"What the fuck's going on here?"
Musse Daud glared at his fellow martyrs. He'd been out for a walk to check the route to the UN building. At least, that was his excuse. The truth was, he'd had more than enough of this roomful of squabbling Somalis. His fellow martyrs, to be sure, but they were also unbearable.
The room stank of sweat. More than sweat. It was a stink of fear, body odor, unwashed bodies, and stale food. It made him want to vomit. Or perhaps that was just his own terror of what lay ahead for them, only twelve hours from now. For the thousandth time, he found himself wondering was there a Paradise. Were the other boys thinking the same thoughts, as the hours counted down? Of course they were. Their tension had finally cracked, when Amin lost his cool with Rageh.
"This sniveling bastard, he was trying to escape."
He had the younger man's collar held in his grip, and Amin was a strong man. Rageh was a youngster, a frightened boy.
We're all boys, aren't we? Not one of us has reached adulthood.
"Let him alone, Amin. Is that true, Rageh?"
The boy sagged to the floor as the bigger boy released him. He looked back at the faces in the room. They were staring at him. Accusing faces. His eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head.
"No, I swear it."
Musse shrugged. "There you are, Amin. He has..."
"But if I wanted to leave, there's nothing to stop me. Nothing in the holy books."
The room went quiet. "The truth. Are you thinking of backing out of this?"
At first he wouldn't answer. Then he dried his tears and gave them a defiant look.
"Yes. I don't believe this is right. It's not the way, not for any of us."
"You fucking shit," Amin snarled, "We ought to kill you now."
"No!" Musse stepped in front of him, stopping him from reaching the boy, "This is a mission for volunteers. Sheikh Barre said so himself. No one may be compelled to martyr himself if he does not wish to."
"That was back in Somalia. Even then, we had little choice, and you know it. What would become of your mother if you refused, Musse? And my own parents, hungry and my father dying of AIDS for want of medicine. Rageh here, they offered to buy his family a new fishing boat." He stared at the youth. "You want them to go hungry, just because you're a coward."
"Shut up, Amin. If he doesn't want to do it, I won't make him."
"And what about if he gets caught, and rats us out to the cops?"
I pray to God that happens. It would be wonderful, a way out that would at least leave me some honor.
"He won't talk to the cops."
"You're damn right he won't."
He hadn't seen what the other boy was doing, until he drew a long, sharp filleting knife and leapt forward. Before he could stop him, Amin gave him a hard, savage shove that sent him reeling to the floor. The boy raised the knife as he went forward to Rageh. He slashed down once into the boy's chest.
The room was silent. Except for the faint sound of blood mixed with air, gurgling out of the deep chest wound. Musse climbed back to his feet.
"You bastard. You didn't need to kill him."
"I did, and you know it. He could have finished us all."
Musse knelt down and checked the pulse. It was faint at first and then stopped as the last thread of life flowed from the boy's body. He looked up.
"You killed him! One of our own people, a martyr."
"Not a martyr, Musse. You heard him. He wanted out."
"Even so..."
"We couldn't risk it. We have to go through with the plan and make certain out families get their rewards. As we will be rewarded, in Paradise."
Will we? I have to do it, but if only...
They bundled Rageh's body into a closet. It would have to stay there for the night. After that, it wouldn't matter.
* * *
She'd taken the wine into the cave, past the guard who took no notice of her. She entered the larger cavern and recognized Barre immediately. He grunted at her to open the bottles and pour for them, and then join the women. She did as he ordered, then left the cave. She had no idea where the women were, but she had no intention of joining them. She started walking along the tunnel when she reached another, smaller cavern. As she entered, a man appeared, an older, gray haired Somali, armed with an AK-47.
"Where are you going, woman? You know you are not allowed outside the women's quarters! Come, I will escort you there."
He took her arm and led her through yet another side tunnel. They reached a heavy door at the end. He gestured at her to enter and stood aside. She briefly considered drawing her weapon and killing him, but it was deep inside the folds of her robe, and he'd have ample chance to stop her before she got halfway. She walked into the room, and he closed the door behind her. She noticed he didn't lock it, but his post at the end of the tunnel meant there was no way out, other than past him. When she needed to leave, she'd have to kill him.
