Blown Coverage (32 page)
Authors: Jason Elam
FRIDAY, MAY 29, 7:35 P.M. EEST ISTANBUL, TURKEY
Scott could hardly hear Hicks’s voice over the engine noise of the old delivery truck. The communication system was all set
up, each man with a receiver in his ear and a mic taped to his cheek, but Hicks had said he didn’t want to activate it until
they were on site. He was going over the operational plan with the remaining eight members of the team one more time before
they reached their destination.
Scott had helped develop the strategy and could visualize each step. Of course, with an hour’s notice, they still had no idea
what kind of building they were going into—a home, an apartment, a warehouse, a restaurant. However, Scott had already processed
through those eventualities too.
As they bumped along the old roads, he tuned out Hicks’s voice.
Scott scanned the faces of his team. Rage was in the eyes of every man. In fact, Scott had never seen the guys this worked
up, and it frightened him. He knew each one of them was harboring an overwhelming desire for revenge against the people who
had cut the throat of their friend, then left him to bleed to death in a stinking alley.
Revenge will cause people to think with their hearts and not their heads.
They’ll
overcommit in the face of gunfire, and
they’ll
worry less about civilian
casualties. This has all the makings of a bloodbath on both sides.
I’ve
gotta say something to bring them back
down—
something other
than my typically obnoxious comments.
So when Hicks finished his rundown, Scott spoke up. “Men, this is the time I usually say something stupid. But I know that
right now, nobody feels much like laughing.”
Everyone ignored him until they realized he was being serious.
“I just want to remind you to keep the goal in sight. This is about bringing down al-’Aqran—first and foremost. It’s about
saving hundreds, maybe even thousands, of American kids—kids like Gilly’s little boy—who could be lost because of his plans.
It’s about meting out justice for the thousands of lives that have already been lost because of him. And if we get some revenge
for Chris, that’s just the gravy.
“Al-’Aqran is going to die today! This dude is so twisted, and the stuff he is planning is so heinous, we’re not looking for
an arrest; we don’t want to put him back in a cell that he can escape from again. In the words of the great Apollo Creed,
‘Ain’t gonna be no rematch!’ So keep sharp! Think with your heads! Follow the plan, and watch your buddy’s back!”
A chorus of “Hooah,” “Oo-rah,” and “Let’s roll” sounded from this hodgepodge of military backgrounds.
Hicks gave him a nod and a thumbs-up. “Okay, everybody, comms up! Give me a rundown.”
“Velvet Two, check,” said Scott.
“Velvet Three, check,” said Jay Kruse.
On down the line it went. Scott’s stomach clenched when Chris Johnson didn’t answer for Velvet Eight.
“Velvet One, this is Runner.” Immediately silence filled the van.
“Runner, this is Velvet One; go ahead,” Hicks replied to the two CIA agents who had driven ahead to scout the target house.
Two more agents were in the cab of the delivery truck, and the final two were in a tail car right behind the FRRT team. Although
the agents’ orders were to keep out of the action, they were dying to jump into the fray. “Please, give us an excuse” had
been their comment to Hicks and Scott. Scott hoped the team wouldn’t need them.
“Velvet One, it’s a three-story building on the right side. Noncommercial. Solid door. Window bars. Alley on right only. Got
two balconies each on floors two and three, so if it’s a front-back, you’ve got four apartments on each floor.”
“Any targets?”
“Just getting to that. You’ve got two guns at the front door. At least one more in the alley. And just a heads-up—if they’ve
got any of those front apartments, you guys are going to be like fish in a barrel from those balconies.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“That’s it. Bring these guys down hard, Velvet. Out.”
All the team was looking at Hicks, who himself was looking down at the notes he was writing. Scott knew everyone was thinking
about those balconies. In a battle, position was everything, and as of right now, it seemed like the bad guys had the position.
Hicks could turn their confidence either way here depending on how he reacted. When he had finished scribbling, he looked
up calmly. “No different than what we thought, boys, except a few more stairs. We go in hard, and we go in fast. Logan, you
got the target in the alley. Everything else goes as planned.”
