Dead Six (11 page)

What we
weren’t
getting was any firearms training, which bothered me, but I understood why. Fort Saradia didn’t have a range of any kind, and was only a few miles outside of the city. There was no way to do a lot of shooting without drawing attention.

At least we did have weapons. I’d been inside the main building a few times and had caught a glimpse of the arms room. It was stocked with some of the most modern equipment I’d ever seen, and it was all brand new. Our armorer was a jovial guy named Frank Mann. He sported curly black hair and a bushy black mustache, and was eminently proud of his arms room. He’d been around the block a few times himself, so he, Tailor, and I became friends. In any case it’s always a good idea to make friends with the armorer.

Tailor and I didn’t tell him about the handguns we’d smuggled. Even though they’d prohibited cellular phones and some other items, they’d never bothered to search our belongings. I suspected Frank wouldn’t care. He was as big a gun nut as Tailor and I, and I’d seen him packing what I assumed was a personally owned Glock .45 several times.

Toward the end of the month, things began to pick up. Every day it seemed that there were fewer and fewer of us. The word was that we were being divided up into small groups and sent off to safe houses to begin conducting operations. Sarah hinted that they’d been watching us to see whom we got along with, and who we’d work well with. Frank told me that he’d been issuing weapons to the people that were leaving. It seemed like things were finally going to begin. I was excited; sitting around in the compound had grown tiresome.

On the very last day of the month, I was told to report to the small briefing room in the admin building. It was mid-afternoon as I made my way across Fort Saradia. The sun was high in the sky; it was warm but not hot. A strong wind blew from the north. Every time it would gust, it’d kick up another huge cloud of dust. Other than the howling wind, the compound was quiet.

I was apparently the last one to arrive in the small briefing room. Colonel Hunter and Sarah were standing at the front of the room, talking quietly. A laptop was set up on a table, hooked up to a projector. A portable screen stood at the head of the darkened room.

“About time,” Tailor said, sitting at one of the desks with a notebook.

“Are we taking a test or something?” I asked, sitting next to him. I briefly wondered if this was one of those crazy dreams where you’re back in school and have to take an exam you haven’t studied for.

“They’re shipping us off,” Hudson said from across the room. Sitting next to him was Wheeler, the guy who kept asking questions on the plane. He and Hudson had both been in the Rangers together. Wheeler was a slim, freckled redhead. Despite being from New York, he was a country boy. Wheeler had grown up hunting in the woods of upstate New York, or as he always pointed out, the “unpaved” part of the state.

“To where?” I asked.

“Downtown,” Colonel Hunter explained, facing us at last. “You boys are ready. I’m shipping the four of you off to one of our safe houses in the city.”

“Al Khor,” Sarah said. “It’s the upper class of the three peninsulas of Zubara City. It’s where most of the government ministries are and where most of the Westerners live. It’ll be easier for you to blend in there, but you will operate throughout the city.”

“So, we’re the last ones to leave, and we’re getting an easy assignment,” Tailor said. “Did we screw up somehow, sir?”

“You’re the last team to leave, Mr. Tailor, but you’ll probably get the first mission. I’ve actually been impressed with you boys, so I’m assigning you all to the same chalk.”

“Just the four of us, sir?” Wheeler asked.

“You’ll be fine,” Hunter replied. “Mr. Tailor, you’re in charge of this chalk.”

“Yes, sir!” Tailor answered crisply. I groaned. Tailor kicked me in the shin under the desk.

“From your records, I know that Mr. Tailor has the most combat experience of you four,” Hunter said. “Mr. Valentine, you’re second-in-command.”

“But, sir,” Wheeler protested, “I mean, no offense to Valentine, but Hudson and I have been through a lot. We did two tours in Afghanistan together.”

“I know that, Mr. Wheeler. However, Mr. Valentine has seen combat in Afghanistan, Africa, Bosnia, China, Central America, and Mexico. I didn’t make the chain-of-command decision lightly. Do not question me, ginger.”

Tailor snickered.

“Holy shit, Val,” Wheeler said, looking over at me. I just shrugged.

