FATAL eMPULSE (40 page)

Again, the man nodded, looking horrified as Alena began to unbutton his shirt. Gerrit reached into his satchel and pulled out a contraption he put together back at the farmhouse. A rough woven sack had been cut into the shape of a pinnie, like those worn by the chain gang during football games, except the cloth was made from sacks of wheat, the sides open and unattached beneath the arms. Four blocks of C4 had been attached to the canvas vest, two in front and two in back, with wires running from embedded blast caps to a transmitter. He pulled this out, stood, and glared at the prisoner. “Stand up and stay very still. Do you understand?”

Vigorously, the man nodded, his eyes wide with fear as he saw the vest in Gerrit’s hands. Gerrit hauled the man to his feet, hands still bound behind him, and slipped the crudely shaped pinnie over the man’s head, taping the sides closed beneath each arm. With Alena’s help, he pressed it against the man’s skin and used duct tape to hold it in place. This was going to hurt when they finally got around to ripping it off.

The sackcloth sagged a little with the weight of C4, but he ran more strips of duct tape between each block of explosive, helping to support the explosives. He grabbed all four fuse lines—two in each hand—and wrapped them around to the man’s back, making it appear to the soldier that he was attaching the wires to a transmitter.

Finished, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key fob as he faced the soldier. “See this?” He studied the man’s face to see how the guy might react. The man’s face registered fear, sweat breaking out on his forehead. “The moment you fail to obey my order, I will press this.” He waved the fob in front of the man’s eyes. “Do you understand?”

The man nodded as if his life depended on it.

“Good, now here’s what you’re going to do.” Gerrit laid out what he wanted from the man. A look of disbelief crossed the soldier’s face. Gerrit could tell the man was trying to figure out an angle where he might be able to escape.

Finishing, Gerrit raised the fob one more time. “Remember, if you fail to obey, this goes off. We all die. Do you want to be a martyr?”

The soldier whipped his head back and forth. “No, no martyr.”

“Good. Let’s go.” He and Alena began to untie him. The man buttoned his shirt and tried to tuck it into his pants. The C4 made him look he was a candidate for Weight Watchers, but Gerrit hoped the darkness would hide his bulge. It only had to be good enough to get past the security gate. After that…who knew?

Max Salk worked his way through the darkened hangar and spotted a vehicle that would help them expedite their mission. A Jeep with a covered top had been left in the hangar, apparently used by maintenance to reach the plane, keys left in the ignition. He and his three men climbed aboard and fired up the ignition. The Jeep even had a half tank of gas.

He shifted the vehicle’s manual transmission into gear and drove out of the hangar without lights. His men, using night-vision goggles, continued to scan the dwellings to their left as he skirted along the edge of the tarmac where each plane taxied to reach the main landing strip. The An-26s sat on the far east corner of the strip, farthest from the hangar. The main runway—for military and commercial—sat to their right, beyond the military taxi lanes.

Using the Jeep, they were able to get to their destination quickly. Max killed the engine, stepped out, and scanned each of the six planes that might house the stolen technology. Only one plane had motorized passenger-boarding stairs shoved against the body of the aircraft. The aircraft had a modified nose cone through which electronic pulses and sensors operated. He pointed to the plane, and his team moved in that direction, the other three staying on the ground for cover while he scrambled up the stairs. Max found the spring-loaded trigger-action latch and opened the hatch. Raising it, he crept into the darkened plane, his night-vision goggles providing enough illumination for him to conduct a thorough search.

In the belly of the aircraft, he found the system he had been searching for. “Eureka,” he whispered into his mike. “Found it. I’ll take a few photos and clear out. Copy?”

He heard his transmission acknowledged, snapped the shots he needed to have the system verified, and worked his way back to the stairs, pausing just long enough to hide his last remaining tracking microchip. As he climbed into the Jeep, Max looked back at the aircraft. Something did not seem right. This whole operation to board the plane had been too easy. Where was the security that should have been near this aircraft? Just before a major mission, this place should be hopping with armed guards. But there was nothing. Not a soul in sight. No wonder these Syrians were so pathetic in war. They had not the sense of mission.