“Velvet One, this is Chauffeur. Ten seconds out.”
“Tonight there’s no mercy! Remember the schoolchildren! Let’s do this thing!” Hicks pulled the black knit mask over his face,
completing the intimidating all-black “walking shadow” look.
The rest of the team followed suit. Each man checked his sound-suppressed Magpul Masada assault weapon one last time. Posada
chambered a shell into his Remington 870 Modular Combat Shotgun.
The truck screeched to a halt. Hicks and Matt Logan swung the rear doors open, and the team piled out. Scott could hear the
sound-suppressed shots as he jumped out of the truck into a small pile of trash sitting in the gutter. To his right, Logan,
Kim Li, and Steve Kasay jumped over a bloodied body and ran through the alley to the back. Straight ahead two more bodies
lay askew on either side of the entryway.
The front door was open, and Velvet Team rushed in. Carlos Guitiérrez and Ted Hummel stayed by the door, looking back out
while the rest of the team went to the first apartment.
When they reached the old wooden door, Hicks counted down with his fingers—three, two, one—then Gilly Posada blasted the hinges
with his shotgun and Jay Kruse brought it down with his ram.
Scott and Hicks ran through the opening into a very sparsely furnished living room. Toward the back of the room next to a
frayed red curtain used to split the room into two sleeping areas, a man stood shaking. Behind him were his wife and three
young daughters.
“
Lütfen, lütfen!
”he was crying out:
“
Please,
please!”
Scott approached the man and placed the barrel of his rifle square against the man’s chest. “
Ariyorum
bir—
” then he pointed to his eye—“
erkek.
”:
“
I’m
looking for one . . .
man.”
He wanted to kick himself for not cramming more Turkish into his brain on the long drive up from Izmir Air Base.
Of all things, you
can’t
even remember
the word for eye, you idiot!
The man started babbling and pointing up. Behind him, his wife was crying and his daughters were screaming.
Scott waved his hand in front of the man’s face to get him to stop talking. When that didn’t work, he gave a push with the
barrel of his rifle.
The man shut up.
“
Anlamadim! Nerede
bir—
” Scott pointed to his eye again—“
erkek.
”:
“
I
don’t
understand! Where one . . .
man?”
The man pointed up.
Okay,
he’s
upstairs. Now
we’re
getting someplace.
“Ross, hurry it up,” Hicks said.
Scott waved him off. Gradually lifting his hand by levels, he said to the father, “
Bir, iki,
üç?
”:
“
One, two,
three?”
“
Üç,
üç!
” the man said, holding up three fingers. Then he used his hands to indicate the second front apartment.
“
Teshekkür
ederim,
” Scott said, patting the man on the cheek.
“
Thank
you.”
He pointed to a back room, then indicated for the family to stay there.
The man nodded and hustled his family back.
“Velvet Team, Velvet Two,” Scott said into his comm mic. “Scorpion is in the third floor, front left apartment—repeat, third
floor, front left apartment. Lead team is going up.”
Hicks and Kruse were already at the stairs by the time Scott made it out the door. Posada waited to bring up the rear.
Automatic weapon fire sounded from upstairs. Hicks paused on the first step. “The balconies,” he yelled. “Chauffeur, get yourselves
out of here!”
“RP—!” Chauffeur called out, then an explosion ended his voice and blew in through the entryway. Debris rattled through the
front hallway, and Scott heard it hit the inside of the apartment door next to him.
“Velvet Five and Seven, report in,” Hicks called to the men at the front door.
Through his earpiece, Scott heard Hummel answer, “The truck took an RPG right into the cab. Guitiérrez got tagged with some
shrapnel. He’s not good!”
“Get him to safety, then stand your post!”
“Yes, sir!”
“From now on, only absolutely essential chatter on the comm!”
At the bottom of the steps, Hicks’s eyes bored into each of his men. Then, abruptly, he turned his black-masked face and ran
to the second level.
