Fog of War (Justin Hall # 3) (22 page)

“Yes, Mossad’s coming for their pound of flesh. They already have a team in place, on the ground, ready to strike once they receive their authorization.”

“Justin,” Carrie said.

“Yes, we need to make sure he doesn’t get caught in this firefight. Mossad will wipe out the place and everyone who gets in their way. Insurgents are no match for the Israeli wrath.”

Nathan let out a low cough. Carrie looked at him, and he nodded at the phone.

Carrie said, “Go ahead, Nathan.”

“Sir, do we know anything about Justin’s, I mean, Hall’s location?”

“We don’t. I was thinking about notifying Yemeni authorities, but it wouldn’t do much good. Their officials are no strangers to bribes, and their borders are full of holes. My educated guess is that Hall is either very close to or already in Sa’dah.”

Carrie exchanged a quick glance with Nathan. He shrugged, indicating he had no other questions. He eased on the gas pedal as they came to an intersection. The traffic was slowing down, with cars turning mostly left.

“Have our orders changed?” Carrie asked.

“No. You’re still to stop Hall. Needless to say, it’s even more urgent now with Mossad looming in the background.”

“Does Mossad know about our involvement?”

McClain sighed. “I told them about our rogue agent. They said they couldn’t guarantee anything once things start to blow up. If Justin gets in the way of their operation, to Mossad he’ll be one more obstacle they’ll need to remove.”

Carrie nodded in silence.

“I told them also about you and Nathan and your mission. They wished you luck and advised you to stay out of the hot zone.”

“Good advice. I’m assuming we’ll not get another update about their plans?”

“We may or we may not. I would consider this as our final warning.”

“OK. Anything else?”

“No, that’s all. Update me once you’re in Sa’dah. And be safe.”

“Will do.”

“Thank you, sir,” Nathan said.

Carrie turned off the satellite phone. “Wonderful, as if we didn’t have enough problems. Now we’ve got to watch our backs for Mossad.”

Nathan nodded. His eyes had suddenly grown thoughtful, weary.

“How long until we get to our plane?” Carrie asked.

“A little over an hour or so, depending on traffic.”

“Step on it. We’ve got to get to Sa’dah and find Justin before the Israelis bring about Armageddon.”

Ten miles north of Sa’dah, Yemen

September 27, 2:30 p.m. local time

The rugged mountains of northern Yemen reminded Justin of the landscape in northeast Iran. He could hardly believe it had been exactly a week since his mission to retrieve the Iranian defector. The mission that had almost killed him and Nathan and which had set in motion the events that had brought him to these hostile lands.

The airstrip was literally a strip of dirt, carved between two jagged hills and tucked around a steep mountain slope. One had to know where to look for it, but the Cessna pilot was familiar with its location. And so was the welcome party waiting for them on the ground. Romanov had arranged for members of a local tribe to give safe passage to Justin and his team. The tribe was Sunni and supported the Yemeni government. It had proven its allegiance in many battles against Houthis, who were Shia. And with half a million dollars, Romanov was buying a considerable amount of the tribe’s loyalty.

The pilot circled the airstrip, then veered to the left, losing both speed and altitude. Justin, two seats behind the pilot, looked through the dirty windows. Six, no, seven trucks and two SUVs were lined up on the left, next to a dry riverbed, the road out of this middle of nowhere in northern Yemen. The first and the last truck were fitted with what looked like heavy machine guns, pointed at their airplane. A few men had set up positions on both sides of the airstrip.

“What do you think?” asked Yuliya.

“I hope those are the right tribesmen, or we got ourselves a fight.”

Yuliya drew in a deep breath. “We’ll know soon enough.”

Justin looked at her face. Her eyes were tired, but she was still very focused on their mission. “Daniel, how’re you holding up back there?” Justin asked.

“I’m not dying. Not yet,” came the reply.

Yuliya had cleaned up and bandaged his leg wound before they boarded the airplane.

“Always the smartass,” said Yuliya. “But he’s a good soldier,” she added in a whisper.

“You still want to go ahead with this?” Justin asked. “With this mission?”

“Of course. Do you even have to ask?”

“I want to make sure you know what you’re doing, especially since now it’s just the three of us, and we don’t have the money to buy the missiles.”

