Shock Wave, page 23
“Jerusalem. My Israeli ID card should get us across, no problem.”
“How do you have an Israeli ID?”
“I was born in East Jerusalem, which they call ‘Israel.’ So, if we are born in ‘Israel,’ we have the right to be there. It is different from the card a Jew gets, but mostly I can go where I please.”
“That sounds useful.”
“Yes, very useful.” Waleed laughed. “But they also know every time I cross a checkpoint. Right now, they think I’m visiting my grandmother in Jordan.” He chuckled. “Poor Granny has been ill, you know.”
Iyad got into the front seat. “Yes, Waleed’s granny has had many illnesses. And yet, she moves house often— Amman, Irbid near the Syrian border, recently Aqaba.” He and Waleed laughed.
It struck Faraz that Waleed was the kind of unassuming guy that security forces would overlook, unlike Iyad and Ra’ed, who looked like fighters, and Bashar, whose long hair and pious attitude tagged him as an ideologue or guru.
Iyad reached his hand out the window, waved and thrust it forward. “Allah hu akbar,” he shouted. The chant undulated down the convoy and came back to them.
Waleed put the SUV in gear and hit the gas, letting the wheels spin and throw up sand until they caught some traction and shot the vehicle forward.
* * *
At the Jordanian border, Faraz watched as half a dozen of their vehicles moved through without any problems. The guards took a quick look at the documents and made only a cursory inspection of the cargo areas.
“Where are the others?” he asked.
“Up and down the border,” Iyad said. “Some official crossings, some not.”
Waleed and his ID and his passengers were waved through. “It is good to see you, my brother,” he shouted at the guard as he drove by without stopping.
Once inside Jordan, the men relaxed. Waleed passed around a pack of cigarettes and told them, “We are good now, until tonight.”
They sped north on Jordanian Highway Number Five and blew through the market town of Ma’an. They skirted the Dead Sea and held their noses at the sulphury smell. An hour later, they arrived at a farmhouse off an unmarked dirt road.
Bridget hadn’t eaten anything or had any water since dinner the previous evening, before the escape attempt. She had spent a lot of time pulling at the nail that held her leg chain to the floor, but Ra’ed had done a good job hammering it deep into the concrete. She decided not to waste any more of her waning energy.
It was dark in the storage room. Bridget had slept, but she didn’t know for how long. It must be afternoon by now. She had no way to really judge it. Her shoulder felt better, but there was a bump on the back of her head where it had hit the floor.
Ra’ed burst in and turned on the light, blinding her. She curled into a protective position. He came halfway to her and stopped.
As Bridget’s eyes adjusted, she saw him recoil from the stench. She had used the metal bowl twice, and it reeked.
“Food.” Ra’ed tossed her a paper bag and turned to go.
“Please, I—”
“Ach.” Without turning around, he turned off the light and slammed the door.
* * *
Ra’ed returned to the bedroom he shared with the other two men.
“What will we do now?” Naji asked.
“We wait. Nothing has changed.”
“We should kill the hostage and go,” Naji said. “Maysoon may have betrayed us to the Zionists. Let us go down. We will take care of the woman for you.”
Ra’ed crossed the room and slapped him. “You are not giving orders! You were fooled by a girl. Now, you want to have your way with the woman. Stop thinking with your zabr. We stick to the mission for the good of the movement. Tomorrow, if something needs to be done, I will do it.”
* * *
After spending the whole day at the tech center, Will was eating a meal of vending machine snacks in the staff lounge when Corporal Golani appeared at the door. “Commander, please come. I have something to show you.”
He followed Golani to the surveillance unit, where a screen showed a satellite image of the subcircuit.