Babrak Zahir ran back in from the balcony and threw the smoking RPG tube into the kitchen. “Their truck is destroyed,” he
said to al ’Aqran as he met up with him by the front door.
“Good, good,” the old man said. They had only the one RPG, so he had told Zahir to make it count. It sounded like the young
warrior had followed his orders.
Al-’Aqran was alone in the apartment with Zahir. Hamad Asaf, Arshad Hushimi, and Tahir Talib, all armed with AK-74s, had gone
out to meet the assault. Asaf and Hushimi were both veteran soldiers, and al-’Aqran knew they would be formidable foes.
Only that
fool, Talib, looked like he
wasn’t
sure which end of the gun to point at the
enemy.
“Worthless,” he grumbled.
Al-’Aqran looked at Zahir.
My life, entrusted into the hands of this
child. Why
couldn’t
his father be here with me? The two of us together
could have taken on a whole army of Americans in our day. But that was
a long time ago.
Oh, Allah, I have served you faithfully over the years. I have suffered
for you and have been tortured for you. I have killed in your name and for
your honor. Now we are on the verge of doing something so glorious that
your name will be praised throughout the nations.
I know you will take me in your time.
Insha’Allah.
All I ask, most
benevolent God, is that you let me complete this mission, and that you
don’t
let my life end at the hands of these motherless swine. Extend my
time on earth, so that I may continue to do your will.
“Babrak, my son.”
“Yes,
sayyid
.” Zahir was pressed against the wall, looking out through a crack in the front door.
“Look at me, Babrak.” Zahir obeyed. Al-’Aqran reached his hand around the back of the young man’s neck and gripped him gently.
“You know how I loved your father. He was a brother to me. I cannot remember weeping before your father’s death, and I have
not wept since.” Gradually, he strengthened his hold, shaking him to emphasize his words. “These men who are coming are the
ones who took your father’s life in Italy. I know. I heard them brag of it afterward. These very men put the bullets into
his body. If they make it this far, son, you remember that. You remember that, and you avenge your father!”
Al-’Aqran was gratified to see black hatred on the young man’s face. “Don’t worry,
sayyid
. Today I will restore my father’s honor to him.”
“Good boy,” al-’Aqran said, clapping Zahir on the shoulder.
“Make your father proud.”
Gunfire began down the hall. While Zahir stayed by the door, al-’Aqran hobbled behind the wall of the kitchen.
FRIDAY, MAY 29, 7:47 P.M. EEST
ISTANBUL, TURKEY
Jay Kruse fell backward down the second flight of stairs, blood pouring from his neck. Hicks and Posada returned fire while
Scott readied a flashbang grenade. He pulled the pin, but before he could throw it, a body fell from the landing above him
right on top of Posada, sending him down the stairs and knocking the grenade out of Scott’s hand.
“Cover up!” Scott yelled. Hicks and Scott squatted down, covered their ears, and closed their eyes tightly. Still the concussion
from the blast rocked them. Scott fumbled for another grenade to send upstairs to even the playing field.
The AK-74s opened up again. Splinters flew all around him, some embedding themselves into his cheeks and scalp. His ears were
ringing and his hands were shaking from the first flashbang, but he finally found the pin on a second one and tossed it up
the stairway.
Hicks must have had the same idea, because two explosions sounded, one right after the other. Scott felt Hicks slap his arm
to get his attention.
“I lead; you follow!”
Scott nodded.
Both men ran the final ten steps to the third floor. A burst of gunfire from Hicks took out a dazed target in the middle of
the hallway. On the landing to their right, a man dropped his gun, raised his hands, and pressed himself up against the wall.
Scott put a round in the man’s leg, and he dropped screaming. Scott used his hand to tell the fallen gunman to stay where
he was; then he slid the man’s AK-74 down the steps.
Scott and Hicks made their way down the hall, Hicks looking forward, Scott walking backward. Any moment, Scott expected a
door to swing open and bullets to start flying. But except for the groans of the wounded man at the end of the hall, all remained
quiet.
