FATAL eMPULSE Read online

  Gerrit lowered the tailgate and gestured to the driver in Arabic. “Get in. Do what I say and you won’t be shot.”

  The soldier glared at Gerrit and then down at the bulge in his shirt.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Gerrit said. “I promise not to blow you up if you follow my instructions. Otherwise…” He just gestured. “Now, get in the truck.”

  Once the driver lay sprawled in the back, Gerrit turned to Shakeela. “You ride in back with him till we get to the target site. Then once Alena and I clear the entryway, one of us will come back to get the two of you.”

  Shakeela nodded and climbed inside. Gerrit raised the tailgate and he and Alena climbed into the cab. “Ready to rock and roll?”

  Alena looked puzzled. “Why would I waste time listening to music?”

  For a moment, her question confused him. “Rock and roll? That’s just a term to…oh, forget it. Let’s get this over with.” He fired up the engine and turned the truck around, heading toward the roadway that led to Hanano’s base of operations.

  He stepped on the gas as the truck whined and coughed up the hill, and sputtered, and the speed seemed slower than a sea turtle moving across a sandy beach. As they approached the building, Gerrit drove straight toward the front door with the headlights on bright. He searched for any movements from the building as they screeched to a halt. The darkened windows above him would give a gunman great advantage when they approached. Too late to worry about that.

  “Let’s go.” He swung his driver’s door open and jumped to the ground. Raising his H&K, he dashed toward the entrance, Alena running a few steps behind with her own weapon raised.

  “Ready,” he whispered, motioning toward the door.

  She nodded, grasped the handle, and quickly yanked it open as Gerrit slipped inside.

  Once through the doorway, he cleared the foyer and saw the stairwell Shakeela described. He motioned to Alena, whispering, “Let’s clear the downstairs area and assume that no one is upstairs. Just cover my backside as we move through the building. I’ll set up here while you get Shakeela and the prisoner. Keep an eye down the road. Don’t want to be surprised by any late-night visitors.”

  She gave him a glare. “This is not my first time to ride a horse.”

  “Huh? Oh, never mind.” He pointed toward the metal door below. “Let me go first and then we’ll take the stairs one at a time.”

  Gerrit started down the stairwell just as he heard the door above pop open. A gunman emerged, aiming an assault rifle toward the group. Gerrit shot first, hitting the attacker with a close three-round burst. The rounds jerked the gunman backward against the doorpost, the man dropping to the ground as the door started to swing shut.

  As Gerrit raced up the stairs he realized that this place was probably laced with cameras. Whoever was in the command post below must have seen and heard them coming. He quickly checked to see if the man was dead. No pulse. Gerrit recovered the man’s weapon and motioned for Alena to join him.

  “Hold this door open but stand to one side. I’m going to move the body out of sight, and then once I enter and give you a shout, have Shakeela and the prisoner come up the stairs.” Slipping an arm through his rifle sling, he hung the weapon behind him, grasping the gunman’s arms and dragging him behind the desk to his left. Swinging his weapon to the ready, he gripped it as he approached the door. He dashed back through the opening, sweeping the corridor beyond with his H&K, searching for more targets. Nothing moved.

  “Okay,” he whispered to Alena on the other side of the doorway. “Have them come up the stairs—quickly. I need you to help me sweep the rest of this place.” She turned and dashed down to quietly convey his message.

  As he continued to peer down the corridor leading to the command center, he heard footsteps behind him as Alena and the others approached. They brushed past. He closed the door and moved farther down the corridor, the others following. “Alena, let’s do a sweep. Shakeela, keep an eye on the prisoner and I—”

  Gunfire erupted from down the passageway as a man darted around the corner, spraying gunfire in their direction. Gerrit answered with his own burst, forcing the gunman to pull back. “Cover me, Alena.” He dashed toward where the gunman disappeared. Pausing for a moment, he sensed Alena failing to follow. Glancing backward, he saw her standing over two fallen bodies—Shakeela and the bound soldier.

  He resisted the urge to race back. He was committed. From this distance, he couldn’t make out Alena’s expression. She would have been standing beside him right now if Shakeela was okay. Maybe the fact Alena held back meant that Shakeela was in need of medical attention—not dead.

  Clenching his jaw, Gerrit turned and worked his way toward the gunmen. He’d have to clear this passage on his own. They’d lost the element of surprise.

  As he crept down the corridor, he realized this place felt like a tomb. He peeked around the corner. Silence and darkness greeted him. The gunmen must have knocked all the lights out leading up to the main command center. Smart move. He would have to clear this passageway in the dark. Any of the rooms he passed posed a potential ambush.

  He reached into his backpack and withdrew a red-lensed flashlight. At even intervals, he passed doorways that led to smaller rooms or storage units. At each of these entrances, he quickly scanned the interior to make sure no one lay in wait.

  About fifty yards into this tunnel-like passage, Gerrit heard a foot scrape the cement. It came from one of the rooms to his right. A second later, he heard two men whispering. The sound allowed him to zero in on one particular room. He loved going up against amateurs—nothing was fair in love and war.

  Reaching in his duffel bag, Gerrit withdrew a flash-bang grenade. He crossed to the right of the tunnel and crept along the wall until he reached the entrance to the room where he’d heard the sounds. They must have thought they could get the drop on him by hiding in this darkened room until he crossed their path. They should have kept their mouths shut. Stupidly, they stayed together instead of splitting up and catching him in a cross fire. They were about to pay for their mistakes.

  He flicked the pin on the flash-bang and tossed the grenade into the room, closing his eyes until he heard the explosion. A second later, he dropped and rolled to the doorway, firing short bursts, allowing the flash from his muzzle to illuminate his targets. The men—sprawled on the ground—would never raise their weapons again.

  Chapter 61

  March 16

  Only one room left. Gerrit closed in on the final door that led to the command center. He paused for a moment, grasped the handle, and ripped the door open. He dashed inside and peeled to the right, searching for movement.

  Empty! Not a threat in sight.

  He searched each crevice, making sure there were no more deadly surprises. Satisfied that the room was clear, he retraced his steps, propping the door open to the command center. He wanted to find out if Shakeela was alive.

  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 int
o 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.

  Chapter 62

  March 15

  Washington, D.C.

  Air 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 t
hey 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.

  Chapter 63

  March 16

  Al Horjelah, Syria

  Gerrit 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.