Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut (22 page)

As the aircraft dropped lower, he saw a number of people on the ground next to the cargo area. He pointed them out to Goldstein.

"It looks like a reception committee. Do we have a problem?"

Before he could answer, Zaki finished speaking to the tower and looked toward him.

"They're the Asian workers I told you about, waiting to fly out to Yemen."

"Why are they sitting there, if they're not flying out until tomorrow?"

"They'll have been waiting for a couple of days. Remember, I was due in the day before yesterday. They're just cattle to al Saif, and he'll leave them out in the sun as long as necessary. He wouldn't want them anywhere near the palace, and he won't have them inside his warehouses and maintenance hangar, in case they steal."

"Poor bastards."

"Yes, treated like shit in their own countries, and they come here to be treated even worse."

There was nothing he could say. The extent of Islamic cruelty to people of their own faith shouldn't come as a surprise to him, but it still did. Despite protestations of a united one-nation Islamic faith, their capacity for ill-treating fellow Muslims was astonishing. And for making war on each other even more astonishing.

Zaki turned to him. "They've cleared us to land, so we'll be on the ground in three or four minutes."

He nodded, left the cockpit, and rejoined his men.

"Listen up, we're coming in to land. There's a crowd of Asian workers down there waiting to board this aircraft, but not until tomorrow morning. The same goes for the cargo they're expecting. They won't try and unload until tomorrow. We sit inside the aircraft and stay out of sight until nightfall. But just in case, I want the Minimis ready in case anyone tries to open the cargo doors. The rest of you; be prepared for anything."

The wheels slammed down on the tarmac, and the pilot slowed the aircraft gradually as it rolled toward the hangar area. Talley went back into the cockpit and watched the mass of Asians who were squatting impassively on the ground. Zaki taxied toward a large concrete structure with wide doors and a truck outside, the warehouse. He stopped the aircraft, applied the brakes, and switched off the engine.

The Asian workers were close, only a few meters away. It was then he realized they weren't all workers. He'd been trying to work out how the Twin Otter could carry so many people when its cabin only allowed for an absolute maximum of twenty. But they weren't all Asian workers; some of the men were dressed differently, in paramilitary uniforms. They were armed guards, undoubtedly employed to make certain the slave workers didn't steal or create any trouble.

He ran back into the cabin.

"Guy, there're soldiers out there. Six or eight of them, carrying AKs."

His number two nodded. "I saw them through the window. Trouble?"

He nodded. "It's possible. If we need to take them down, make sure it's silent. One shot could tip them off we're here."

"Roger that."

He went back to the cockpit. Zaki was speaking to the ground controller. He was arguing about unloading the cargo, and his expression was growing tenser by the second. When he'd finished, he turned to Talley.

"Change of plan. They want the cargo unloaded right away. Apparently, the gold mine in Yemen needs those workers urgently, as they're already overdue. They've given permission for the laborers to unload the crates and then climb aboard."

"Shit! Is there any way we can handle this?"

He shook his head

"Look outside. There are guards everywhere. If we don't open up the cargo door in the next few minutes and start unloading crates, they'll grow suspicious. They'll call for reinforcements from the troops guarding the palace, and we'll be surrounded."

Talley took a couple of minutes to survey the immediate area, noting the position of men, guards, weapons, and vehicles. He turned back to the pilot.

"Delay them for a couple more minutes. Tell them the door lock is stuck, something like that. Then we’ll be ready for them."

Zaki was aghast. "But… the second we open the door, they'll know we're carrying armed troops."

"Let me worry about that. A couple of minutes, that's all. Then we can open up. Shimon, come with me. Zaki, as soon as you're finished on the radio, join us in the cabin."

He left the cockpit without waiting for an answer and spelled it out to the men.

"Here's the deal. In two minutes, that door is going to open. There are eight guards outside, all of them armed with AKs; they're guarding the Asian workers. We have to take them down fast. No noise. If anyone fires a shot, we're done for. Vince, Jesse, take the guards furthest from the aircraft. The rest of you, pair up. I want two men to each of the other six targets. As soon as the cargo door opens, hit them with headshots. Those gomers have to go straight down. They mustn't touch their triggers."

He turned to Goldstein. "The only guys that should be here are you and Zaki. The moment that starboard door opens, I want you to get out fast, straight out the port hatch. Your job is to reach those Asian workers and keep them calm. If they start screaming their heads off when the bodies fall, we’ll be finished. Tell them if they make a sound, we’ll shoot them all dead."

