Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut (28 page)

"It's going to be tough," Guy murmured, "There's no way to approach undercover, and those stingers will stop the truck as easily as a stonewall. We should wait until dark. Otherwise they'll tear us apart."

Talley nodded. The only way to get on that quay was a frontal attack, which meant Echo Six could take serious casualties. He was about to answer Guy when movement up ahead made him look toward the yacht.

"We can't wait. They're preparing to leave."

They'd started engines, and it was easy to see the turbulence from the underwater exhausts as the crew began warming the engines. Sailors were lounging around the deck, waiting to untie the lines. It looked as if the next few minutes, they would see their quarry escape once again.

Guy was silent, scouring every inch of the dock and the surrounding area, looking for a way to get through. But the defenses were formidable, and nothing less than an armored vehicle would get through. Or a seaborne attack, and that would take time and resources to organize. In the few short minutes they had left, they were out of options. He turned to Talley.

"I just don't see any way around this. There's no way we can get onto that dock. It’s finished. We’ll have to find another way to go after him. Maybe we can find the vessel’s destination and follow him, wherever the bastard is going." He stopped, watching Talley’s agonized expression. He appeared to be making his mind up about something, “Don’t think about it, Boss. There’s not going to be any Charge of the Light Brigade, not on my watch. You try and rush that strongpoint, and I’ll have to stop you.”

“He’ll kill her, Guy. The man’s a psycho. You know that.”

“And he’ll kill you too, if you try it. What good would that do her?”

As they watched, a bunch of soldiers marched down the gangplank from the yacht. Obviously a beefed-up squad to guard the vessel while it was in port. Now they were leaving as the vessel prepared to sail.

“I make it almost thirty of them,” Guy murmured, “If we’d gone in, it would have been a bloodbath. We’d have taken a hit, Abe.”

“I know, but there must be something we can do.”

She’s slipping away from me. When he get’s out to sea, he can do what he wants to her. She’s as good as dead.

“There's nothing.”

Port of Arar, Lebanon

He forced her to watch, as he slowly finished his meal and sipped champagne from a bottle that reclined in a golden ice bucket. He saw her looking at it and smiled.

"Solid gold. I enjoy owning the best of everything, including my women. Especially my women, for I find their pain is one of the finer things in life. Without pain, there is nothing," he smiled, "Their pain."

She averted her eyes. He watched her for a few moments and grew annoyed that she wasn't showing fear. The Arab picked a sharp knife from the table, stood up, and walked over to her. He ran the knife down her cheek. It was razor sharp and made a tiny cut in her skin. She felt the blood dripping down, but with a huge effort of will, managed to keep looking away.

"You're a cold one," he spat, "That is good. It means I will have to work harder to hear your screams."

He pressed a call button, and two guards entered the room.

"Take her away, and secure her in my cabin."

"Do we gag her, Master?"

"No. I wish to hear her screams when I go in."

They bowed and unfastened her, half dragging and half carrying her away. Their treatment was rough, and by the time they pulled her into al Saif's cabin, she was even more bruised. Maybe it was part of the softening up process. Or maybe it was the traditional Arab contempt for women.

What difference does it make? Soon, he'll come. He'll torture me, and I'll die.

They fastened her spread-eagled to the bed and left her bound. She lay there for a few minutes, but she couldn't stop the tears, and soon she was sobbing. She forced herself to stop as the door opened. She jerked in terror. Sheikh Malik al Saif was standing in the doorway. He stared at her for a few moments and then entered. He closed the door and began removing his clothing. Soon, he was naked, and she forced herself not to smile at his insignificant organ, which hung flaccid between his legs. He turned, and with his back to her, rummaged in a mahogany chest fastened to the cabin wall. He turned back to face her, and in his hand he held two shining metal instruments. They could have been surgical tools, but she knew their purpose was to hurt, not to heal. His penis was now hard. She'd been right; it was the only way he could find arousal.

She prepared herself for the pain as he advanced on her. He didn't speak, just held up the metal instruments. One was a scalpel, and the other a claw shaped device that was obviously designed to be inserted inside her. He stood over her and began cutting a long, thin line into her breasts. The agony was unbearable, and she could feel her blood pouring down her body. Yet still she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of crying out. She closed her eyes and kept them tight shut.

