SANCTION: A Thriller (17 page)

Saleem on the other hand, was enthusiastic about how things were progressing. Especially after he had subdued the U.N. soldiers. Anything could have gone wrong during the mission to take out the peace keepers. The United Nations Team could have been ready or just more qualified to handle an ambush than Saleem was at orchestrating one. But what had happened instead was success.

Azim wanted to speak to Saleem. He thought for a brief moment that perhaps Saleem would have pity on him. Surely, he would desire to have only those soldiers whom remained hardened at his side. After the incident on the roof, he was beginning to think he might reason his way out of Quneitra; on the grounds that he was a hindrance to Saleem and the cause. Azim tossed this thought back and forth in his head as they drove but in the end, he lacked the nerve to beg Saleem for his freedom.

Saleem passed the original location of the motion sensor and stopped after a mile. He wanted to widen the expanse of the perimeter. He didn’t say anything to Azim as he got out of the truck. After the events with the misfiring gun at the hospital and the hesitation on the roof, Saleem questioned Azim’s usefulness. He was aware that if Azim was to stay on, he could very likely put one or more of his men in unnecessary danger, even cost them their life and jeopardize their mission.

He placed the last of his sensors in the ground and pressed it into the firm soil with the heel of his boot. He crossed the road, counting the steps as he went and set the reflective receiver on the other shoulder. He looked around the vast desert landscape that surrounded the city of Quneitra. He imagined a convoy of military vehicles swarming into the city, National flags flying high. “They are in for a surprise,” he thought to himself. He headed back to the Land Rover. Azim eyed him as he approached, the fear in his eyes obvious. It frustrated Saleem. Azim had signed on knowing exactly what was in store and what was expected of him. Of course, he knew that is was foolish to believe that someone’s zeal could be measured in real terms before they had been tested in the furnace of war.

He got in the vehicle and settled in behind the wheel. The two men sat there for several minutes without uttering a word. Finally, Saleem reached behind the passenger seat and secured a pair of plastic zip ties. He threw them on Azim’s lap.

“Put them on.” He said calmly.

Confusion covered Azim’s face as he looked down at the thin, transparent straps. He’d not expected to become one of Saleem’s prisoners.

Both men sat there in the truck facing the major artery into the abandoned city. Saleem didn’t bother to reiterate his command, he knew that it had put Azim at a crossroads. Eventually, he figured that Azim would decide to play along. When faced with the proposition of being either a hostage or a soldier, the choice was exponentially easier to make.

Azim picked up the plastic ties and threw them onto the floorboard of the SUV.

“It won’t happen again.” He said, mustering as much bravado as he could.

Saleem snorted and turned the key over in the ignition. The truck came to life and the terrorist leader did a U-turn in the middle of the empty street. Saleem believed Azim was sincere about his commitment to their cause but he would keep a close eye on him nonetheless.

• • •

The first embers
of sunlight poured in through a window at the far end of the room. Rhinefeld hadn’t been sleeping but the deep violent rumbling outside the building stirred him to investigate. He leaned against the wall next to him for stability before walking toward the light. His legs were still weak from the punishment he’d received the day before. The archaeology professor peered out of the window and gazed at a bright blue expanse. Given the circumstance they were in, it was almost heartbreaking to see that the world continued on without them. The professor thought back to his time in the States. News was only news for a few days, unless it featured some scandalous action by a prominent celebrity; then it was liable to last for weeks. He imagined by now, the media had already placed them at the end of their broadcasts and newspapers. Worse than dropping off of the six o’clock news however, was a sinking feeling Rhinefeld couldn’t shake. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt that no one was coming for them. The more he dwelt on the issue, the more morose he became. His thoughts began to deteriorate to self-pity. He was hungry, scared and exhausted.