So be it.
There were two women in the dimly lit room, sitting on the floor on threadbare and tattered cushions. They'd removed their veils, and with a shock she saw one of them was white. She was very young and clutched a baby.
So it's true.
They looked at her, not noticing she wasn't the woman who'd left earlier to fetch the wine.
"Yasmin, how are they? Still worried about an attack? They're like a bunch of frightened old women," the black woman scoffed. She looked at the white girl. "Saba, make space for our sister."
"Yes, Hawo." She moved to one side and patted the cushion, "Yasmin, please sit here."
Amelia decided to take a chance. But first, she found the butt of her pistol and gripped it ready to draw. With the other hand, she pulled off her veil.
"You're not Yasmin!" the black woman said nervously, "Who are you? What did they do to her?"
She put her finger to her lips. "All in good time. But first, do either of you two girls wish to escape from this place and from these men?"
The white girl, Saba, answered, "With all my heart. You know how long I've been here? It's like asking if I wanted to be rescued from hell."
The black woman nodded. "It is true. We are no more than slaves for our husband, Nabil Barre. But if we try to escape, he will kill us. You don't know him."
"I know him. My name is Amelia Stowe, and I work for the FBI."
Saba's eyes widened. "But you speak Somali."
"That was my family. Believe me, I'm as American as apple pie. I'm here with a group of people trying to put a stop to Barre's terror attacks."
"Hah!" Hawo muttered, her voice laden with scorn, "You'd have to kill him to do that. It's in his blood." She stopped, as realization hit her, "You are going to kill him."
"Yes. Do you want to help me or not?" Saba nodded eagerly, the other woman a second later, "Good, here's what we need to do."
She glanced at her wristwatch and realized she was late in calling in. She moved her hand toward the transmit button, but when she called there was no reply. The solid rock made transmissions all but impossible. She tried again, and a third time, but the sound of machine gunfire stopped her.
They're coming in. God help them.
She took out the pistol and opened the door to retrace her steps. As she stepped into the tunnel, she came face to face with the guard, who'd come to secure the women when the shooting started. He saw her face and then looked down at the gun.
"You're not Yasmin!"
He raised his assault rifle. Amelia began to raise the pistol, but the barrel was fitted with a suppressor, making it long and unwieldy. It caught in the unfamiliar folds of her robe, and she tugged desperately to free it. The Somali smiled.
"Whoever you are, lady, this is the end of the line. Time to say goodbye."
She saw his eyes dilate, as his drugged mind savored the moment, the killing. Saba passed the baby to Hawo and became a dark shadow, slipping around Amelia to plunge a dagger into his stomach. As he went down, the FBI agent managed to free the Sig Sauer, and she popped a bullet into his head. She picked up the victim's AK-47 and turned to Saba.
"You saved my life. And we gained an assault rifle."
The girl's eyes were wide with horror. "I killed him."
"No, we both killed him. Would you have preferred to die down in this dark pit?"
The girl shook her head, unable to say more as the shock of her knife attack on the fighter paralyzed her.
Agent Stowe was about to speak when she heard a fragment of static in her earpiece.
* * *
"That's it, I'm going in."
They looked around as Nolan spoke.
"Give her more time," Boswell said quietly, "You could wreck everything if you go charging in there.
"And they'll kill her if I don't. Cover me."
He slung the AK47S on his back and took out the SWS rifle. He checked the load, ratcheted a round into the breech, and crept silently to the edge of the room. When he peered into the tunnel, the guard was in the same place, sitting on the floor. He'd put down his assault rifle to pull out a canvas bag. Khat. He watched the man take out a handful of leaves and start to chew them. Then he relaxed as the drug began to take hold.
He took careful aim and squeezed the trigger. The bullet took the man in the center of his forehead and bore through his skull, and into the brain. He was dead a microsecond later. He slumped down to the rocky floor. There'd been no noise. Nolan checked they were ready to follow him, then stepped forward.
The men in the far room were talking loudly in Somali and concentrating on a map they had placed on the floor. They didn't see him until he was abreast of the dead guard's body, and then one of them looked up and called out. But the man wasn't there. Instead, there was a man wearing a wetsuit, carrying an unfamiliar weapon. He reacted fast and catapulted to his feet, shouting to the others.