Until he inserted the second instrument, the clawed device, inside her vagina. The pain, the agony, was so intense, she couldn't help by cry out, and she screamed and screamed. It felt as if her insides were being scooped out. When she thought she was about to die, he stopped and removed it. Then he knelt on the bed and mounted her. The pain when he forced his penis into her was almost as searing as the metal torture implement, and she knew the internal damage could be bad. Mercifully, he was quick; already on the point of a climax, he came quickly. Her own blood inside her vagina helped lubricate the passage of his penis. He got to his feet almost instantly and stood watching her for a few moments. She could see blood on his chest, penis, and legs. Her blood. Then he went into the adjoining shower, and she heard the water running as he washed off the evidence of his crime. He returned to the cabin, dressed quickly, and smiled.

"Thank you, my dear. You gave me much pleasure, so it is a shame that next time it must be so much worse for you. Much worse."

She didn't reply, didn't plead, knowing it would only feed his sadism. He waited a few moments more, turned, and left.

She sobbed, feeling the exquisite pain from the wounds to her body overcome her. A few minutes later, the door opened again. She jerked in terror, but it was the pretty girl, the cabin attendant who worked on al Saif's jet. She was carrying an assortment of clothes under her arm.

She stood for a few moments looking at Nava's cuts, and her eyes were filled with concern. She came nearer and spoke in a soft murmur.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I can't take this any longer. It has to stop. First I'll untie you and tend to your wounds." She surveyed the blood smeared body, and her eyes filled with tears, "When you're cleaned up, let's see if there's any way we can get you out of here. I brought you some clothes to wear."

Nava didn't reply. Her mind was elsewhere, far from this place, far from the world of pain.

The girl looked down at her as she unfastened her ankles. "I'm leaving too. We'll get out together. I don't know how we'll do it, but there has to be a way. Maybe we can slip over the side and swim to shore. Can you swim?"

She knew the girl was talking to her, but somehow, nothing made sense. It was as if her brain had disconnected from her body and from everything around her.

"I'm betting you can. To get away from this hellhole, I'd walk on water."

The girl released the last of her bonds. "Come, I need to get you cleaned up and bandaged. We'll find somewhere to hide until the guards are out of the way, and we can get off the boat."

She took her to the bathroom, where only minutes before al Saif had showered the blood from his body. There were blotches on the floor, and the white towels were stained red. She could smell his rank stench, and all she could think of was death.

Either his or mine, it makes no difference. As long as it stops. I can't take anymore.

The girl cleaned her up as best she could, put ointment on her wounds. and bandaged them. She then helped her to dress in a long, voluminous Arab robe.

When she was ready, the girl looked outside, and then gestured for Nava to follow. She stepped out of the cabin, not sure why she was following this girl; it all seemed so unreal. Everything was hazy, and her head felt wooly, but she went forward. They crept along the narrow passageway and were about to climb the companionway to the next deck, when they heard an explosion outside. The girl flung open an adjacent cabin door.

"In here, quick. I don't know what's happening out there, but we must hide. It's probably another militia battle, and there'll be fighters swarming all over the boat in a few minutes. It happens all the time in Lebanon, and Hezbollah sends extra troops to guard al Saif."

They ducked into the cabin and hid in a closet.

Deep down inside her mind, Nava knew it wasn't militia that had caused the explosion. She didn't know how, but she was sure of one thing.

He's here. Talley.

* * *

At first, he watched the yacht, and then he refocused his gaze on the guard post. Upward of forty men in all, including the reinforcements from the yacht.

He could taste the bitter bile of defeat in his mouth, and the sick certainty that an innocent girl would be murdered. Slaughtered by a cruel Arab psychopath, while he waited uselessly watching the craft about to go to sea.

All because of…

The eruption was like a bolt from heaven, a violent cry of anger from a wrathful god. The guard post disappeared in an avalanche of flame and fire. He knew instantly what had happened, the 'why' would come later. It was a hit with a Hellfire missile. However he'd done it, Admiral Brooks had come through. Where seconds before, there'd been upward of forty Hezbollah fighters milling around confidently waving their assault rifles, there was now a tangled mass of burned and broken bodies. There were a few survivors, but they were too shocked to defend themselves when Guy reacted in a split second and gave the order.

"Charge!"

They ran, a lung searing, muscle wrenching sprint toward the yacht. It was three hundred meters away, yet in full equipment they made it in less than a minute. As they ran past the shattered guard post, they instinctively shot anyone who looked capable of recovering and hitting them from the rear. They reached the yacht, leaving only dead bodies in their wake. Guy turned and shouted to Rovere.