Yuliya held his eyes. She nodded slightly, closed her eyes for a second, then opened them, and shook her head. “We’ll follow the new plan. It will work. We’ll make it work. Plus, it’s too late now. We’re already here.”

“No, it’s not too late. Not for you. Stay on the plane. Turn around and return to Moscow.”

Yuliya looked out the window. The land was getting closer. A few of the tribesmen were running to secure better positions.

“The terrorists, those Houthis terrorists, they killed Mikhail. I’m not . . . ” Her voice trailed off. Moments later, she added, “They’re going to pay dearly for shedding his blood. We have a saying in Russia: When anger and revenge get married, their daughter is called cruelty. Those animals will die a cruel death.”

She reached for her AK, snapped open the folding stock, then cocked the gun. “Let’s kill them all.”

* * *

The tribal chief was a man in his fifties, perhaps even sixties. He was dressed in a long white robe. His body was thin, and he was standing straight, ignoring the bright sun directly hitting his eyes and his head with its blinding light and scorching heat. It seemed his body had developed a strong immunity against sweat. His pose conveyed power and dominance, as if he owned this land, which he or at least his tribe actually did own. An AK hung around his left shoulder, the wooden butt stock worn by time and use. Justin wondered if he was a veteran of the war in Iraq or Afghanistan. Or both.

He had left his gun with Daniel, who was following two steps behind him. Yuliya was the last one. She had put on a black
niqab.
The veil covered her face and her head as required in the Muslim world by all women when in public and in the presence of men.

“Salam Alaykum,” Justin greeted the chief and the four men flanking him, as he placed his hand over his heart. “We come as your guest, thankful for your hospitality and protection,” he continued in Arabic.

The chief and his men were not expecting Justin to address them in their native tongue. The chief blinked and raised an eyebrow, then stepped closer as if to hear better the words. “Alaykum Salam,” he said slowly. “Welcome to my country and to my people.” He stretched a hand toward the men surrounding him. “Is this everyone?” he pointed at Daniel and Yuliya. “We were expecting many people.”

“That is correct. We fell into an ambush in Sana’a and lost many good men, good fighters.”

“Yes, the news was brought to me. It seemed you also killed a few of those cowards.”

Justin nodded. “God guided our hands.”

A low shuffle came from behind him. Justin turned his head. Daniel was wincing, shifting the weight of his body to his right leg.

The chief looked again at Justin’s team. “You are determined to go ahead, with just one wounded man and a woman.”

“It is bad. But behind a machine gun, his leg will make no difference. And she has proven to be a great fighter.”

The chief put on a thoughtful look, and Justin wondered what was going through his mind. Yuliya had told him the tribe had already received the money and had agreed to take the team close to the warehouse. But that was before the chief had seen the almost non-existent team.
He may refuse to take us toward what he thinks is suicide. Or even worse, he may hand us over to Houthis in exchange for any prisoners they may have or to gain their favor.
Not all tribes lived by the Arab honor code of hospitality and protection for their guests.

“You are a brave man, a brave, yet foolish man,” the chief said finally, moving closer to Justin. “We will give you weapons and take you to fight your enemy, our enemy.”

The last two words gave Justin reason to expect the tribesmen to fight along them. The chief seemed to realize Justin’s optimism. “My people will not be a part of your battle. We have our own war to fight against enemy, and we will do so at the right time.”

“We’re grateful for your generous help.” Justin placed his hand over the left side of his chest.

The chief reached and shook Justin’s hand. The tribesmen broke out in cheerful shouts, their arms and AKs rising up in the air. Justin grinned then mustered a small smile. This was a small victory, but the real battle was still awaiting them.

Twenty-five miles northeast of Sa’dah, Yemen

September 27, 4:15 p.m. local time

The warehouse stood near the end of a wide, open space camp that included two-story houses and smaller structures resembling sheds or garages. Two dirt paths led in and out of the camp. The aerial photos Justin had received were blurry and grainy. They showed neither the eight-foot high cinder block wall with corner turrets, nor the barbwire crowning it.

Justin observed the camp’s outer perimeter through his powerful binoculars. He was hiding behind large boulders at the top one of the hills directly across from the camp. The convoy had stopped at the road below snaking around the hills.

