Jesus,” muttered Atlas as they slowly navigated the burnt out hulks
of tanks, the bodies of their crews draped over the hulls or scattered in
pieces over the desert floor, the infantry support dead beside them or long
having fled. The battle had lasted for hours before the Saudi side retreated,
the unknown challengers victorious but badly wounded themselves, leaving their
own dead and dying behind to lick their wounds.

“I don’t
think I’ve ever seen an actual tank battle before,” said Jimmy. “It’s like
something out of Patton.”

“It
looks sort of like that opening scene,” agreed Wings. “I half expect to see
people stripping the bodies.”

“This is
how war used to be,” rumbled Atlas. “Two sides that were more equally matched,
strategy, tactics and a little bit of luck winning the day instead of superior
firepower.”

“I think
I’d rather have the superior firepower,” said Jimmy as they cleared the last
smoking wreck. He hit the gas, the truck accelerating as he maintained the
distance between them and Red in the lead vehicle. It had been decided to make
a race for the rendezvous point—or
presumed
rendezvous point—and put as
much distance as they could between them and this battle.

Someone
was bound to come back to collect their dead.

Atlas
checked the GPS. They had almost sixty miles to go before they’d reach the
coordinates sent by Kane but plenty of time to reach them should they have to
get off the back road they were now using. They were avoiding the highway only
a couple of miles to their east, the dirt road they were now on more likely to
be devoid of military assets though they were bound to encounter scattered
groups of locals if daily life were continuing outside of the major population
centers.

Whatever
was going on in Saudi Arabia couldn’t be good, a civil war clearly having
broken out, but it was the extent that wasn’t known. Could what they just
witnessed be a limited skirmish, a single disloyal unit, or was it just one of dozens,
perhaps hundreds of battles raging across this large desert nation.

All
because of what sat behind him.

A
religious artifact nobody seemed to want.

Hand
signals from ahead had Jimmy braking and turning as the lead vehicle raced
toward an outcropping. Atlas scanned the horizon for what Red’s vehicle might
have spotted and cursed.

“Gunships.”

Jimmy
eased the vehicle to a stop behind Red’s in an effort to minimize the dust that
might be thrown up and they all piled out.

“Did you
see them?” asked Red as he rushed around the outcropping to get a better look.

Atlas
nodded, joining him. “If you’re referring to the three gunships, then yes, we
did.” He dropped beside Red, pulling out his binoculars. “Any sign they spotted
us?”

“Negative,
but it looks like they’re heading for the coast.”

Atlas
watched the three choppers streak across the landscape toward the water,
suggesting they weren’t on a patrol along the Red Sea, but instead heading for
a specific destination.

Missiles
suddenly streaked from their weapons pods, a chunk of the coastline erupting in
flames as the three helicopters rid themselves of everything they were carrying
then circled the area, the sound of machine guns tearing into the shoreline
reaching their ears even from this distance.

“What do
you make of it?” asked Atlas.

“I have
a nasty feeling that was for us and someone just got the coordinates wrong.”

The Unit, Fort Bragg, North Carolina

“That bastard!” muttered Clancy as he watched the satellite feed now
displayed in the Operations Center. Explosion after explosion filled the
screen, the top down view almost eerie, miniature mushrooms forming with each detonation,
as if they were watching blue dye being added to water, a single drop at a
time.

With
each drop deadly enough to rip apart his men.

He was
only thankful he didn’t trust Colonel Nayef.

The
Operations Center Coordinator stood beside him. “Good thing you gave the wrong
coordinates, sir,” she whispered. Barebones staff were manning the Ops Center
at the moment, the team officially disavowed, this a “training exercise”.

“Looks
like the good Colonel failed the test.”

“What
now?”

“Now
they’re on their own.” He shook his head as one of the helicopters landed,
troops pouring out to search the area, then just as quickly departing, finding
nothing. Clancy raised his voice. “This training exercise is over.”

He turned
on his heel and left, returning to his office to call the man who had just
betrayed him. It didn’t take long for his call to be answered.

“Colonel,
I was just about to call you!” exploded Colonel Faisal bin Nayef’s voice,
clearly in a panic. “You must tell your men to
not
go to the coordinates
you gave me!”

Clancy
sucked in a deep breath, controlling his temper. “Colonel, I just watched a
live satellite feed of the entire area being bombarded by your forces.”

“Not
my
forces, Colonel! Qarmatian loyalists!”

“Explain.”

“My
aide, a man I have trusted for years, is a Qarmatian spy! He’s been passing on
everything to the Qarmatians, Colonel, everything! I am so sorry about your
men, so sorry.” There was the sound of a genuine sob at the other end. “I will
pray for their souls, Colonel, rest assured. And since they died honorably,
they have earned their place in your Heaven, I am certain.”

Clancy
shook his head.

Your
heaven.
It’s the same damned place, you ignorant asshole.

“Fortunately
my men were not at the coordinates provided therefore will have to take a rain
check on your gracious invitation to the afterlife.”

There was
a pause from the other end before Nayef finally replied. “Umm, I don’t
understand. They weren’t there?”

“Negative.
My men are alive and well, as far as I know.”

