Street Justice (5 page)

              “So what do we do?” asked Doug Buntz, one of the other Hummer commanders. Dave was a lean framed boy with a strong jaw line from Virginia. He didn’t say much but was terrific in a firefight.

              “Well, if recon is out then that leaves attacking a stronghold we know nothing about or trying to lay siege to the location and out wait him. I don’t like attacking places we have no intel on and we have no friends in Zaranj, so there is a much better chance he can outlast us in a standoff,” Clayton said. Clayton was a Mormon from Utah who was a brilliant thinker though a bit awkward with others.

              “Exactly,” Russ said, “So that means we need to be more creative. What have we got?”

              “Why not run against the dime package?” Mario asked. The three commanders turned to see Mario leaning against the hood of his Hummer.

              “I’m sorry, what?” asked Clayton.

              “I said run against the dime, basically fake one attack, and do another. With the dime formation, the defense is set up to defend against the pass. But if you can get them to bite, a run can actually be just as effective if not more. So fake like we’re coming in hard. Two tear into the city, lights blazing, gunners in the turret. He’ll think we’re coming to hit his safe house and rabbit. Have the third truck come from behind, looking for him on the move and wrap him up as he tries to sneak out the back.” Mario stopped talking then stood still as a statue. The group was silent.

              Finally Clayton spoke up, “Russ, that might be our best play, it flushes him from the house, and means we’re not attacking a house which may not be anything more than a private dwelling. The only downside is we could miss him as he flees through the city.”

              “Or he decides not to rabbit because his safe house is more of a stronghold,” Doug added.

              “Yeah, but if that’s the case we’re not worse off, we’re still assaulting an unknown stronghold or trying to outwait him. Overall I think Mario had a good idea for once--”

              “Hey, watch it,” Mario interrupted in mock irritation trying not to smile.

              “--it’s not perfect but it’s the best of the options we have. My team will take the sweeper spot. You two, go in hot and heavy. Bee line for this house so if he is there he knows we know where we’re going as early as possible. Go fake-fast, lots of tire spin, drifting and throwing of dirt. Full combat gear, be in the turrets and if a round or two accidently got fired, into the sky where they won’t hurt anyone, I wouldn’t cry too much. Got it?”

              “Yeah, I can do that,” Doug said as he looked over at Clayton, “This should be fun.” Doug offered a fist to Clayton so they could fist bump. Clayton high fived the clinched hand.

              “Let’s do this,” Clayton added sounding like a five year old repeating a movie line than a grown adult about to head into a dangerous situation.

              “Give us a twenty minute head start, it’s a big city and we want to make a wide circle around it so as not to arouse any suspicions. Let’s go,” Russ said then turned to walk back to his truck, “Get in Mario, this is your plan, it’d better work.”

              The dust pecked at Russ’ skin through any tiny opening he had. While Russ wore his helmet, combat goggles and baklava, the sand still found a way in. Russ could have ducked back into the Hummer but was too keyed up for the coming action to sit still. Instead, he stood in the turret manning the .50 Caliber Browning, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it.

              The Hummer skittered across the dune as if it was a much lighter vehicle. Few people could pilot a truck like Mario and impending action always enhanced these already impressive skills. Russ could hear Britney Spears blasting from the portable radio strapped to the center console. It wasn’t Russ’ choice of music, but Mario always played it when headed into a hot area. By now it was nearly a Pavlovian response for Russ, when he heard Britney Spears, his adrenaline glands kicked in.

              Finally the Hummer cleared a dune and they saw the main road leading into the south of town. Russ looked down at his watch: nineteen minutes had passed since they had left the others. Leave it to Mario to time the run perfectly. Seconds later, as the Hummer was about to disappear into the maze of buildings, Russ heard a quick stutter of machine gun fire.

              Doug was not as large as Russ so he bounced off the combing around the edge of the gunner’s turret. Both hands gripped the handles of the Browning mounted to the top of his truck though his fingers were well clear of the trigger guards. He’d fired the gun on the way in to wake up Ajmal’s sentries and to sell the story they were here to pound into the city hard. Plus the rounds did clear any dust should they actually need the guns.