The Mossad man smiled. "Would you kill them?"

He gave him a hard look. "Just keep them quiet. I’ll worry about the rest."

Zaki joined them from the cockpit.

"It's all set. I told them my engineer has fixed the door lock, and we're about to open up."

Talley nodded and explained exactly what he needed him to do with Goldstein. The Lebanese looked worried but agreed to go along. They looked at the starboard door as someone banged on it, impatient for it to open. Guy raised an eyebrow, and he nodded.

"We all set?"

A chorus of affirmatives came back at him. They raised their guns.

"Open the door."

Guy unfastened the lock and started to push it open. Roy Reynolds had been peering out of the forward window. He started in surprise and then turned to Talley.

"Boss, there's a vehicle heading toward us. It appeared from around back of the terminal building. I don't want to worry you, but it's an APC, one of those old Soviet BTRs with an auto cannon mounted on the top. The crew is sitting out on the hull, like it's a joy ride. But if they see anything they don't like, they'll scuttle inside and button up. We don't want to tangle with that thing."
 

He turned his head quickly. They were only three hundred meters away.

"Vince, Jesse, APC heading our way. Take down your targets, and if the vehicle is still coming at us, hit the three men on top, and make sure you get the driver at the same time. I can see his hatch is open, so they're not expecting trouble. Not yet, anyway."

"Copy that."

He was heartened by the calm reply. If anyone could pull this off, these men could. Timing was everything. If his men opened fire too early or too late, or if the APC accelerated and saw the Saudi guards gunned down, they'd come straight at them. And they'd use their radio to call in others.

Timing.

The cargo door swung wide. Behind him, he heard Nassif and Goldstein exit the port hatch.

This operation is balanced on a knife-edge. The next few seconds will decide the difference between success and failure. Between life and death for all of us, and for Nava. Just one factor is in play, like a ball rolling around a roulette wheel, slower, slower. Red or black, life or death, Timing.

Arar, Saudi Arabia

She lay on the bed trussed to the four corners, her mouth covered by a gag tied tightly behind her head. It seemed that everything these people did was designed to hurt, to inflict pain and humiliation. She shuddered. Even sadists would take a break sometimes. But not al Saif, the Saudi.

Creep!

She suspected what he had in store for her, and knew the best she could hope for was an early death. The alternative would be a long, drawn out scream of pain. The door opened, and he entered the room. Al Saif was a typical Saudi. His plump flesh the result of an indolent life, exploiting the wealth of a nation to keep himself in luxury while his people suffered; and women most of all. He stood over her and looked down with dark, cold eyes. He was tall, with a pencil mustache under his hooked Bedouin nose. The rest of his head was covered in the Arab headdress favored by the Saudis, like a tea cloth fastened with a length of discarded rope.

Pity he doesn't hang himself with it.

“I trust you are well, my dear.” His smile was a fractional movement of the lips. The eyes remained cold and still, “I wouldn't like you to be ill. After all, we have a great deal to explore together.”

She held his gaze, waiting. He stared back at her, and she felt her skin crawl at his probing gaze. Finally, she broke the silence.

"What do you want?"

His smile broadened. "Why, to enjoy you. For the little time you have left."

"So you plan to kill me." It wasn't a question.

He appeared to think for a few moments. "All in good time. I wish to explore the depths of your soul."

"You mean the depths of my pain," she hissed back at him.

He shrugged. "Call it what you will. Your torment will be my inspiration. But I promise you, it will be an extraordinary experience, one you will remember for the rest of your… life."

He touched her face, felt her lips, and then ran his hand down past her breasts to her vagina. She felt his vile fingers probing and pushing. He sighed with satisfaction, and then abruptly he removed his hand, turned away, and left.

She knew there was little chance of a quick death, yet it was all she could hope for now, a death that would be as painless as possible. But the chances of her getting her wish were remote, unless she could do something to make it happen. She tested her bonds, but the person who tied them was an expert, and escape was impossible. She resolved to stay alert for the slightest chance, and when it came, she’d take it. And die. She thought of Abe Talley.

Where is he?
Even with all his skill and expertise, this desert fortress is one place he would find impossible to penetrate.

* * *

The heat of the desert hit them like a hard blow, and the mass of Asians squatting on the ground turned to stare into the cabin. As did the guards, but their gaze was incurious. This was just a routine occurrence, a cargo aircraft about to unload and load cargo. But Talley noted their expressions change as it struck them this aircraft was different. Instead of innocuous wooden crates, the aircraft was packed with armed men. Hands began to reach for triggers, but they were too late, much too late.