“Oh,
praise be to Allah! Colonel, it is clear that no one can be trusted, not even
within my command. And things continue to get worse. Even among the loyal
commanders here in Mecca they are demanding action on retrieving the Black Stone.
I fear their loyalties may turn should we not retrieve the stone shortly.”

“This
can all be resolved with a single phone call from your government.”

“You
know diplomats, Colonel, they are slow and deliberate, all in an attempt so
neither side loses face. Meanwhile us soldiers fight and die while they talk
and dine. I fear it will be days before some arrangement is made, and, well,
you’ve seen the news reports.” He paused. “Colonel, is it as bad as they say?”

Clancy
frowned. “Worse. We’ve even begun to see some rioting here, but it’s minimal.
Too many civilians with guns that won’t hesitate to shoot to protect their
property. Europe doesn’t have an armed populace so they have to rely on the
authorities, though some civilians are fighting back with what they have.”

“Yes,
the vigilante squads. I’ve seen this on the news. Most disturbing what they’re
doing.”

Clancy
felt his chest tighten. “No less so than those they’re fighting, I assure you.”

“Of
course, Colonel, of course. I didn’t mean to imply the horrors were any less on
the other side.” A sigh burst through the headset. “Colonel, we
must
stop this. You and I, right here, right now. Your men have what we need to end
this, I have the means to end it. Have your men get the Black Stone to me in
Mecca tonight, and I will go publicly on the news telling the world that it was
retrieved by loyal Saudi forces after raiding a Houthi rebel camp and that the
footage with the American soldiers was faked. Trust me one last time, Colonel.
I promise I will tell no one of our plan. Have your men meet me at the Ibrahim
Al Khalil checkpoint at midnight local time. I will be there personally to see
them to safety.”

Clancy looked
at the snapped pencil from earlier sitting on the bottom of his empty wastebasket.
Everything Nayef was telling him could be true. The country was divided,
traitors in the midst was a certainty, but his own aide?

Anything
was possible.

Yet a
decision had to be made.

And it
wasn’t his to make.

“You’re
still turning the cellular network back on at six pm?”

“Yes.”

“You’ll
have my decision then.”

Rue de Colonel Delorme, Paris, France

Niner pulled open the door and Dawson advanced through the side
entrance to the house Maggie was being held in, squeezing his suppressed Glock
twice, the guard dropping in a heap. Moving forward silently, he quickly
cleared the bathroom to his right, Niner clearing a small room on the left, it
known to be empty from their surveillance across the street.

Dawson
nodded toward the kitchen where voices could be heard, loud and boisterous,
some game of chance being played by the men inside. Someone announced in Arabic
they were going to the bathroom.

Dawson
jerked a thumb over his shoulder and he and Niner quickly retreated to the room
Niner had cleared, Dawson closing over the door, leaving it only slightly ajar
as he watched a man enter the bathroom, his back to them. Dawson opened the
door and looked down the hallway to confirm it was still clear, then pumped two
rounds into the man’s back as he advanced, grabbing him by the collar and
lowering him silently to the floor.

Closing
the bathroom door, Dawson resumed their advance, weapon trained down the hall
toward the entrance where they knew two men were standing guard. Dawson
motioned toward the entrance and Niner nodded, taking up a position to cover
them should the two guards approach as they expected.

This
kitchen wasn’t going to be cleared quietly.

All it
would take would be a single shout or someone falling from their chair, the
noise certainly alerting those at the front entrance.

He
stepped into the doorway, weapon aimed inside, four men sitting around a table,
playing cards in hand, those facing him looking up in stunned silence.

He
double-tapped the first man on the left, a cigar dropping from his shocked
mouth, then stepped left and out of the doorway, firing at the man facing the
doorway as he rose. The third started to shout as Dawson rounded the end of the
table, pumping two rounds into him, then turning his weapon on the fourth as
the man spun the wrong way in his chair, confused, reaching for his shoulder
holster.

Dawson
put the round through the man’s head as Niner’s weapon fired from the hallway.
He put another round into the still moaning fourth, silencing him, then
reloaded as he joined Niner in the hallway. The two guards were down and out at
the end.

“First
floor cleared,” whispered Dawson as they rushed toward the stairs at the far
end near the entrance. Shouts could be heard from the second floor, feet
pounding overhead. They had only moments to reach Maggie—he just prayed the
element of surprise was still on their side, the shouts above from confused
men, unsure of what was going on.

Then he
heard something in Arabic that sent a chill down his spine, and his legs
pumping even harder up the stairs.

“Kill
the girl!”

Maggie sat in a simple straight-back kitchen chair, her bum killing
her from the hours she had been forced to sit in the unforgiving seat, almost
every muscle in her body aching, especially her shoulders, her hands zip-tied behind
her. After being hauled unceremoniously out of her prison after explosions
rocked the building, she had been rushed back down the elevator and through the
tunnels she had come through earlier.

She had
been tossed on the floor of the van, unable to see what was going on outside,
but it was clear something big was happening, there a lot of shouting, police
sirens, then another explosion that rained debris down on them.

But they
had escaped, and with it her hopes of rescue by BD dashed, it clear to her it
was him behind all the chaos.