"Mount a guard, and watch our backs, Domenico. The locals will be here soon to check out that explosion, and we have to hold them off until we find a way out."

"Copy that," the Italian replied. He picked out three more men to form a rearguard, and Virgil Kane dropped to the ground and deployed his Minimi. Vince DiMosta selected a stand close by to snipe on any enemy, and the Frenchman, Daniel Caron, ducked behind the shelter of a huge iron bollard. Rovere squatted next to Virgil where he could assist him with loading while keeping an eye out for hostiles.

Guy was already leading the way onto the huge yacht. Several of the crew looked on in terror as the foreign troopers swarmed aboard, and most of them threw up their hands in surrender. Three of them decided to make a fight of it and lunged for their assault rifles. They were guards, not seamen, and the charging NATO men shot them down without a pause. Guy shouted out orders on the run.

"Roy, take Jesse and secure the bridge, and if you see anything worth shooting at, do it."

"Copy that," the big black Sergeant acknowledged.

They dashed away, Reynolds with the second Minimi and Whitefeather with his sniper rifle. From the high advantage point of the vessel's bridge, they would have the visibility and firepower to control the entire ship.

"The rest of you follow me," the Brit shouted.

He disappeared through a pair of polished mahogany doors that led to the interior of the boat. Talley was right behind him, as Guy went from cabin to cabin. There was no sign of al Saif or Nava. Buchmann was pulling Sumaiyah along with him, and he pushed her aside into an empty cabin, warning her to keep her head down. There were plenty of fighters on board, and most of them were unwilling to surrender to Westerners. They encountered the first serious resistance at the very front of the boat, the forecastle.

It was clearly the main security station for the vessel, and as they ran toward it, four men came out, saw them, and dashed back inside. The door slammed shut, and a small inspection port opened. An assault rifle poked through, and Guy shouted, "Down!"

They dived for the deck as a burst of automatic fire raked over their heads. Guy and a couple of others shot back, and the barrel disappeared inside the cabin. But they were too exposed in the passageway, an easy target for whatever the defenders decided to do next. Guy nodded to Talley.

"Your MP7, it's time to show us what it can do. They're sure to be sheltering behind the door, can you take them?"

He nodded. "With pleasure."

There was no need to aim. It was just a question of peppering the steel door with the tiny, armor piercing high velocity rounds. The copper-plated, solid steel projectiles hit the heavy steel and went straight through, as if it were no more than cardboard. They heard two separate screams, and Guy grinned.

"That's two down, but we need to get in there and finish the rest of them before we can clear the lower decks." His eyes lighted on Buchmann, "Heinrich, if we shoot up the lock, can you get that door open?"

The big German answered quickly, "No problem."

Guy nodded to Talley, who had already reloaded, and once again the armor piercing rounds smashed into the door. This time, he shot a rough semicircle around the area of the lock. Buchmann didn't need the order. He was waiting like an Olympic sprinter on his blocks. Almost three hundred pounds of solid muscle mass, and with the added weight and bulk of his ballistic vest. He charged, and it was like a rhinoceros attacking its prey. It took ten steps for him to reach the door, and just before he did, a face appeared, darting a glance through the porthole from inside. They saw the man's expression, and the watchful gaze turned to sheer terror as he saw the monster bearing down on him, huge and unstoppable.

Then he hit, and behind the crash and screech of tearing metal, they heard the scream of the man directly behind the door. The force of the collision caused the entire door to break from its hinges, and the Arab sheltering behind was flattened to the floor beneath the shattered entry. To add to his discomfort, Heinrich stamped over the door as he entered the cabin, and the shrieks abruptly ceased. The German opened fire, and the shattering noise of bursts from his assault rifle assaulted their ears. After a few seconds, he reappeared and stared at them.

"Clear."

Talley suppressed a smile as Guy shouted for them to keep going. They descended another companionway to a deck that was thickly carpeted and paneled in rich woods.

Al Saif has to be close by. And Nava.

He followed Guy along the passageway and kicked open the first door. The cabin was empty, but there were bloody blotches spattered on the door to the bathroom.

Oh, God, no! Please, not her. She must be here somewhere. Alive.

He ran to the next cabin, but it was empty. He was about to continue the search when something stopped him, some sixth sense. Or was it something familiar? He was cautious. Holding his MP7 ready to fire, he searched under the bed, inside the tiny bathroom, and then he started on the closets. He recalled what it was about this cabin that made him curious. A familiar odor, very faint, but still it was there.