The, 'thunk, thunk, thunk' of the suppressed rifles was inaudible at anything more than a few meters, but very visible. The face of each of the eight guards bloomed red as the heavy .338 Lapua Magnum rounds and the lighter 5.56mm bullets did their deadly business. Before two seconds had elapsed, the eight guards were blasted dead, shot through the head with multiple hits. Before the last body hit the ground, Goldstein and Nassif were racing out to pacify the workers and prevent a panic.

Immediately, the snipers shifted their aim. The real threat lay further away; the BTR, the armored steel behemoth that could turn the aircraft and every man in it to bloody shreds in a matter of seconds. Afterward, Talley discovered the snipers had discussed their target priority, deciding to both go for the driver. The rest of the unit hit the men riding on top of the hull with short bursts, and once again their fire was accurate and deadly. Almost.

One of the guards riding on the hull moved at the last second, and the bullet intended for him slammed into his shoulder, forcing him back. He rolled off the vehicle and slammed into the hard concrete. He was badly wounded, shocked, and with the breath knocked out of his body. But fear overcame many things, and he catapulted to his feet and started to limp away toward the control tower.

He opened his mouth to shout, but no sound emerged. Both snipers had noted the movement and targeted him at the same time. Four shots spat out. Each man firing a double tap, and the man's head disintegrated. Pieces of skull and brain matter hit the ground first, and his body followed, slowly collapsing to a pile of lifeless tissue, with blood oozing out onto the concrete. The area was silent once more, and Talley worked fast to secure their temporary advantage.

"Roy, take two men and secure the APC. Domenico, get out there and have Goldstein persuade those workers to help clear the bodies. Offer them anything, but for Christ's sake, get them out of sight!"

Reynolds raced away and boarded the Soviet era BTR80. The two troopers with him stacked the bodies on the hull. The big black Sergeant jumped into the driving seat and got the heavy vehicle moving toward the nearest warehouse. The doors were open, and he drove straight in to find a hiding place for the bodies. Goldstein didn't have so much luck at first. The Asians gestured and shouted, terrified at the stunning ferocity of the attack. But when two of them made to break away, Rovere blocked them. He was fearsome to the civilians in his helmet, armored vest, and assault rifle. They turned back and rejoined the main group. Minutes later, they started to drag the dead bodies toward the warehouse.

Reynolds drove the BTR back out, less the bodies, and parked alongside the aircraft. He jumped out, climbed up to the cabin, and found Talley.

"We've bought a little time," he warned, "but not much. Those guards will be reporting to someone, and when they don't show, the shit will hit the fan."

"We have to go now. We can't wait for nightfall," he replied, "Guy had an idea."

His number two shrugged. "It's not much of one, but you're right. We can't wait until tonight. We may only have minutes at best before they realize something's up. My suggestion is we pack into the BTR and head straight for the palace. Strike them hard, shock and awe, before they know what's hit them."

Domenico came back inside the cabin. "I heard the last of that. Are you serious? You know there are upward of fifty guards inside that place, and they're not half-trained militia."

"I know that, Dom," he replied, "but what choice do we have? It's now or never."

The Italian gazed across the open ground toward the formidable wall that protected the palace from the outside. He looked around for a few moments and then smiled.

"I recall someone said, 'there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so'. Let's go stuff the bastards."

"It'll be like sardines in a tin inside the BTR," Roy growled, "I had to be a contortionist just to get into that driving seat."

The thirteen-ton monster was designed for a crew of three plus seven troops. Echo Six numbered nineteen men in all. But they had no choice. They needed the armament. The turret carried a 14.5mm KPVT machine gun, and there was a 7.62mm light machine gun for secondary armament, as well as the armor-plated hull that was capable of stopping both light and heavy caliber bullets. They'd have no defense against RPG7 rockets, but they were unlikely to face those weapons in the initial stages of a battle. Afterward, it would be the job of the snipers to take down any missile shooters foolish enough to put their heads up.

Once the job was finished, they'd need an exfil. He called in Zaki Nassif and explained what they planned.

"The only way out of this place is by air. I want you to stay with the aircraft, and Goldstein can ride shotgun. He still has one of our headsets, so we'll be able to keep you up-to-date with what's going down. And any problems here, he can call for help."

Zaki looked down at the floor for a moment as if seeking inspiration. Then he stared at the men ranged around the cabin.

"You know what you're doing? You'll be vastly outnumbered inside the palace compound."