They scattered in an instant, and Nolan charged forward. The rest of Bravo was right behind him, and for one exultant moment, he thought they'd get there. Then the shooting started.
They had a machine gun already covering the tunnel in a pre-prepared position, with just the barrel visible through a hole in the rock. Whoever was behind there knew his business. It was less than two seconds since they'd realized they were under attack, but a hail of lead swept the tunnel. He heard screams from behind but kept running. He had to get there, had to knock out that gun before it finished them all. He ran, his legs pounding, every muscle stretched to the maximum.
The opening ahead was narrowing. He realized with desperation they were closing a heavy steel door to seal off the tunnel. He tried to run faster, his lungs searing with desperation; but with a 'clang' that echoed through the cavern, like the gates of hell swinging shut, the door locked into place, and his body crunched into the hard metal. The rest of them came storming along the tunnel and stopped.
"Fuck!" Will growled, "That's one we hadn't counted on."
"We have to get in there, Will. She's in there, Amelia. And Barre, we have to know about this attack."
"But how?"
Boswell pushed him aside and examined the door. "It was all for nothing, Chief. We won't get past it. I'd guess it's an inch thick. Our first priority is to get the wounded out. It's time we arranged for an exfil."
"The wounded?"
"That machine gun cut through us. It missed you, but we were right behind. Brad took one in the leg, and Dan Moseley's not too good, took one high in the shoulder. I guess he'll live, which is more than Weissman managed."
"Jack Weissman? He's dead?"
"A hit to the head, he was dead before he hit the ground."
Nolan went back to the end of the tunnel. They'd dragged the dead and wounded back to the cavern they'd started from. Weissman lay on his back, his sightless eyes wide, and his mouth open in an angry snarl. The two wounded, Brad Rose and Dan Moseley sat nearby while Dave Eisner put dressings on their wounds to staunch the bleeding. Eisner saw him and looked up.
"Don't worry, Chief. They'll live."
"Weissman won't."
"No."
"It's my fault, Dave. I should have waited."
"Probably," he agreed," And if you were perfect, they'd likely make you the President of the United States. Then again, you really would be the number one target for these Al Shabaab types. No, you're not perfect, none of us are. We're just men, trying to do a job, and do it the best way we can. If you..."
"Hold it, Dave."
It hit him like a sledgehammer, the number one target for Al Shabaab.
The President of the United States, is it possible? Yes, of course it is.
On Friday, the 22nd of November, President Kennedy was fatally shot in Dallas, Texas, by a lone sniper, Lee Harvey Oswald, while traveling with his wife Jacqueline in a presidential motorcade.
A lone sniper! And Fatimah's son is traveling with several companions, all suicide bombers.
He ran back to Boswell and explained his theory. The reaction was incredulity, with a healthy measure of disbelief.
"The President? I don't think so, Chief. That's just a wild guess." He looked around at Lucas Grant for support. "There're a thousand and one targets in the US. It could be any of them."
"One of them could be the President," Nolan persisted.
The Lieutenant was shaking his head. "I doubt it, no. It's a crazy idea."
"There's only one way to check it out," Grant murmured.
"Yeah? What's that?"
"Blast through that door, and ask the guys the other side. I'll get answers from them."
"Blast through the door," he sneered, "What with, you gonna bring a Caterpillar down here? Or maybe we have some demolition charges I've forgotten about."
"With the M3 missile, Lt."
His mouth dropped open. "The M3, down here? It'll kill us all, and bring the roof down."
"It's the only way," Will agreed, "There's no alternative, Boss. We have to try it."
Nolan thought about the effect of a Carl Gustav in such a confined space. The appalling blast would catch the women as surely as the Al Shabaab defenders.
The missile could kill them all, Amelia, the American girl. And if we kill the hostiles, we'll never find out about their attack on the US. If the attack is on the President, we'll never find out the truth, the when and the where until it's too late, and he's dead.
Lucas had already brought up the Carl Gustav and was preparing the missile to fire, as Boswell tried to reason with him.