Scott quickly glanced to the front.
Just twelve more feet to the target
door. Keep it going. Keep it going.
Suddenly, gunfire erupted. Scott dove for the ground as he felt something take a bite out of his left arm. He turned in the
direction of the fire and let off a three-second burst. The target door shredded, and the gunfire behind it stopped. Quickly,
Scott switched out his clip, then turned to check on Hicks.
Hicks was lying on the floor.
From the man’s body position, Scott knew it wasn’t good.
Oh no,
not you, Jim!
He slid over to him, keeping his rifle trained on where the door used to be. Blood was darkening Hicks’s black clothing in
at least four places that Scott could see.
“Jim? Jim? You okay, man?” Scott checked for a pulse. It was weak but there. He shook Hicks’s shoulder and gave his face a
light slap. Hicks’s eyes cracked open.
Then he spoke, and his words were so faint that without the microphone taped to his cheek, Scott never would have heard what
he said. “Get moving, you idiot, before someone puts a cap in that fat gut of yours.”
Scott grinned under his mask. “You got it, boss.”
He hated to leave Hicks alone, but he had to finish the mission. He started moving forward, staying low to the floor.
“Velvet Two, this is Velvet Four; I’m coming up behind you.” Scott was relieved to hear Posada’s voice.
“Velvet Four, stay with Velvet One until I can get Velvet . . . Okay, this is stupid! Gilly, stay with Jim until I can get
Li up here.”
“Yes, sir,” Posada said as he crested the top of the stairway.
“Li, break off your detail and get upstairs now.”
“You got it, Velvet Scott.”
As Scott slowly moved toward the door, his mind started racing.
Scorpion has to be in there, or else why would they defend it so strongly?
But if
he’s
in there, why is there no more shooting? The
hajji
in the doorway
must have been the only
guy—
wait, check
that—
probably
was the
only guy. The old
man’s
got to be in here. Remember who he is, though.
He was a veteran soldier before you were even a gleam in your strung-out,
heroin-addicted
daddy’s
eye.
Scott could see the shooter through the doorway.
There’s
no
doubting that one is dead.
He moved a little farther forward, and when he finally reached the door, he peeked in.
So, this is the end,
al-’Aqran thought. When he saw Zahir fall, he knew that his time was done.
I have served you for so long, God. Then I ask you
for one thing, and you have said no?
The old man smiled.
Insha’Allah.
What can I do if it is your will? One thing I can promise you, O Mighty
One, is that when I finally go down, I will not go down alone. I came into
this world fighting, I have lived my life fighting, I will die fighting!
A footstep on the splintered wood of the door told him that they had come. He waited for two more footsteps. Then he reached
around the corner of the wall and fired. A tall figure dressed all in black collapsed to the floor. Al-`Aqran ducked behind
the wall. He knew there would be more. After a moment, he quickly glanced around the corner. The man was still there—a pool
of blood spreading from his side.
Keep coming, you demon spawn of the devil!
I’ll
send you to see the
dark lord you serve, just like I sent this first one.
Al-’Aqran hunched down, hearing his knees pop, and listened for his next victim.
“Scott, Scott, you okay in there?” Posada had been calling Scott for the past minute since the gunfire. So far, there had
been no response. Posada wanted to go in, but he needed to keep pressure on the wound at the base of Hicks’s neck.
Kim Li finally arrived up the stairs, and Posada waved him over. “Hold this here. I’m going to check on Scott.”
“You got it,” Li replied, grabbing hold of the bloody rag that used to be Posada’s mask.
Posada left Hicks and started toward the door. Then a voice, barely audible, came through his earpiece, stopping him in his
tracks. “Gilly, you there, man?”
“Right here, buddy.”
“Move to the door, but don’t come in.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then go down to the floor, and on my go, start hitting the door fragments like footsteps.”
“You got it.”
Scott didn’t know what parts of his body had been hit, but he knew it hurt like nothing he’d ever felt before. When he had
assessed the situation, he recognized that al-’Aqran was poised to pick off the Velvet Team members one by one until they
came in with strength. Even then, the stubborn old man would probably take out a couple more before he went down.