"We know. Don't worry about it. We'll get out. You just make sure you have the aircraft ready to fly us out of this country."

"I'll be ready."

Talley gazed at him for a moment and then turned to his men.

"Let's see if Roy is right about the BTR. It's time to practice at sardines in a tin."

It was bad inside the thick steel box. The air was still hot and still, and the sun beat down on the iron hull, turning it into an oven. They all packed into the troop compartment, except the driver Roy Reynolds, and Virgil, who took the gunner’s seat underneath the turret. They’d need that heavy machine gun, and Virgil was something of a wizard with automatic weapons of all types. When they were inside, the hatch clanged shut, and Reynolds hit the gas pedal. The noise and heat were incredible. Heat from the sun-seared hull, the press of too many bodies in the confined space, and the roar from the massive diesel engine that powered the eight-wheeled APC.

There was no way he could see ahead, and Talley sang out to Virgil, high in the turret.

"You'll have to keep me up-to-date with what's happening. I'm blind down here."

It was like being trapped in a dark, noisy hell; imprisoned with the stink of oil, rubber, and sweating men.

"Copy that," Kane replied, "We're about one klick from the main gate. So far, there's no sign they've noticed anything wrong. No, wait. I can see more men on top of the wall, and they're pointing toward us."

"Roy, pedal to the metal. Hit it."

"Roger that."

"They're closing the gates," Virgil exclaimed.

"Understood. Roy, ram them. Straight through, and don't stop for anything."

"Roger that."

They closed the distance to the palace compound, meter by meter.

Nava, hold on. We're coming. Just a little longer, and I'll get you out of there.

The vehicle pitched and rolled as Reynolds swung the wheel over to aim straight at the gates, and then they heard the patter of machine gun bullets on the steel hull. So the Saudis knew they were under attack. There was no going back. But neither was there any real threat, not from small arms fire. The BTR 80 was able to absorb it, but nothing bigger.

"Virgil, keep an eye out for missiles. They're sure to have RPG7s somewhere."

"Roger that. One hundred meters."

Roy shouted, "Brace yourselves. We're about to hit."

He barely had time to extend his arms and legs when the heavy vehicle shuddered and rose up in the air. There was a massive sound of splintering hardwood and tortured steel, and then they were through. Roy straightened the wheel, poured on the power, and headed straight for the main building. The incoming fire was intensifying, and the hull pinged continuously with the strikes of the bullets. And then Virgil shouted, "Missile shooter! On the palace roof."

He held his breath without knowing it, as the BTR's big machine gun opened up, and a hail of heavy slugs arced up to pick off the man who'd showed himself.

"Got him!" Kane shouted.

"Well done, Virgil, good shooting. Roy, find us somewhere we can transfer from the vehicle into the palace without getting shot to shit."

"There's nowhere, Boss. Well, there's a glass conservatory, some kind of a solarium in front of us…"

"Drive straight in. We'll disembark undercover."

"With pleasure. I hope this asshole has insurance and a good glazier."

"He'll need more than that."

But Talley had other things on his mind. When he'd braced before they hit the main gates, he'd felt the familiar numbness returning. He'd tried to use his right arm to steady himself, but it wouldn't move. Now, it hung uselessly at his side, twitching and shaking. He grabbed his MP7 with his left hand, ramming his right side against the steel hull of the APC to hold it still.

In the hot confined space, it was unlikely anyone had noticed. Then he laughed to himself. He was going into an intense firefight against overwhelming odds, and it was entirely possible he wouldn't emerge alive. Since they'd landed at Arar, he saw the increasing odds they faced, and he regretted bringing his unit along. He should have come alone, one man, Ninja fashion. Live or die. Now, he'd led his men to face the strong chance of a harsh death in the hot Saudi desert, at the hands of a billionaire psychopath. He thought of his nemesis, the man he had yet to see, Malik al Saif.

If I get you in my sights, buddy, you're going down. No question, no hesitation. If you hadn't bought Nava from her Hezbollah captors, she may have been put with the other hostages, and we'd be on the deck of the Nimitz, celebrating a successful operation.

Even inside the roaring vehicle, the shattering of glass was loud as they drove straight into the panoramic windows of a huge solarium, probably large enough to hangar a small aircraft. The BTR bumped up some steps, and Roy brought it to a halt. The men were already flinging open the hatches and leaping out. Talley joined the rush, hoping they wouldn't notice his weapon held uncharacteristically in his left hand. The defenders were already massing outside, and raking bursts of gunfire ripped past them. Rovere ran across to him.