part0026

Justin glanced at Enofe, the local CIA operative, who was stretched out next to him. They were at the edge of the forest and overlooking the narrow dirt trail, which scarcely had enough room for one vehicle. The dim moonlight cast a faint glow on Enofe’s dark face, which looked even darker because of the shadow cast by the trees.

“What?” Enofe asked.

“The delay. I don’t like it.”

“There wasn’t a specific time to start the attack. It will happen when Jay and his team are in position.”

“Still, they should have been there by now.” He glanced at his watch.

It was almost three-thirty in the morning. The air was cool and fresh, and the forest was mostly quiet, except for the buzzing of flies and other insects and the occasional squawking bird. When they had arrived, about an hour ago, they had heard rustling in the forest and what Justin thought were dogs howling in the distance. He wasn’t sure if the compound had guard dogs or if they belonged to the handful of houses scattered outside the compound. It didn’t matter, as long as they kept their distance.

“Let’s give them five more minutes. If nothing has happened, I’ll get on the radio.”

Justin nodded, although he would have wanted a shorter waiting time. He looked at the trail about fifty meters away. The four remotely controlled explosive charges had been placed farther to the north, almost a hundred meters from Justin’s and Enofe’s positions. All they needed to do was dial a number programmed into their phones to detonate the improvised explosive devices.

The operatives listened carefully, but there were no unusual sounds for the first two minutes. Then, the radio came to life with Jay’s booming voice: “We’re in position.”

Enofe looked at Justin and gave him a bright, toothy smile. “See, good things come to those who wait…”

Justin listened carefully, but didn’t hear the snipers or the return gunfire. They were stationed about three kilometers south of the terrorists’ compound. The thick vegetation muffled the noises.

Another tense minute went by, and a loud engine rumble came from up ahead, from the direction of the compound. At least one heavy truck was coming toward their position.

“Get ready,” Justin said.

Enofe nodded and slid farther down and behind his machine gun. It was a Russian-made, belt-fed weapon firing 12.7x108 mm rounds. The weapon was called Dushka, which was Russian for “sweetie” or “baby.” An ironically appropriate name for the brutal beast of a weapon. It was as accurate and effective today as it was the date it left the production line fifty years ago.

Justin tightened his fingers around his AK-74 and looked through the scope.

Faint lights appeared in the distance, then two bright headlights cut through the darkness. Since the operatives didn’t know if the CIA operatives were in any of the vehicles, the explosives would have to go off after the vehicles reached the operatives’ positions.

Justin lowered his body even closer to the ground as the first truck zoomed past him. A heavy machine gun was mounted in the back, and two gunmen were standing behind it. An SUV came quickly behind the truck. Both vehicles were an off-grayish color. The third vehicle in the convoy was a silver Mercedes-Benz sedan. A black truck with the same configuration as the lead one brought up the rear.

Justin’s eyes focused mostly on the sedan. If I were Malick, that would be my ride. A worrisome thought darkened his mind. They didn’t take the east road. He shook his head. No, they’re all—well, most of them—escaping in this direction.

“Now, now,” Enofe said. “Blow them up.”

Justin dialed the number on this cellphone.

As soon as the ring tone chirped, a massive explosion tore through the night. The two-pound Semtex explosives uprooted several large trees. A couple of them were thrown against the lead truck. Justin doubted the hostages had been shoved into that vehicle. Even if they were, the explosion wouldn’t kill them. It would only block the escape route.

Other debris covered the area, raining down on the convoy. A plume of dust began to spread out over the trail. A couple of gunmen burst out of the truck. Justin saw their silhouettes moving with purpose, trying to figure out the assailants’ positions in the forest. One of them opened up with a long volley, moving his rifle from left to right. He was firing aimlessly, hoping his bullets would hit someone.

Justin and Enofe were a hundred meters to the left.

The last vehicle began to drive in reverse. The driver of the Mercedes-Benz had the same idea.

Justin glanced at Enofe. “Do it!” he said in a low, firm voice.

“Two more seconds,” he replied.

The Nigerian operative typed a key on his phone.

A huge blast came from the other direction. It was supposed to be at the end of the convoy, to cut off the terrorists’ retreat. But Enofe’s pause was perfectly timed. The explosion ripped through the last truck, blowing it to pieces. Parts of the bodies of the terrorists flew through the air, along with metal pieces and other debris. Huge flames engulfed the truck along with black billowing smoke.

Justin gave Enofe a frown. “What was that?”

“Our men aren’t in there. They’d never put hostages in the last vehicle.”

Justin couldn’t argue with Enofe’s logic.

The driver of the Mercedes-Benz was trapped. He tried to swerve around the burning truck, but there wasn’t sufficient room. Stubbornly, he tried.

“He’ll get stuck,” Enofe said and aimed his machine gun at the silver sedan.

“Wait, wait,” Justin said. “Let’s see who’s inside.”

The sedan drove for a few meters, then its right side brushed against the lower branches of a nearby tree. The wheels dropped into a small ditch that the rain run-offs had carved along the trail. The driver tried to keep going, but the sedan went nowhere.

He tried again. The engine growled and rumbled, and the vehicle rocked forward and back. Its tires shot out mud, leaves, and twigs, but remained in place.

“He’s stuck,” Enofe said with a grin.