Now, all they had to do was wait.

March 16
Al Horjelah, Syria

K
adar Hanano felt the gusty wind swirl clouds of dust in the air. He could not see the dust, but he could feel, taste, and smell it in the air. His phone vibrated. Snatching it out of his pocket, he pressed the Send button to accept the incoming call. “Did the Jews take the bait?”

The caller sounded gleeful. “Yes, sir. We almost missed them until our guys found the Jeep. Our people watched them board the plane, look around, then leave.”

“Good. Good. They did not spot you?”

“No, sir.”

“Stay on them. I want to know where they go to hide. They will lead us to the Americans. And what about Raed?”

“He’s still at the airfield. Visited the American scientist once, and then went to another building. Lights turned out. I assume he is asleep.”

“Watch him. If he leaves—arrest him.”

“Do you want us to search the aircraft to see if they left anything?”

“No. Just don’t let that plane take off.”

“What if Raed’s people board it?”

“Move in and arrest everyone. We will sort this out later.” He killed the connection and returned to the bunker.

The trap had been set. If everything played out as he planned, he and his men would be able to swoop in and take them all out—Israelis, Americans, and the Muslim Brotherhood. He felt like a cat playing with a mouse—a deadly mouse that could strike back at any time.

“Sir, we’ve picked up surveillance.”

Max almost jerked the car into a ditch when one of his men yelled out that information. “You sure?”

“The vehicle has tailed us since we pulled away from the airport. They’ve been following us for several miles.”

He was glad they had taken the long way around to the farmhouse. “They? More than one vehicle?”

“At least two. One has been shadowing the first for as many miles. They’re spaced about a quarter mile between vehicles, running without headlights.”

Max looked into the rearview mirror, although he knew he’d see nothing. “They must have night vision capabilities like ours. Any eyes in the sky?”

“None that I can see or hear.”

In this wind, it might be hard to have aerial surveillance. “Okay, we are going to head to a more populated area, try to lose them, and hotwire a new ride back to the farmhouse. We have a few hours before daylight.”

Max turned off the main highway as they entered the outskirts of Damascus. “They must be keeping this quiet or we’d have Army units swarming us right now. Keep an eye out for an ambush.”

As soon he reached a heavily populated part of the city—towering apartment buildings, businesses, and a hotel—he accelerated and cut back, zigzagging from block to block. “Are they still behind us?”

His spotter in the backseat answered. “After you left the highway, they took the exit but you made enough turns I don’t think they’ve caught up yet. Can’t be too far behind.”

“Good.” Max gave the steering wheel a hard yank to the left. The car bottomed out as it crossed a sidewalk and entered a congested parking lot. As soon as he found a parking space, he slammed on the brake and turned off the engine.

He slipped out of the driver’s seat and joined the others, crouching behind the nearest parked car. Even here, hard gusts of wind swept over them. The weather—favorable to them back at the airport—worked against them now. They could not hear anything.

Max leaned over to the man next to him and whispered, “Have the other two start working on getting us another set of wheels. You and I…recon that street, see if we lost them.”

The man nodded and passed on Max’s instructions.

They crouched between the cars, leapfrogging each vehicle for cover as they approached the entrance to the parking lot. Max saw movement farther down the block and patted his partner’s arm. “Here comes one of the cars.”

They proned out on the ground beneath a vehicle and watched the approaching vehicle from the undercarriage. There were no streetlights in this part of the city, which made their night vision more acute.

Several men piled out. A moment later, the second vehicle approached and parked. Men from both cars were now on foot. They must have figured out where Max and his men took cover.

Max whispered into his mike a warning to the other men farther back in the lot and hugged the ground, watching their trackers approach, a team of four, all heavily armed, all wearing night-vision goggles.