              Doug’s driver slid around a corner and barreled down an alley filled with awnings and wash pots. His driver kept the truck online and hit nothing as they barreled down the tiny lane. Doug did not know where they were heading. They’d pulled satellite images of the city, used the GPS coordinates and the address they had been given to figure out where the stronghold was then Doug had put it out of his mind. He knew, however, his driver would remember every turn, even though they’d only had thirty seconds to study the map. His job was to drive, Doug’s job was to make a show of force and if things went bad, to bring actual force to bear.

              Doug’s Hummer took a quick left and he smacked his ribs against the side of the turret opening. The side was padded and he had a flak jacket on so it didn’t hurt, but he did stagger a bit. His driver was not slowing down for anything. In combat, speed was often a key to life and death and while this was supposed to be for show it needed to look as real as possible.

              Doug turned and took a quick backward glance. Clayton’s Hummer was mere feet from the bumper of his own. The wipers on the trailing Hummer were at full speed trying to clear the swirling sand so the driver could see. Clayton gave Doug a small nod. Doug returned the nod and returned to looking forward. They shot right down a narrow street then took a hard left onto a major thoroughfare for two blocks then another right onto a smaller road again. The buildings were changing from business and retail to more residential and apartment.

              “Ajmal, there are two American Hummers headed your way at high speeds,” the radio chattered.

              “What do you think?” Zemar looked to Ajmal. The two men sat in a cramped apartment, watching TV with the blinds drawn. The room smelled of cooking grease and body odor. While the surroundings were meager at best, the two men wore expensive robes of the finest material, with expensive watches and flashy, almost gaudy, jewelry.

              “Let’s see if they continue to head toward us, or they are coming for something else,” Ajmal said. He made a motion with his hand that Zemar should sit back down. Zemar sat back onto the ratty futon, but stayed perched on the edge, rather than sitting back as Ajmal was doing in the non-matching chair which sat next to the futon. Ajmal did shut off the TV, but otherwise seemed perfectly relaxed.

              Minutes later, the radio came to life again, “Ajmal, the Hummers are still headed your way. They seem to be making as straight a line as they can for you.”

              Zemar, looked at Ajmal, who was already standing. Ajaml said to Zemar, “Let’s go.” The two men each grabbed a backpack. Ajmal quickly closed two laptops that were on a table next to the window. He picked up a collection of USBs and dropped them in the backpack’s front pocket. He then poured lighter fluid over the remaining contents on the table, including two more computers and a variety of disks and storage devices. He took a matchbook from his pocket, struck a match and dropped the entire pack onto the table. The lighter fluid went up with a whoosh and a wave of heat pushed through the room.

              At the same time, Zemar went to the corner which held the small stove used for cooking, the tiny refrigerator and a few cabinets. He opened the cabinet next to the stove and started stuffing guns into his bag. Pistols, revolvers, Uzis, clips, loose bullets all clacked together as Zemar filled his backpack with haste rather than care for the contents. He stood and moved to the door.

              At the door, Zemar looked into his bag, selected a Browning Hi-Power 9mm, zipped the backpack up and threw it over his shoulders. He opened the door just a bit and looked through the tiny crack. Ajmal scurried up behind him. Zemar looked back, gave Ajmal a quick nod and opened the door. The two men moved as one. They stayed close to the wall as they made their way down the dirty hallway to a window so covered in dirt, it could not be seen through. Zemar used the Browning to smash the glass then scraped the remaining shards from the frame. The window led out to a fire escape.

              Together the two men clanged down the rusty escape from the fourth floor. As they transitioned from the second to the first floor, Doug’s Hummer skidded to a halt in front of the building. “I guess they were looking for us,” Ajaml said as they heard member’s of Doug’s team exit the Hummer and bolt into the building.