Golani sat down and clicked the mouse. The image zoomed in to a two-block radius. He drew a red circle with his cursor. “We dismissed this house at first because the internet account is in a name that’s not on our terrorist registry. But your people figured out that it is a fake name. The person does not exist. So, we dug deeper to see who the original owner was and cross-referenced the name with our terror database. Decades ago, the owner was a close friend of Marwan al-Hamdani, a founder of the A-HAI terrorist group, who was killed in Gaza years ago. This set off alarm bells at the top of our military intelligence and at the DIA, but they won’t tell us why. Anyway, the widow still lives there. The son was among the prisoners released last week. A nephew is the group’s military leader.”
“You think they maybe have sent the Manifesto, maybe have Davenport?”
“More than think. We pulled the satellite video and local surveillance cameras.” Golani made some keystrokes and showed a series of videos tracking a black sedan through the neighborhood to the house and into its carport.
Will was leaning over his shoulder. “A car arrived. So what?”
“We traced where it came from.” Golani opened another window on the screen. It showed a map of the central West Bank and Jerusalem. “This red dot is the house. The blue line is the track of the car. We cannot trace it back farther, but it comes into our surveillance two kilometers from the storage building in the olive grove, about an hour before you and our team raided it.”
Will stood up. “Where’s Drucker?”
“On his way to a rendezvous point. Sergeant Peretz is waiting outside to take you. Good luck, Commander.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The rendezvous was in an alley on the edge of a village that had been absorbed by Jerusalem’s urban sprawl. This time, the Israelis were taking no chances. The force was three times the size of the one that got ambushed.
Will arrived at dusk to find Major Drucker consulting with Colonel Ben-Yosef, who sat on the bumper of an armored vehicle. The upper part of Ari’s right arm was wrapped in a bulky cast and strapped to his body. His wrist was in a sling. The right leg of his camo pants bulged from a bandage underneath.
“Colonel, how are you?”
“I’m all right.”
“I’m sorry about what happened. I—”
“Forget it. We have work to do.” Ari had his fatigues on but no body armor.
“With all due respect, you probably shouldn’t be here,” Will said.
“Everyone tells me that, but I should say it to you. You showed that you cannot follow orders.”
Will had no reply.
“Tell me, Commander, why are you really here. What is your connection to Ms. Davenport, or, as you called her the other day, Bridget?”
Will hesitated. “Colonel, our bosses have an arrangement. I’m here on the authority of—”
“Yes, yes, a three-star general. You will sit with me in the command truck while the team goes in for your . . . what? Shall we say ‘friend’? If you make a move to go off on your own, I’ll have you arrested. How’s that for an arrangement?”
Will was taken aback but recovered. His personal feelings, and Ari’s, were irrelevant. “Look, I apologized for getting you shot, but it was your bad intel that got us there and it was your decision to follow me in. This time, our people confirm the intel, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit in a truck half a click from the action with you and Sergeant Peretz.”
Drucker spoke up. “You’ll be the next to get shot.”
“Major, I commanded a unit like this. I don’t expect to be out front. Second wave, rear position, but I will be up there.”
“I cannot authorize—” Ari started.
Will took out his phone. “Fine. This is a high-profile mission. I’ll call the White House, and the president will call the prime minister, and you will get your orders.”
It was a bluff. The best he could do was call Hadley, and there was no time to play phone tag.
Ari looked at Drucker.
“Second wave,” Drucker said. “You stay back until called forward.”
“Agreed.”
“I see you have the pistol I lent you,” Ari said.
“Yes. I could use something bigger.”
“No. And the gun is only for self-defense.”
“But—”
Ari raised a hand to cut him off. “I said no. One more thing, Commander. We are not going gently this time.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning we are going to assume that if Miss Davenport is there, she is being held in the basement. This house has the same design as the other, same as thousands in the West Bank. We will stay clear of the basement. The rest of the building will be the hot zone.”
“That’s a big risk.”
“We already lived through the alternative. We will not do that again.”
“You seem pretty confident. Corporal Golani said you know something you’re not telling me.”
Ari looked like he was about to answer but changed his mind. “Your people will have to tell you.”