“Wait,” Justin said.

The driver stepped out of the car. A pistol was in his right hand. He glanced around and looked toward Justin.

The operative pulled the trigger, planting a bullet into the driver’s head.

“What happened to ‘wait’?” Enofe asked.

“He made me. Open up, open up!”

Enofe didn’t need any more encouragement. He fired a quick burst. Bullets hammered the rear truck’s cab. If any of the gunmen had escaped the explosion, which Justin seriously doubted, they would be shredded to pieces by Enofe’s volley.

A second gunman slid out of the Mercedes.

Justin aimed his rifle at him. Before the Canadian could open fire, a couple of bullets thumped against the tree trunk inches above his head. He slid down and rolled to his left side, trying to find a safer position.

Enofe kept his machine gun thundering.

Justin couldn’t see whom the Nigerian was targeting. I hope he’s not firing at the Merc or the SUV. Malick and the hostages could be in there.

Sporadic gunfire came from the trail as Justin retreated deeper into the forest and farther to the left.

Enofe’s volley continued for another moment, then it stopped.

Justin wondered if the Nigerian needed to connect a new ammunition belt to the weapon, or if the barrel needed to cool off. Justin peered over the leafy patch where he was lying. Two silhouettes were kneeling next to the rear of the sedan. They both had rifles aimed at Enofe’s position.

Justin tapped the trigger. One of his bullets found the mark, striking the fighter in the side.

The second fighter was able to slither behind the sedan.

Someone fired from farther down the trail.

Justin didn’t see the shooter, but bullets whizzed dangerously close to his head. He slid backward and into a small nearby crevasse. The volley continued, striking the tree trunk. Bark slivers rained over Justin’s head.

Enofe’s machine gun remained silent.

What’s going on , Justin wondered. Is he… Is he gone?

He kept worming his way into the forest. He thought about calling out to Enofe, but that would give away Justin’s position. He tried to circle around and come behind the Nigerian and closer to the trail. It was a tricky maneuver, considering the dense vegetation.

Justin advanced as fast as he could while making as little noise as possible. When he was about five meters away from Enofe, the Canadian bit his lip. The Nigerian operative was lying on his side and not moving. Justin couldn’t see any bullet wounds, but it was clear the man wasn’t alive.

Justin cursed under his breath and shook his head. What if I had stayed with him? He shrugged. He couldn’t afford to second-guess himself or linger on the past. The operation was still ongoing. He needed to remain focused.

He completed the semi-circle and approached the trail. He stopped when he reached the edge of the forest and examined the blast site near the front of the convoy. Four men were trying to remove the trees and clear the road. A few gunmen had taken positions around the SUV. Two more armed men were running toward the Mercedes-Benz.

Justin aimed his rifle and looked through the scope.

A man stood on the left side of the Mercedes-Benz.

Justin’s finger moved to the trigger, but before he could tap it, the man dropped down.

A gunman came into Justin’s crosshairs, but the operative didn’t fire. Even a single shot would give away his position. Enofe was dead, and there were at least eight gunmen still in the fight. Where are the hostages?

Justin reached for the radio, and static filled his ears. He said in a low voice, “This is Justin. Do you read me?”

“Do you read me? Over.”

Nothing, just sharp static.

“Anyone read me? Over!” he said in a louder voice, concerned that his words might draw the gunmen’s attention.

Justin cursed and put the radio away.

Four gunmen began to push the Mercedes-Benz out of the ditch. The heavy sedan wasn’t going anywhere, but they were stubborn and kept trying. The engine growled, and the tires spun. The sedan inched forward for a moment, then rolled back into the mucky ditch.

Justin searched the area for Malick.

If he was still around, he was lying low.

Two other gunmen moved to the sides of the Mercedes-Benz.

Justin thought about opening up with a long volley. He would kill or wound most of them, but that wasn’t the objective. Malick was still nowhere to be found.

So the operative kept looking through the scope.

Justin moved his sights to the SUV. The rear door opened, and a man in khaki pants stepped out. His hands were cuffed behind his back. He began to run toward the forest.

A gunman jumped out of the SUV right behind the hostage and caught up to him. The gunman kicked the hostage and shoved him to the ground.

Justin wished he could tap the trigger and plant a bullet in the gunman’s head. That would certainly save the hostage immediate pain, but it might also cost Justin his life. The operative bit his lip and kept his finger on the trigger guard. “Sorry, man,” he whispered to himself.

The gunman pulled the hostage by the arms and began to drag him toward the SUV.

Justin heard the rumble of the Mercedes-Benz. It was out of the ditch, and Malick had just slipped into the backseat. The driver maneuvered the sedan slowly while the gunmen marched around it.

When the sedan came to the SUV, a couple of the gunmen climbed inside. The rest began to spread out and run into the forest.

Justin got into a low crawl and advanced to his right, away from the gunmen, as fast as he could. His moves were mostly covered by the vehicles’ engine noise. He knew he would be able to keep up with the Mercedes-Benz for perhaps another hundred meters or so. The driver would have to slow down to go around the first blast site. The trail took a sharp turn up ahead, which would also cause the vehicles to slow down.

He had maybe another minute, two at the most, to stop Malick and save the hostages. Justin smiled to himself as he climbed to his feet. Like always, counting only on myself. Let’s make it happen, Justin.