After some time, Rhinefeld focused on one of the University’s Land Rovers. It was parked with two of its wheels on a section of crumbling sidewalk across the street. The sight of it made him yearn for his freedom. He tried to peel his attention away from the vehicle but some magnetic drive pulled him in and made him stare at it and wonder if the keys were in the ignition. He then questioned if all of the students would fit in the lone SUV. Suddenly and without thinking, Rhinefeld impulsively slapped his palms against the window’s threshold and heaved his weight up to the opening. There were gasps from several of the students but he ignored them. He heard Tracy Peters call after him but he ignored her too. Despite his bruised and worn body, he quickly thrust himself through the small opening. Rhinefeld dropped a good five feet to an overhang roof above the first floor. His knees folded under him as he impacted with the warm flat surface and he rolled for several feet. He stopped at the edge, just before rolling off.

He looked back to the window he had just fallen through. Tracy Peters was watching him, her face a pale shade of white.

“Stop.” She said, pointing a finger toward the road. Rhinefeld turned over on his side and looked. He saw one of the other Land Rovers barreling toward him from a side street. The vehicle’s front end raised up as the driver spotted him and mashed the gas pedal.

Rhinefeld scrambled to his feet and jumped across a divide in the roof to the next building.

• • •

Saleem grabbed the
rifle that rested on the dashboard. He laid the rifle butt in the crease of his hip and pulled back on the charging handle. A round slid loudly into the chamber. He compensated for the professor’s path and steered the truck in his direction.

Rhinefeld sprinted forward out of instinct. He leapt across a hole in the roof and ran down its length. He was a sitting duck out in the open. He needed to get off of the roof.

Saleem drove up onto the sidewalk next to the building’s overhang. He lined himself up with Rhinefeld and forced the brake pedal down to the floor. The smell of burnt rubber saturated the air as the brakes brought the sport utility vehicle to an abrupt halt. He opened his door and stood on the edge of the running board. Aiming his rifle at the professor, Saleem took a shot. The hot 7.62 millimeter bullet zoomed over Rhinefeld’s head.

Rhinefeld looked back at his pursuer and saw the Land Rover parked next to the roof he was on. The driver was shooting at him. He threw a zigzag motion in as he ran from the predator. Another shot rang out, this one missing his left arm and shattering the only remaining window in the building. Rhinefeld knew that at any second, he was going to feel the searing penetration of a bullet in his back. He braced himself each time a shot pierced the air, though because a bullet outpaced the speed of sound Rhinefeld never would have heard a round that had impacted him. At another junction in the roof, he took the opportunity to jump off. Again his knees gave and he hit the ground hard, landing on his side. Behind him, he heard the sound of the Land Rover revving back to life. He picked himself up off of the ground and entered the building through an empty doorway.

Inside Rhinefeld had a plethora of choices to make. He could take the staircase to his left and hide on the second floor of the facility or he could choose one of three hallways on the first level. He wasted no time deliberating; he let his body take him to the hallway to his right as he continued to beat his tired feet against the ground. He ran so hard that his breath came in tiny, short bursts.

Saleem stopped the vehicle. He got out and ran around to the passenger side and opened the door. Azim looked at the young leader before slowly lowering a leg until it dangled from the seat cushion of the 4x4 truck. Saleem reached in and grabbed Azim’s sleeve. He yanked the man out of the vehicle and forced his own rifle into Azim’s open hands. Azim’s face was frozen in a perpetually fearful wince.

Saleem wrapped his hands over the top of Azim’s where he held the rifle and squeezed.

“Azim, go after him. Do not come back until you are dragging his dead body behind you.” He ordered.

“Now!” He shouted, pointing in the direction that Rhinefeld had headed. Saleem got back in the truck and turned it around. He headed back to the main building. He lit one of the cigarettes he’d taken from the body of a U.N. soldier and tried not to think about what it would mean if the American made it out of the city. He almost turned around when he thought of the repercussions that such an oversight would bring. But he decided, no one could make it very far in the desert, especially in the professor’s condition. He would die inside a day. He affirmed his decision to allow Azim the chance to redeem himself.