* * *
Will boarded one of the backup team vehicles and it moved into position behind Drucker’s unit. Six exhaust plumes rose into the evening air.
Will’s right leg bounced. Come on. Come on.
“Assault team is coming,” his driver said.
Will turned to see an Israeli Humvee with a missile launcher mounted on its roof speeding up the street. The vehicle went past him, heading straight for another one coming from the other direction, fitted with a large machine gun.
The two screeched to a halt in front of the target house, about a hundred meters from Will, and opened fire.
The first missile shattered the window to the left of the front door and devastated the kitchen. The second hit the other side, exploding in the dining room where Faraz had had lunch and destroying the tacky sofa and TV just beyond.
Fire from the heavy machine gun sprayed high and low across the width of the house, shattering windows and piercing walls.
* * *
Ra’ed heard the vehicles. He ran out of the bedroom in his underwear and was blown back into it by the first explosion. He landed on the floor, and when he stood, he was nearly knocked down again by the second blast.
He finally emerged into the hall to find the larger of his two colleagues dead on the floor. Ra’ed’s first thought was to go to the basement and use the hostage as a shield. But how far could he possibly get? And his survival was not the objective. Pressuring and distracting the Zionists was the objective and, if possible, getting the ransom. That was gone now.
This was jihad. He would take as many of them with him as he could.
Ra’ed shouted an order to Naji in the basement. “Aqtulaha, aqtulaha alaan!” Kill her, kill her now.
He took cover behind what was left of the kitchen wall and said the Shahada. Then, Ra’ed raised his AK and came around the wall firing. “Allah hu akbar,” he shouted. “Huriyat li-Filasteen!” God is great. Freedom for Palestine.
Large caliber bullets from the vehicle-mounted machine gun threw him back. He was dead before he hit the floor.
* * *
Bridget heard the explosions and gunfire and knew what was happening. At least, she hoped she knew. She pulled her chain to the maximum and pressed herself into the corner in case the house came down around her.
She also heard Ra’ed’s order. She didn’t understand the words, but the tone was enough. The next burst of shots made her cringe, and something, or someone, hit the floor above her cell.
Bridget steeled herself in the darkness. She ran her hands along the floor to her left, searching for the metal bowl.
The bolt slid and the door flew open, flooding the room with light. Bridget shielded her eyes with her forearm and saw Naji raise his AK.
Her movement was awkward with her hands still cuffed. There was a sharp pain in her side when she twisted to the left. But she came back around with all the speed she could muster and flung the contents of the bowl at Naji.
He flinched and turned away, then wiped urine and vomit from his right cheek. He cursed, threw down his gun and ran at Bridget, his eyes wide. She swung the bowl and hit him on the right side of his head.
Naji went down, dazed. Bridget raised the bowl again and took a bead on his forehead. As she swung the bowl, Naji raised a hand to stop her. He got hold of her wrist and squeezed. She fought him, but her strength was depleted. He pushed her back and slammed her onto the floor. The bowl rolled away.
* * *
Will was out of patience. He left the vehicle and took off at a run, ignoring the young officer who commanded the backup team. He took cover behind the assault Humvee as it launched another salvo into the house.
Drucker shouted a command and the big weapons went quiet. Twenty Israeli commandos ran forward, with Will right behind. He caught up with Drucker at the front door.
“Jackson, get down, stay back.”
“Bullshit.” Will pushed past him.
* * *
Naji was on top of Bridget now, holding both of her cuffed wrists above her head with his left hand. She raised a knee, but the chain only allowed it to get a few inches off the floor.
He leaned into her, pressing himself against her. His right hand groped her breasts, and he smiled that smile Bridget and Maysoon had come to hate. He said something in Arabic and grinded into her.
Bridget squirmed to the left, looking for an angle to head-butt him. Naji put both his hands on her throat and squeezed. His eyes bored into hers. Bridget grabbed his wrists but couldn’t move them. She twisted her body to throw him off balance, but he was too strong. She was gagging, struggling to breathe.