“Moving along,” Hunter said, “your first target is this man.” Sarah pressed a few keys on the laptop. An image of a young Gulf Arab man, probably no older than me, appeared on the screen. He was wearing the traditional thobe and headdress. He had a baby face, with a thin mustache and a neatly trimmed beard on his chin. “His name is Abdul bin Muhammad Al Falah. He’s a young up-and-comer in the Zubaran terrorist network. He’s used his family’s money and political connections to try to make a name for himself.”

“He looks like a kid, Colonel,” Tailor said.

“He’s twenty-six,” Hunter replied. “He’s also, by all accounts, just a spoiled rich man’s son. Our intelligence assets believe this is all a game for young Mr. Al Falah. And he’s not been directly involved in any terrorist operations so far.”

“So why is he important?” Hudson asked.

“He has connections. They’re grooming him to be a player when he gets older. Your first assignment, gentlemen, is to locate and capture Mr. Al Falah.”

“
Capture
, sir?” I asked.

“The junior Al Falah knows people,” Sarah said, still sitting in front of her computer. “He’ll be a very useful intelligence asset. He’s relatively young and inexperienced, too, so it should be easier to extract information from him.” Her voice was colder than usual as she spoke.

“Miss McAllister is right,” Hunter said. “We need him alive, for the time being. You will interrogate him.”

“Are we supposed to make him talk?” Wheeler sounded nervous with the idea. “Aren’t there, like,
rules
about that now?”

Hunter scowled. “Rules? Does extracting information from this young man make you uncomfortable, Mr. Wheeler?” He didn’t wait for a response. “You’re not in the army anymore. This young man has been helping recruit the assholes who’ve been blowing up your old compatriots. I don’t want rules, gentlemen, I want results.”

“So, how are we supposed to find him?” Tailor asked.

“Our intelligence assets are working on that, Mr. Tailor,” Hunter replied. “You’ll be assigned to observe him yourself, and you’ll be given a list of places he frequents. He’s not a difficult man to track, and he has no reason to suspect he’s in any danger here. Zubara has been a safe haven for terrorists for years. This should be an easy one.”

“I’ll be assisting during operations,” Sarah said, taking over from Hunter, “as a sort of dispatcher. I’ll be in radio contact with the other operational teams. I can update you on intelligence, give you instructions, and assist in translating if you need it. You’ve all been assigned radio call signs. Wheeler, yours is
Ginger.
”

“Hey!” Wheeler protested. Tailor broke out in a laugh.

Sarah ignored our adolescent humor. “Hudson, you’re
Shafter.”

“So the
black man
gets to be Shafter, huh?” Hudson growled. “Hell, why not
Dolemite
? Or how ’bout
Black Dynamite
?” The room immediately fell silent. Sarah looked at Colonel Hunter, not knowing what to say. Hudson could only maintain his indignant expression for so long before he started laughing. “Lord, girl, where did you come up with these?”

“They’re randomly chosen by computer,” Sarah insisted.

“Bullshit!” Wheeler snorted. Hudson slapped the desk and let out a raucous laugh.

“Gentlemen,” Hunter warned, frowning.
Kill joy.

Sarah continued. “Tailor, your call sign is
Xbox
.”

“Xbox?” Tailor asked, sounding laughably butt-hurt. “Seriously?” Wheeler folded his arms across his chest and gave Tailor a look of smug satisfaction. I chuckled.

“And Valentine, your call sign is
Nightcrawler
.”

“Nightcrawler?” I repeated. “How did you come up with
that
?”

Hunter finally cracked a smile. “You should’ve heard some of the ones she came up with for the other boys. Mr. Walker’s call sign is
Lilac
.”

“I thought you said they were randomly chosen by computer?”

Sarah tried as hard as she could to look innocent. “They are! Why would you think otherwise?” She flashed me a little smile and winked. Tailor, noticing, kicked me under the desk again.

VALENTINE

Ash Shamal District

March 11

1900

“
This is Ginger. I’ve got eyes on the target
,” Wheeler said over the radio.

“
Roger that
,” Tailor responded, his voice very hushed in my earpiece. “
I see him, too. He just passed my position.”

“
Ginger, Control
,” Sarah said over the radio, her voice very professional. “
Do you have a positive ID on the target?”
It was very important that we had the right guy, after all.