D
urrah Nejem was quickly becoming a burden. Brad released his grip on her arm and sat her down on a worn linoleum floor. The Defense Intelligence agent had pulled them through an open door in the alleyway. It led them to the common laundry facility of an apartment building. Thanks to the madness that raged outside, the laundry mat was empty. There was a pay phone on the wall, at the far end of the room. Brad left Durrah where she was on the floor and walked over to it. Several of the washers and dryers in the facility were running; he had to be fast. He picked up the phone and waited. An operator answered and asked where he was placing a call. He gave her the number to a travel agency in Pakistan. The front was maintained especially for situations like the one he was in. It was less risky to be routed through a neighboring country, whenever the location of the originating call had to be placed from a site that was hostile to the U.S.

“Islamabad Travel agency.” said the stranger in a choppy Indian accent.

“This is Render Six Alpha…password Moxley.” Brad said into the receiver. He kept an eye trained on Ms. Nejem across the room. She didn’t try to make a break for it, she didn’t even move. She knew the American would run her down.

“I need to be connected to this number.” He said giving the female voice the direct line to Edmond Bailey’s personal cell. Ten seconds passed and the phone began to ring.

The National Security Advisor pulled his vibrating smartphone out of its carrying case on his belt. The number was one reserved for intelligence emergencies only. He was having his morning egg sandwich at his desk. He put the food down and answered. The line was full of static. He had to tell the other person to speak up several times but eventually he heard Brad’s voice.

“Brad, where are you calling me from? Never mind that, what do you need?” The Security Advisor said, anxious to help and guessing that time was probably something Brad could not spare.

“I’m in the West Bank.” Brad replied.

Bailey pictured Palestine in his mind’s eye. The phone was silent for a while but then Edmond spoke.

“I’m sure that I don’t have to tell you that Imam Nazari is going to lift his ceasefire. That’s not a safe place to be right now. What kind of support can I give you?” Bailey asked, instantly putting his desire to know something about the students aside.

“The whole place is imploding. All the signs of a major riot are present. I think we will be reaching the pinnacle of it in about thirty to forty minutes. I’d say, that’s when things are going to turn extremely violent.” Brad breathed into the phone.

As National Security Advisor, Edmond Bailey had been receiving briefings on the Palestinians daily. Now that Nazari had threatened to lift the ceasefire, he was getting the updates by the hour. The high ranking intelligence executive annotated Brad’s opinion on a notepad on his desk and waited for the DIA agent to state his request.

“I need air support to extract a prisoner.” He said bluntly.

“What prisoner?” Bailey asked. “Do you have one of the kidnappers?”

“Not exactly, I can explain later but right now, there’s just no time. We need to get out of the West Bank.” Brad said. The phone line was quiet as they each waited for the other to speak. Edmond Bailey was going to have to make a decision without knowing any of the details. In the back of the Advisor’s mind, a flicker of apprehension begged to be heeded. Jobs were lost and careers were ruined over decisions made on the spur of the moment, though they had to be made in this way much of the time. He would have to trust Brad, someone he barely knew, to be making a legitimate call in extraditing this prisoner. He had to know more.

“Brad, I want to help. I can have a Blackhawk, from Tel Aviv there inside ten minutes. But I’m going to need to know who the prisoner is before I can authorize this.”

Brad thought it over. Durrah Nejem was still sitting on the ground, right where he’d left her.

“The Mossad have identified Saleem Nejem as being the terrorist on the end of the tape that they recovered from the site. My prisoner is his mother. I know Durrah Nejem knows more than she’s saying. I just need time to get it out of her.” He said, certain that Bailey was going to object to his request for the extraction. Edmond didn’t even hesitate.

The Advisor stood behind his desk and thrust his left hand up to a tensed forehead.

“Brad, there is no way that we can pull her out. The media would eat us alive. I’m sorry, I can’t allow it. I’ll get the transport but you can’t board her.”

Brad held onto the phone. He looked at Durrah, his heart sinking with the realization that he wasn’t going to get what he wanted from her. He placed the earpiece back up to his head.

“Right. The best extraction point, as far as I can tell from the ground, is on the top of this building.” Brad proceeded to give Bailey topographical landmarks that he had observed on the way in to the alley.