"Grant, this is crazy thinking. I can't let you do it. Chief, what do you think?"
If we use the missile, we could kill them all.
Lucas ignored the Lieutenant, and Will Bryce started to pull everyone back to the tiny room at back of the wine cellar. Nolan made another desperate attempt to get through to Amelia Stowe.
Have they uncovered her disguise? Is she dead, or just sitting in the line of fire?
"This is Bravo Two, Amelia, do you read?"
Nothing. He tried again, and there was something.
"This.....Stowe. We're...."
She's alive!
His hopes soared. But still, they had to survive the M3.
"Amelia, fire in the hole! Do you read, fire in the hole. Hit the dirt."
Nothing. No reply. No acknowledgement. He swung around to Lucas.
"You have to wait. If you shoot that thing now, you'll kill them all. The women are inside. I need time to get through to them. They have to get under cover."
He turned to Boswell. "Lt, you have to stop this, at least postpone it. I can get through to them. I just need a few minutes."
The officer glanced around at the men, at Will, at Nolan, at the others, and at Grant. His mouth opened, but at first no sound emerged.
"Lt, just a couple of minutes!"
"I don't know." He looked again at Grant. "What do you think, Lucas?"
Nolan exploded. "For fuck's sake, Lieutenant Boswell, you're supposed to run this platoon, not Lucas Grant. There're women in there, just give me a few minutes to get through to them and get them under cover. Otherwise you could kill them all."
"Hold on there," Grant interrupted, "I know you're worried about your girlfriend, but we have to get in there and pin down those Al Shabaab gomers. Every minute we hang back is another minute we're giving the enemy."
"No," Nolan shook his head, "Two minutes, that's all I'm asking."
Don't they get it? There's a girl in there, an innocent American, kidnapped by Somali animals and kept in slavery, as well as Amelia.
Finally, the Lieutenant made up his mind. "I'm sorry, we're going in now. Nolan, pull everyone back to the wine cellar. Lucas, can you fire that thing and get behind cover in time?"
"I reckon. Just pull them back, Lt. We need to do this thing."
Nolan hesitated for a couple of seconds, and then gave in to the inevitable. He led them back the way they'd come to the tiny anteroom with the bed, and the door through to the wine racks. They came out into the kitchen. Boswell was last and about to close the door when an idea occurred to him.
"Lt, the mattress. Grant could use it. It'll give him some protection."
He nodded. "Yeah, good idea, take it into him. He's about to fire."
Nolan rushed back behind the wine racks, grabbed the mattress, and dragged it through. Lucas was searching for the best firing position to give him some cover from the massive blast.
"I brought this. It'll protect you from some of the blast debris."
"Yeah, thanks. Hey, Chief, I'm sorry. I mean; I know this is the only way. If there was some other means to get through that door, I'd do it."
"You'll kill them all. You think this'll earn you brownie points with your pet Lieutenant?"
He stared at Nolan. "You think this is what it's all about? Me looking for promotion, or some nice cozy job with his family's brokerage firm?"
"Isn't it?"
He laughed. "I was sent to help the guy out, sure. He made me an offer, and I did consider it. You know he wants me to take over from you as number two in the platoon?"
"It's no surprise, yeah, I knew."
"I've decided not to take it. You're the best man for the job. When this is all over, I'll tell him. As for the job offer, I reckon I'm not going anywhere. Navy Seal pensions don't get paid out too often, do they?"
He's seen his death somewhere along the line. Soon.
"We'll get out of this, Lucas. You're not going to die."
"Like Weissman?" he grated, "We'll see about that. Get out of here, Chief. I'll give it two minutes. Try and contact your girl. Then I shoot."
Nolan nodded and raced back through the wine cellar to the kitchen. He kept trying to raise Amelia, but there was nothing. He checked his wristwatch. Thirty seconds before Grant's two minutes was up. In his guts, he knew the missile would kill them all in the cave system, and there was nothing he could do about it. Navy Seals wasn't a democracy. Never had been, never would be.
Boswell glanced at him, his gaze suspicious. "Why hasn't he fired?"
"He will."