“This is as far as we go,” the chief said. He was sitting next to Justin, chewing on leaves of
khat,
a narcotic plant favored by most Yemenis. “A few more turns and they can see you. Their snipers—which are very good—will have no problem picking you off.”

Justin nodded. “I understand.”

“The camp is a fortress,” the chief said. “Our tribe, along with government troops to take it a few months ago.”

“How did it go?”

“We killed a lot of them, but they have the strategic advantage. They are in a valley, yes, but too far from the hills. Mortar fire is inaccurate. They have powerful machine guns in those turrets on all sides to stop your advancement.”

Justin scanned the walls again focusing on the turrets. He could not make out the types of weapons mounted there, but he could tell the turrets seemed to be well fortified with extra concrete blocks. “What about an aerial assault?”

The chief removed a khat leaf stem from his mouth. “If you had a fighter jet or combat helicopters, you could drop bombs and do some serious damage. But even then you would have to go in and make sure everyone is dead.”

Justin dropped his binoculars around his neck.

“What are you planning to do?” the chief asked.

Justin grinned. “We’re going down there to kill them all.”

The chief responded with a small smile. “It’s your battle, your plan.”

Justin nodded. He could not be absolutely sure the chief would not tell his tribesmen. Their loyalties toward their cause may not be as strong as their chief’s. Any leak at this point would bring certain death to him and Yuliya and Daniel. Their tactic relied on surprise as much as on a stroke of luck. According to Romanov’s recent intelligence, Al-Khaiwani and Hamidi were inside the camp, protected by over a hundred fighters. It seemed they were to leave for Sa’dah late in the evening, under the cover of darkness. Justin was planning to rig the road with a number of explosive charges. They would hide in the foothills, where shrubs were the thickest. They were counting on the broken terrain, the nightfall, and the element of surprise to give them an edge as they ambushed Al-Khaiwani and Hamidi when leaving the camp.

“Let’s head back,” Justin said.

Five minutes later, they stood next to their convoy of tribesmen.

Yuliya was behind the driver’s seat of a Nissan pickup, the sixth in the lineup. Daniel was in charge of two heavy machine guns in the back. The tribesmen had stored there a few ammunition boxes, an RPG launcher, and warheads. Justin’s truck was also fitted with a heavy machine gun and loaded with ammunition, RPGs, AKs, and explosives.

“May God bless you and give you victory,” the chief said.

“May God keep you safe as you travel back home. Gratitude for everything.”

They shook hands again, and Justin climbed into his truck. He drove slowly to the edge of the road and passed the other trucks and SUVs. Tribesmen nodded and greeted him, some waving their hands or their AKs. They began to turn their vehicles around.

His dashboard radio crackled, and Justin picked up the receiver. “Go ahead, I’m listening,” he said.

“Hi, Justin,” Yuliya said. “Just wanted to wish us luck.”

“Thanks. We’ll need a lot of good luck. We’ll drive around the curve and wait for the tribesmen to leave. Then we’ll set up our positions.”

Justin stepped on the gas pedal slowly, and the truck inched forward. He avoided a big rut in front of his left tire, then his right tire sank into a large pothole. Moments later, the dirt trail rose up at a steep angle. He drove for a few minutes. The tribesmen convoy was now visible as it headed downhill, leaving behind a cloud of dust.

Justin rolled down the window. The heat wave engulfed him, but hot air was better than the diesel stench coming from the truck’s engine. He checked his rearview mirror. Yuliya’s truck was climbing the hill with ease, following about three car lengths behind.

A sudden vibrating noise came from his left. Justin eased on the gas pedal, then stopped the truck. The noise was a light throb, hardly noticeable. He looked out the window at the convoy now almost half a mile away. He turned his head to the north and peered over the hills on the horizon.

“Why did you stop?” Yuliya’s voice came over the radio.

“Shhhhh. Stop and listen,” Justin replied.

She stopped and turned off the engine.

Silence reigned for a moment. Then the low rattle returned, growing a bit louder.

Justin reached for his binoculars. He scanned the northern hilltops. Saudi Arabia was in that direction, a few dozen miles away. Just over the horizon, two small black dots were growing larger by the second. And so was their rumble.