This was not your typical Syrian Army unit or even local police. These guys were decked out in plainclothes, drab Army jackets, and soft-soled shoes. By the way they moved and the equipment they carried, these gunmen must be highly trained. The only advantage Max enjoyed at the moment was the fact he knew where they were and they had not spotted him—yet.

How did these guys know he and his men pulled into this parking lot? He gripped his handgun, realizing that they must have placed a tracker on the car. But how? Where had they tagged it?

He thought back over the night and remembered how easy everything seemed to have been. Light security, their ability to get on the base with no detection, it all made sense. It was a trap. They could not have followed them from the farmhouse, since the place had been under constant guard and the only suspicious activity had been the lone Army patrol they encountered. They must have been waiting at the airport. Someone must have given the order to let Max and his men leave so they could be track them back to the farmhouse, back to their hiding place.

So why did they let them board the aircraft and see what they stashed on board? They must know that Israel could not let that aircraft take off. Unless…

Footsteps came closer as the Syrians moved from car to car, weapons drawn, looking for Max and his men. The game plan must have changed. They wanted to try to covertly follow Max and the others to their base. So they did not know about the farmhouse. But when he pulled off the road and entered this parking lot, the Syrians followed to make sure this was not their hiding place. Once they knew Max and his men alerted to their surveillance, then there were only two options left—capture or kill them.

Max might have another advantage. These Syrians, for whatever reason, were trying to keep this quiet. They seemed to want to take Max’s team out without using outside sources. Who were these guys and why did they want to keep this quiet?

Max patted his partner on the arm, motioned that he’d take the two men to his right, and his partner would take out the two on his left. Each of Max’s men carried silencer-equipped handguns. At least the attack would be quiet on their end.

His partner crouched, weapon in hand, and glanced back at him. Max slowly raised one finger at a time. As the third finger raised, Max and his partner sprang up and began firing. Surprised, the Syrians fired wildly, missing their targets. Max and his partner leveled on them, going for head shots and legs because of the body armor their attackers wore.

Moments later, all four Syrians lay on the ground. One remained alive, screaming into the night. Slowly the screams lessened, until Max knew the man was dead.

Max raised himself to see if any of the gunmen might still be alive. He heard no sounds and saw no one moving. Quickly, he scanned the immediate area—apartment windows above them, any pedestrians on the street, any lights coming on because of the attack—and saw only darkness. No one poking their heads out in curiosity, wondering what the commotion might be about. No red lights from activated cameras or recorders. Just stillness.

“Let’s see what they’re carrying,” he whispered, moving toward the bodies. The street seemed empty, and he still saw no movement from the apartments. He knelt by the first body, rummaged through the man’s pockets and under his coat. Locating a radio clasped to the man’s belt, he unclipped it and gathered in a wire leading from the radio to an earplug in the dead man’s ear. His partner did the same, gathering the other three radios while Max gathered weapons.

After they completed their search, they moved on to the suspects’ cars. They tossed each one but found nothing of interest. He pressed his own transmission button to make contact with the other two team members. “
Ayln!
Hurry. Bring the new car up and let’s get out of here.”

Lights from the stolen car flicked on. The driver pulled up as Max and his partner removed their night-vision scopes and leaped inside the car. As they neared the highway once again, Max kept looking over his shoulder to see if any vehicle was following. Nothing seemed to be moving. Only a lifeless street amidst darkness lay in their wake.

It appeared safe to return to the farmhouse.

March 16

G
errit kneeled in the bed of the transport, bracing himself against the side panel as he peered through a small hole he cut in the camouflaged canopy between him and the driver. He could see the sweat on the soldier’s face as they approached the checkpoint leading onto the military base. They had only a few more hours of darkness left.

In Arabic, Gerrit whispered through the window, “Remember! Unless you want to go to paradise tonight—follow my orders.”

The soldier nodded, muttering to himself. The next few minutes would tell if this guy had his head screwed on straight. Alena sat back by the tailgate, kneeling down and watching through a split in the canvas. Gerrit gripped his pistol. If this guy alerted security, Gerrit would take him out, and Alena would leap from the tailgate and try to take out the sentries.