He checked his watch. Fifteen seconds until all hell was let loose and that cave system became a roaring inferno, as the immense pressure of the blast destroyed everything in its wake. And then he turned to look at the three Somalis who poured into the kitchen. The men raised their rifles, but he snapped, "Stand down!"
Ashe Ahmed, Ayub Ahmed, and Fatimah Barre.
"Lieutenant Boswell, Mr. Nolan, we may have some information that will help!"
"Yeah, what is it?"
Fatimah Barre stepped forward. "Did you encounter a steel door down in the cave system?"
"Yeah, we did, Ma'am. We're about to blast through it."
"There's no need. I can tell you of an emergency release mechanism. It was installed in case there was a rock fall that jammed the lock. If you want..."
Nolan was already racing through the cavern. "Lucas, stop! There's no need. We can get the door open."
His body was in the relaxed, yet focused position. Wound up tight ready to take the shot, crouched behind the mattress. Slowly, he turned. Nolan was shocked. His eyes were almost empty. He'd expected to die in the blast. Yet knowing it, he'd gone ahead. No wonder he wasn't concerned with Boswell's career plans. He truly did expect to die.
"How?"
He explained about Fatimah Barre. "She's coming through now to show us the lock override."
"Is that right? You have any idea what'll happen when we open that door? They'll hit us with everything they've got. It'll be like shooting ducks in a gallery."
"Better than dying when the missile hits."
"You ever seen one of these things underground?" Grant asked him.
"Never. It's not something you'd see during training."
"Right. We went into a cave system in the Pakistan boonies. A bunch of Taliban holed up in a cavern, and they brought the roof down to stop us going after them. It was obvious they had a back exit, and time was running out. Our platoon leader decided to hit the obstruction with a missile. Did it himself, poor bastard. But at least we finished off the hostiles and got home, all except him."
"Yet you were still ready to launch the missile."
He grimaced. "There's always a chance I'd have survived. But sooner or later, we're all going to get it, you know that."
"No, I don't know that. Stand down, maybe we'll have a better use for that missile later."
And when we get home, this guy needs to talk to our shrink. He has a death wish.
Fatimah appeared in the tunnel with Boswell and Will. She went directly to a niche in the rock, a meter from the steel door.
"It is here, look."
Nolan played his flashlight on the niche. Inside, hidden in the darkness, was a small metal lever.
"When you push the lever down, the lock will disengage, and the door will open. There is an identical override on the other side."
We'll need to position the machine guns here," Nolan said, almost to himself. "When the door opens, they'll hit us with everything they have. We'll need something strong to protect the gunners. Will, get the men to bring up loose rocks, the bigger the better. A couple of dozen chunks of stone would do it."
Bryce nodded and raced away.
"They could have grenades," Grant warned.
"Yep. We'll need to be ready for them. I'll join the machine gunners with the sniper rifle, and if anyone looks like they may even be thinking about tossing a grenade, they go down, RPG7s, too. These Somalis love 'em. Lt, you'll need a fireteam ready to storm in as soon as we've suppressed their defensive fire."
"Yeah," He looked back and forth, at the door, back along the tunnel, and came to a decision, "I'll lead them in. Lucas, bring two other men and follow me in."
Grant looked surprised. Something of the old Boswell had returned. The man who'd made a decision to the job right, before concerns for his career and his skin changed his outlook.
There's hope yet.
It only took a few minutes of relays of men carrying rocks to set up the machine guns behind a barrier. They made three firing loops, two for the M249s and one for the rifle. Boswell gripped his gun and looked around at his team.
"Ready?"
Lucas was right behind him. Eisner and Bryce brought up the rear. Fatima Barre was standing at the niche. She'd insisted she'd be the one to release the door lock. Then she'd duck behind cover with Nolan.
He checked his stance for the last time and took up the pressure. He'd decided against using NV. Too much light in the cave when the door opened, and he'd be blinded. Better to shoot at shadows.
Both gunners acknowledged. "Ready."
Fatima's voice, strong and determined. "Ready."
Nolan kept his voice calm. They were about to open the door to hell.
"Ready."
Fatima Barre hesitated only a fraction of a second. Then she pulled the lever, and the door started to swing open.