Cody's Army (23 page)

Two more C-5 bomb blasts rattled the compound. Window glass sprayed the court; stones and bricks flew as two more sections
of the old buildings collapsed where Cain’s small wonders did their work. Caine rolled out of a window on the side where the
chopper sat, and sprayed silent killers at the two guards around the bird. He carried two Uzi’s.

Cody gave the big black man a hand signal and they all angled toward the fly bird.

The woman stumbled and fell. Hawkeye looked at her quickly. She had a gash in her leg from a bullet. He scooped her up, changed
his AK-47 for his trusty decapitating .44 Magnum and rushed forward.

Cody sprayed with his AK until he ran out of rounds. He grabbed two loaded magazines from a downed Shiite, dodged behind an
old Mercedes parked in the middle of the court, jammed in the new magazine and covered Hawkeye, who had brought his double
burden to a sliding stop behind the vehicle.

The woman protested in Arabic that she could walk. Cody told Hawkeye what the Arab woman said as he scanned the defenses between
them and the chopper.

Rufe, with his two Uzi’s, had dropped into a defensive foxhole somewhere ahead of them, blasting silent death at the Shiites
wherever they appeared.

Caine was nearly at the helicopter, held up by a knot of a dozen Shiite Amal near a Jeep.

Cody evaluated the situation. Time was the factor. He had sixty-four rounds for the AK-47. They were fifty yards away from
the bird. As he watched he saw Rufe jump out of his hole and charge forward, an Uzi in each hand blasting as he charged toward
the bird. He would need three or four minutes to get the engine started and warmed enough to risk a takeoff. All Cody and
the others had to do was get to the bird without getting blown full of holes.

EIGHTEEN

T
ahia Ahmed watched Sharon Adamson with twinges of envy and respect. The young stewardess was not as old as Tahia, yet she
had stood up to Abdel in the plane, and again here in the mountain fortress.

Her strength fascinated Tahia. In the Arab world women were still second-class citizens (and would always be to devout Moslems),
pushed around and in many nations treated like little more than animals. Even Lebanese men believed they “owned” their wives.
Sharon would put up with no such foolishness, and perhaps Tahia should not, either. Tahia had achieved much more than most
Arab women ever would. She was on the team, the takeover team that had captured a multimillion-dollar jet passenger aircraft
with 129 hostages!

But the men still told her what to do. She had been in on none of the planning, only the execution. She looked at her watch.
There were only a few minutes left until it would be twenty-four hours since the deadline had been issued. Halfway to the
final, deadly cutoff that Farouk had given the Americans.

She knew there would be another execution. She had hardened her heart and mind to it, as she had to poor Ali’s fate back in
Athens. Allah’s will be done.

She knew the next victim would be the captain of the aircraft. He had proved to be a troublemaker, just as this Sharon had.
Because of his importance he had been selected as the next victim. Perhaps the Adamson woman would be the first to die after
the forty-eight-hour deadline.

She went about her job now. All of the passengers and crew were to be assembled in a small courtyard toward the rear of the
main house. There they would be under machine-gun guard as the captain’s execution was to be videotaped. The tape would be
rushed into Beirut and broadcast to a satellite relay station as soon as possible as a second warning to the slow-moving Americans
and Israelis.

The infidels would learn! There was no way the Americans could prevent the captain’s death, no way to rescue the passengers.
The slow-to-retaliate Americans would cave in again and do what was asked to prevent the death of any more of their citizens.

She unbolted the door to the women’s hostage room and stepped inside.

“You all will get up and follow me,” she snapped in her good English—one of the reasons she had won the job on the takeover.
“None of you will be harmed. We are going to the courtyard for a lecture on the eventual victory of the Muslim world over
all infidels. Hurry now. Line up by the door.”

When the twenty women were in line, she told the door guard to bring up the rear and keep them close together. They walked
without trouble to the court, and she sat them on a low wall that ringed a terrace.

“Why are we really here?” Sharon Adamson asked.

“For the reason I gave you,” Tahia responded. “You would do better not to be so militant in your actions. Those who cause
trouble Will be punished.”

“I am responsible for my passengers until they safely reach their destination. That’s my job; I must be concerned.”

“Then do it quietly; keep it to yourself. Do not irritate Abdel, or it could be tragic.”

Guards then came with more lines of the hostages until all 128 were sitting or standing in the courtyard.

Abdel strode in followed by three militiamen who carried a pole. With a shudder, Tahia noticed that the pole had a crossbar.
It was a cross, a Christian cross, the kind that was used for executions in ancient times…crucifixions! Not even Abdel would
stoop to such a fiendish trick. It must be a device to frighten the next victim.

The cross was lowered into a pre-dug hole in front of the hostages, it was straightened, and dirt was filled in the hole and
pounded down until the cross was freestanding.

The hostages had buzzed with surprise and alarm when they first saw the cross.

Then two men came in with a self-contained TV minicamera. It could record color TV tape with the sound. The unit ran from
battery packs strapped around the cameraman’s waist like a SCUBA diver’s belt. The cameraman took some readings, judged some
shots, and then waited.

The cameraman and his assistant began to shoot as soon as Farouk Hassan walked into the courtyard and stared at the hostages.

“I am truly surprised and sorry that we are gathered here. I had fully expected cooperation with the United States and Israeli
governments by this time. They must be reminded that we are not to be toyed with, lied to, or put off. Any blame lies with
the two governments, not with the Palestine Liberation Guerrilla Forces.

“You must remember that whatever happens, any blame, and any blood, is on the hands of those negotiators who have not talked
in good faith with us. They are the terrorists, not us.”

Tahia saw now that as he spoke the TV camera had been recording his words.