I can take this weasel out;
I’ve
just got to get him in the open. But if I
make any noise,
he’ll
be aiming right at me, which removes the
“
Olly olly
oxen
free”
option. I just need a diversion, something or someone to draw
his fire.
That was when he called Posada.
“I’m in position,” Posada’s voice said into Scott’s earpiece.
“Okay, ready, now.”
A faint rustling noise started behind Scott. A moment later, the flashing barrel of the rifle appeared, followed by the face
of al’Aqran—the Scorpion. Scott’s finger pulled back on his trigger, and a string of 5.56 mm rounds slammed into the old man’s
body, throwing him against the back wall, where he slumped to the ground.
Posada ran past Scott and retrieved the man’s rifle. Scott tried to pull himself up, but his left leg wasn’t working like
it should. Looking around, he saw al-’Aqran’s old walking stick.
“Gilly, is he dead?”
“No, the old man’s a fighter,” Posada said, leaning over al ’Aqran.
“Tell you what, bring me that walking stick, and then leave the room.”
Posada raised an eyebrow as he walked over toward his friend. “Scott, are you sure you want me—?”
“That’s an order!”
“Yes, sir.”
Posada got the stick and helped Scott to his feet. “Call if you need me.”
Scott just nodded his head. The pain in his side was making his head swim.
Focus, man, focus! You can do this!
Slowly he made his way over to where the terrorist commander was raspily sucking in breath. Scott turned a chair from the
table. The air whistled out of the cushion as he sat down. He pulled off his mask, removed the mic that was taped to his cheek,
and nudged the old man with the barrel of his rifle.
Scott was gratified to see the look of recognition on al-’Aqran’s face when he looked up.
Leaning his arm back onto the table just behind and trying to hide the wince of pain this nonchalant move caused him, Scott
said, “Hey, Mr. Scorpion, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
“Ah, the friends of Riley Covington, come to exact their revenge.”
“Revenge? This isn’t about revenge, old man; it’s about justice.”
Al-’Aqran laughed, but his laugh quickly deteriorated into a blood-spewing cough. He wiped his mouth with the back of his
hand. “What do you Americans know about justice? We will see who is just when we stand before the one true, just God.”
Scott shook his head. “That we will, and I’m guessing you are about five minutes away from seeing him. Now tell me about the
school attacks before I use my knife to dig out your one good eye.”
“What school attacks?” al-’Aqran answered. But Scott could see the surprise on the old man’s face.
“I don’t have time for your games,” Scott said, wincing as he pulled his knife from his right boot. “You are thirty seconds
away from me punching your one-way ticket to hell.”
Again the laugh, but softer this time. “I may be on my way to hell. But at least if I am, I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing
that your friend Riley Covington will be joining me there within the hour.”
Scott sat up quickly, sending lightning bolts through his body. He sucked in air, trying to get control of the pain. “You
wish. Riley took care of your little boys up in the mountains.”
Another coughing fit sprayed blood across the floor and onto Scott’s boots. Scott was tempted to wipe them off on the man’s
scraggly beard. “Oh, I’m not talking about the mountains. Maybe if you get me to a hospital, I’ll tell you a little more.
Maybe we can even talk about your little children there too.”
He’s
running a game!
That’s
all
he’s
doing;
he’s
running a game, trying
to buy more time.
There’s
no way
he’s
going to tell a thing.
I’ll
find
out about the school attacks and about Riley, but not from
al-’
Aqran.
I’ll
get the info I need from the guy down the hall with the bullet in his leg.
Scott slowly pushed himself to his feet.
A bloody smile spread across al-’Aqran’s face. “How about it? You send me off to a dirty old prison and you get to save the
lives of all those little fair-haired children. Deal?”
Scott shook his head. “Not this time, old man. I hate to tell you, but there ain’t gonna be no rematch.”
He pulled the trigger of his rifle twice, then slowly limped his way to the door.