“
Uh . . . stand by
.” Wheeler and Hudson were both in our van, which was parked farther down the darkened alley to the south. To the north was the target building. It was a small building, only one story, constructed out of stucco and brick like most of the older buildings in the city. It looked out of place, though, surrounded by several huge, new, corrugated-steel warehouses. On the south side of the target building was a bright amber light. The rest of the alley was dark. Previously, our intelligence assets had made sure the other nearby street lights were out of commission, vandalized with a pellet gun.

“
Control, Shafter
,” Hudson said. “
I’ve got a positive ID on our target. He’s got three others with him
.” The van had an impressive assortment of gadgets and equipment, including state-of-the-art night vision and thermal optics.

“
Copy that, Shafter
,” Sarah said, ice in her voice. “
You are cleared to engage. Capture the target. Kill the others. Control out
.”

It was
on
. Shrouded in darkness, I peeked around the corner, looking north, up the narrow alley. Abdul bin Muhammad Al Falah and three compatriots slowly made their way toward me, talking loudly in the darkness. Al Falah and one skinny man were dressed in traditional Arab thobes, dark ones because it was cool out, and checkered headdresses. They were flanked by two serious-looking men in brown suits, probably bodyguards. Our target had what appeared to be a laptop bag slung over his shoulder.
Good.
It was likely we’d get at least some intelligence from his computer. Al Falah and his friend were having an animated conversation, their voices echoing loudly down the narrow alley. They acted like they didn’t have a care in the world as they approached me.

The building at the end of the alley was some kind of terrorist hangout, used mainly for recruiting and propaganda. Al Falah frequented the place. Almost every night he would take a walk down the alley with another potential recruit. He’d go on and on about the jihad and other bullshit, wowing the recruits with his family connections and promising their families large monetary rewards if they would sign up to kill Americans. At first, I couldn’t believe how brazen they were, walking down a public street discussing this stuff. After a few days, I realized that this was the reason we’d been sent to Zubara in the first place.
They’d never see it coming.

“
This is Xbox
,” Tailor whispered, his voice hushed in my earpiece. “
They just passed my position. Four of ’em. The target, another individual, and two big fuckers, probably guards
.”

“Roger,” I said, still peeking around the corner. Tailor was hiding behind a wall that separated the target building from a warehouse to its south. In the darkness, Al Falah and his escorts had walked right past Tailor’s position without noticing him. His bodyguards were complacent, it seemed.
Good.
Complacency kills
.

I looked down at my watch. The final call to prayer of the day would begin at any moment. There was a mosque only a block away. Once the call to prayer began, the traditional music would start blaring over a set of loudspeakers. This would last for a couple of minutes, and would give us a little cover if we had to make some noise.

I was wearing tan cargo pants, a black shirt, a black jacket, and a tan baseball cap. I looked unmistakably American, but I was dressed similarly to most of the Westerners running around Zubara, except for the holster on my left hip and the body-armor vest under my shirt. I reached under my jacket and drew the Sig 220 pistol I’d been issued. With my other hand, I reached into my jacket’s inside pocket and pulled out a suppressor. I quickly screwed the two together, while taking one last look around. The sky was glowing from the lights of the city, so much so that I couldn’t see any stars, even though it was clear out. All around us were typical city noises; we were only one block away from a busy main thoroughfare. The alley itself was peaceful, save for the prattling of Al Falah and his friend.

Suddenly, from the north, a recording of a man singing in Arabic began. It was 1907. The call to prayer had begun. I took a deep breath. “This is Nightcrawler,” I said, whispering into my radio. “I’m moving.” With that, I stepped around the corner, suppressed pistol held behind my back, and began walking purposefully toward my target. I kept my head down, so the brim of my ball cap hid my eyes. I hunched over, trying to hide how tall I was. My heart was pounding, but I wasn’t really scared. I doubted Al Falah’s half-assed bodyguards were much of a threat.

“
Xbox moving
,” Tailor whispered. To my north, past Al Falah and his compatriots, something moved in the shadows, another figure coming up behind them on the sidewalk. Tailor’s shape was silhouetted against the amber light of the building at the end of the alley. The bodyguards hadn’t once looked behind them yet.

I was getting close now. Looking up, I saw that the two bodyguards had noticed me. One stepped in front of the rest and began to approach. The other hung behind. Still, neither had looked behind them. Tailor continued his approach unnoticed.