“So, I say to all Americans, to all Israelis around the world, that you must put pressure on your governments to do what is
right. The detainees in Israel are there illegally. We chose to fight that illegality with some of the same. We fight fire
with fire, blood with blood.

“What you are about to see is not pretty, but it is necessary. We also think it is highly symbolic.”

Sharon sat on the wall, unable to believe what she knew must be happening. They had been brought out to this space in late
afternoon to be witnesses to a murder! There was no other explanation. She was not sure if the cross was only a symbol or
if it might…. She refused to think further along that line. No.

She watched the Arab girl who had been on the team of terrorists. She seemed to be about Sharon’s own age, perhaps a year
or two older. There was a tenderness about the woman that came through even when she was waving a submachine gun, or when
it hung over her shoulder on the sling as it did now.

She was Arab dark, black eyes, black hair, an olive skin to shed some of the brilliant sunshine. Sharon wondered how they
would have reacted to each other in a more pleasant setting.

Sharon gasped. She could not help it. Some of the women began to sob. Captain Ward was led down a path with a rope round his
neck, his hands bound behind him.

“No! No, you can’t!” she shouted.

Tahia swung the muzzle of the SMG until it was only inches from Sharon’s chest. Then she slapped her across the face with
a quick, forceful blow. Sharon jolted to the left, caught herself, and stared hard at Tahia.

“They’re going to murder him!” Sharon whispered.

Tahia locked her eyes with Sharon’s. “Probably.” Tahia whispered back, her face stern. “If they do, then you could be next.
Do you want that? Control yourself if you wish to help your passengers.”

Sharon sucked back a sob and wiped her eyes. “How can you be so hard, so terrible?” She kept her voice low so only Tahia could
hear. “That’s a human being out there they are going to torture! How can you be part of this?”

“Quiet!” Tahia said.

Abdel Khaled had led the procession with the cross and held the rope around Ward’s neck. When he was satisfied that the cross
was firm he had Ward stand on a two-foot-high box at the base of the cross. His hands were untied and his arms stretched out.
They were at the same height as the cross-beam of the cross.

Sharon looked at the TV camera on the man’s shoulder. It was aimed at the cross now, and she realized all of this was being
recorded so it could be broadcast to America!

Abdel had one of his men tie a stout rope around the pilot’s waist, binding him to the cross. Then Abdel had a man hold Ward’s
right hand open, its back against the sturdy cross-beam.

The witnesses gasped, some shouted, others cried as they saw Abdel take out a hammer and a large spike and position the big
nail over Captain Ward’s hand. The hammer slammed against the thirty-penny spoke. Ward screamed as it drove through his palm
and into the cross-beam.

One woman among the hostages fainted. Many were now weeping. The procedure was repeated on Captain Ward’s left hand, then
the box was pulled from under his feet. He sagged until his feet nearly touched the ground when the rope around his waist
was taken off.

Ward hung by his nailed hands, agony etching his face.

“This can’t be happening!” he screamed in pain. “Not in a civilized world!”

Abdel slapped him four times, rocking his head back and forth. There was no easy way to nail his feet to the upright, so they
were tied.

Abdel took out a six-inch knife and approached Captain Ward. He sliced his shirt off, then poised the blade next to the Captain’s
right side.

“For the Glory of Allah! For the Palestinians! For the freedom of our brothers in an Israeli concentration camp!” As he shouted
the last he drove the blade deep into Ward’s side and slashed downward until the blade grated his hipbone.

The eight-inch wound gushed with blood. Ward had not made a sound. He seemed unconscious for a moment, then his mouth opened
and he screamed his death song, a long shriek of agony and disbelief.

Abdel stepped back and looked directly at the camera.

“This American dies because his country’s leaders will not bargain with us. We have heard nothing! America, you have only
twenty-four hours left, then one American dies every hour on the hour! We are serious. If you do not talk with us, America
will be wallowing in the blood of its innocent citizens because of the stupidity of its President!”

He went back to Ward. The pilot lifted his head once more, tried to speak, but blood seeped from his mouth and a great gush
of air escaped from his lungs as he died.

Sharon held her face in her hands and sobbed.

In the Oval Office of the President of the United States, the Chief Executive listened to the diatribe and fought back tears
as he saw the American being tortured, then crucified. When the segment that had been taped from the satellite finished, the
President gave a long sigh and wiped his eyes, then looked at Pete Lund.

“Did we do the right thing, Pete?”

“Absolutely, Mr. President. No negotiations, no blackmail, no concessions, and if possible no terrorist prisoners. This is
the only method that will eventually defeat the terrorists. If they know they must be martyrs when they plan something like
this, it will discourage many, and eventually prevent them from continuing.”

“Oh, I agree about no prisoners, but we’re going at it all wrong,” General Will Johnson brayed. “Like I said before, you meet
deadly force with superior deadly force. We call in an air strike on West Beirut with twenty Navy Tomcats and let those F-14s
wipe out two hundred Shiites. The Israelis do it. We should too.”

“You want to sink as low as the terrorists, Will!” Lund rasped. “A raid like that would kill two-thirds of the women and children.”

The President looked at each man. “I stand by my first decision, gentlemen. The best way to go is covert. We wait and watch
for Cody and his team. He still has twenty-four hours. He has communication gear, you said, Pete?”

“Yes sir. He has a transmitter that can reach the satellite and will be relayed to us here, and to our people in Haifa. That’s
only seventy-five miles from Beirut. We- can get choppers or jet fighters over Beirut there in minutes. That can be our own
or Israeli.”

“Let’s hope he calls. Now all we can do is wait. This is the hardest part.”