Naji straightened his arms and put more weight on her neck. Her head exploded with pain. He cursed. His spittle hit her cheek.
The pistol shot was deafening in the small space.
Naji collapsed onto Bridget. His blood splattered her face. What remained of his head fell to the right of hers. His hands loosened on her throat. She gulped for air.
Someone crossed the room and threw Naji off. A large man stood over her, silhouetted against the light coming from the doorway.
Bridget’s hands rubbed her neck, as if to open her windpipe. She blinked. Her brain could not process what her eyes were telling it.
She spoke, but it came out more like a croak. “What the . . .”
Will knelt down and cradled her head, wiping Naji’s blood from her cheeks with one hand, pointing his gun toward the doorway with the other. “Yeah, it’s me. Just breathe.”
Bridget closed her eyes, then opened them. Will was still there. She managed a couple of breaths, reached out to touch him. She started shaking.
“Easy, now. It’s all over.” Will helped her sit up and pulled her head to his chest.
Bridget put her hands on his cheeks. The handcuff chain caught on his chin.
“It’s not . . . a dream?”
Will smiled. “No, kiddo. But it would be a good one.”
“How is it possible?”
“You’ve got friends in high places. And you’ve got me. You should be asking what took us so long.”
Bridget took hold of his shirt and pulled him close. She started sobbing.
Someone came to the doorway. Bridget cringed and sought cover behind Will. He lowered his gun when he saw Drucker.
“It’s okay,” Will said.
“The house is secure,” Drucker reported. “And I see you have the hostage.”
“Yes, I do.”
* * *
It took a couple of minutes for Bridget’s breathing to return to normal. Will took a water bottle from outside the cell, gave her a drink and rinsed her face. He found the hammer and pried up the nail that held her to the floor.
“You think you can stand?”
Bridget took his hands and made it to her feet. She was unsteady and leaned on him as they walked out of the cell.
“The key,” Bridget said, looking toward the wall hook.
Will got the cuffs and leg irons off. “Need a lift?” he said, indicating the stairs.
“Maybe an assist.” Bridget took hold of his forearm and climbed the steps one at a time.
In the hallway, they sidestepped the two bodies and found Ari directing the troops.
Bridget stopped short. “Colonel.”
Ari smiled. “I told you to call me Ari.”
Bridget smiled back. “Ari. Thank you. You’re wounded.”
“It’s nothing.”
Bridget looked at the two terrorists dead on the floor. She pointed at Ra’ed. “That one was the leader.”
Will put his arm around her and got a knowing look from Ari. “Come outside,” Will said. “The docs should have a look at you.”
“Wait. What about the women?”
“Upstairs,” Ari said.
Bridget walked past him to the foot of stairway.
Ari put a hand on her arm. “I wouldn’t.”
Bridget shook him off. “No. I need to.” She went up, with Will close behind.
From the master bedroom doorway, she saw Maysoon lying faceup in her mother’s bed, her eyes closed, her mouth open. The girl’s body was riddled with shrapnel and gunshot wounds. There was so much blood, Bridget could barely make out the university logo on her sweatshirt.
Maysoon’s mother was on her knees on the floor with her back to Bridget. An Israeli medic tended to a wound on her head, while another soldier stood over her, rifle at the ready. The woman reached up with one hand to touch her daughter. “Maysoon, Maysoon,” she wailed.
The floor creaked as Bridget stepped into the room.
Mrs. al-Hamdani turned. “You!” She lunged, but the soldier blocked her path with his rifle. She screamed and cursed until her words devolved into sobs and she collapsed onto the floor.
Bridget walked to the bed. Maysoon’s face looked peaceful despite the carnage to her body. Her long, dark hair was splayed on the pillow, the first time Bridget had seen her without a headscarf. Her plump cheeks made her look younger than she was. Her eyeglasses were undisturbed on the nightstand.