              “Shhh,” Zemar hissed back. Zemar slowed the pace a bit, trying to sacrifice some speed for less noise. On the first story landing, Zemar grabbed the release for the ladder, which would drop it to the ground so the men could climb down. But the release was frozen with sand, grime and rust. Zemar cursed and smacked it with his gun. It made a loud striking noise with a muted metal ring but the release did not budge. “We can’t keep banging on this, it’ll take time and make noise. We’ll have to just drop to the ground.

              Ajmal looked over the railing, “That seems like a long way.”

              “It’s that or the Americans,” Zemar said as he dropped his bag through the small opening in the floor next to the frozen ladder. The bag hit the sand and let up a small cloud of dust. Zemar grabbed the rungs of the ladder and let himself down, until he was hanging on the bottom rung, then dropped. There were still about six feet below him, so he hit the ground and rolled. He was up on his feet quickly and gathering his backpack. “OK, Ajmal, it’s your turn,” he said in a shouted whisper.

              Roger, a member of Doug’s team, was first up the steps. He pounded up the narrow wooden staircase, not making any attempt to keep quiet. The other five men from the two Hummers, besides Clayton and Doug, were tight on his heels. Roger held his gun at the ready but when they got to the fourth floor he realized they weren’t going to find them here.

              As they reached the fourth floor landing, Roger looked down the hallway to see a half dozen closed doors and one standing wide open with the flickering light of a flame coming from inside. He hadn’t checked the doors to the number they had been given but he’d bet this month’s pay that the open door would be the one they were looking for.

If the door was open and there was a fire inside, he knew they wouldn’t be. Still, he headed down the hallway, shot a quick glance at the door on the way in to confirm the number and, in one quick movement, stripped a flash grenade from his belt, armed it and threw it into the room. The tiny space lit up brighter than the sun and they could feel the shock in the hallway.

Moments after the bang, Roger headed into the apartment. He scanned the room and saw the small fire on the table. The heat from the fire was starting to burn through the table top and blister the paint on the ceiling above. Roger walked over to the couch and grabbed a large, heavy wool blanket and threw it over the table. The other members of the team piled into the dwelling.

“You four,” Roger pointed to the four men closest to the door, “Head back down, they’ve rabbited and we’re going to want feet on the street to keep them moving toward Russ. Go.”

The four men pivoted and slipped back through the door with the same speed with which they’d entered. Roger listened for a moment as their footfalls retreated. He looked around for useful intel. He reached into a pocket of his combat vest and pulled out a thin nylon sack and started collecting scraps of paper, debris and anything else movable. He’d collect it all and let the nerds at base sort out what was important.

              Ajmal got onto his hands and knees on the rickety landing. He stuck his head through the fire escape, then his right arm holding his backpack. The pack swung in the air at least ten feet from the ground. “Zemar, catch this,” Ajmal said in a low voice. Zemar looked up and down the alley. The narrow lane was lined on either side with trash, mattresses and rusty hulks of metal that had been who knows what in a prior life. But there was no sign of movement or the Americans.

              Zemar moved under the opening, set his pistol on the ground since he had no pockets in his robe and opened his arms. “OK, I’m ready.” Ajmal dropped the sack and Zemar caught it with a loud clack as computer smacked computer. Both men shot glances up and down the alley again. Nothing.

              “Let’s go,” Zemar barked at Ajmal.

              Ajmal stood and climbed down the ladder until his feet were on the bottom rung. “I can’t,” he whined to Zemar.

              “Come on, they’re coming,” he urged. Ajmal climbed back up the ladder. “You’re going the wrong way,” Zemar snapped.

              “Hang on, I can’t lower myself down the ladder with just my arms like you, I need to re-position,” Ajmal snapped back. Ajmal laid on his belly and scooted to the edge of the gap. He leaned out and grabbed the bottom rung of the ladder. He gripped and re-gripped then, twisted his body so his back was nearly on the platform, his arms crossed, then folded himself in half letting his rear lead the way through the hole.