A Long Gray Line Page 3

  Mike and McArdle were now back-to-back in between the first and second floors. They had few options, none of them good. If the four men continued their way up the stairs, they’d be caught like sardines. Would McArdle be able to bluff their way out of this? For that, they’d both need to re-holster their weapons now. Could they gamble on it and risk being cut down if they were wrong? On the other hand, if the men entered Bashi’s apartment, they would add a lot of firepower to an already tricky situation. He could live with a two against four encounter, as long as they had an element of surprise, but a two against eight was borderline suicidal.

  The laughs coming from the four ISIS fighters told Mike they weren’t aware of their presence. His Arabic wasn’t good enough for him to pick up what they were saying but McArdle’s was. He’d follow his lead.

  Any moment now, they’d know what the ISIS fighters would do. Mike was about to turn around in order to face down the stairs when movements on the second floor caught his eyes. A young man, dressed in black and holding an infant tightly against his chest, appeared out of the doorframe of one of the second floor apartments. He closed the door behind him and started down the stairs.

  Mike’s heart caught in his throat as the man’s eyes locked onto his.

  CHAPTER 9

  Ar Raqqah, Syria

  Lisa Walton didn’t waste any time. As soon as she saw the four ISIS combatants enter Bashi’s building, she grabbed her own Sig Sauer P226, the spare key to McArdle’s truck, and headed out the door. She was halfway down the steps leading to the building’s main entrance when she stopped.

  Shit! My burqa.

  She raced back to the apartment and took two minutes to put on the black burqa McArdle had set aside for her. The moment it was on, she felt like she had entered an isolation chamber. It was as if an invisible force had taken away all her senses and only left a strong claustrophobic feeling around. It didn’t take long for her anger to surface though. She scowled at her reflection in the mirror. What a shame.

  If there was one advantage to wearing a burqa, it was that it made concealing her P226 less problematic. Thirty seconds later, she was in the street heading toward Bashi’s building.

  She forced herself not to run. She had a feeling her husband and McArdle were going to need her real soon.

  CHAPTER 10

  Ar Raqqah, Syria

  Mike placed his fingers to his lips, signaling the man to stay silent. He then gestured for him to go back inside his apartment. The man didn’t hesitate and took two steps back. Mike had no doubt the man would call a certain phone number and report what he had just seen. Still, it could take a while before anyone showed up to check on the man’s story. Mike watched the man and his infant vanish inside the apartment just as he heard Bashi’s deadbolts slide back. It seemed that the four men were joining whoever was already inside Bashi’s apartment.

  McArdle looked at Mike, waiting for his order to proceed. McArdle wanted to go in. Was it bravery or stupidity? In combat, the two often get mixed up. If they were going to do this, now was the time. The door was open and the enemy didn’t expect them to strike.

  Mike’s mind raced back to the raid on the Sheik’s yacht in Benalmádena. He pushed back the negative thoughts that threatened his concentration and checked that his spare magazines were still in place.

  “Lisa,” he said, “we’re moving in.”

  He didn’t wait for her reply before he nodded to McArdle.

  _________________________

  Mike was fewer than two seconds behind McArdle but the former Ranger had already dispatched two men by the time Mike fired his first shot. The silencers attached to their pistols muffled most of the noise and Mike fired round after round into the Islamic State fighters fewer than two meters away. Pieces of skulls and bits of brains splattered on the staircase walls as Mike and McArdle emptied their magazines. Within seconds, they had eliminated the four terrorists who had just entered the building plus the two who had come to the door to let their friends in.

  Mike quickly inserted a new one and was the first to enter the apartment. He lost his footing on a patch of blood and fell on his back, knocking his head heavily against the wall just as a man armed with an AK-47 came out of one of the bedrooms to his right. Mike raised his pistol and fired three shots, all of them hitting the ISIS fighter in the upper-body. The man crumbled but not before he fired a long burst. Stray bullets hit the wall just above Mike’s head before moving to his left toward McArdle. Mike watched in horror as he saw the AK-47 rounds punch holes all around McArdle. The former Ranger froze in place, his mouth opened in disbelief.

  How he didn’t get hit, Mike would never know. There must have been half a dozen holes on each side of McArdle but the IMSI asset was still standing. He gave the thumps up to Mike half a second later and Mike jumped back to his feet. From his position, he could see that out of the four bedrooms, there was only one with its door closed. Mike took the lead and they rapidly cleared the three other small bedrooms.

  The assault had started fewer than fifteen seconds ago when they kicked the last door open. What Mike saw next appalled him like nothing he had ever seen before.

  CHAPTER 11

  Ar Raqqah, Syria

  The unmistakable sound of the AK-47 broke the trance Zebar Selam was in, but being mere seconds away from orgasm, he had no time to react. He had barely gotten up from the dead girl when the door burst open. He turned around, consciously aware that he was naked with an erection.

  His heart sank when he realized that the two men standing next to him weren’t his. He recognized one of them though.

  Mustafa.

  But it was the other man who made him anxious. He looked and dressed like one of his men, but his eyes betrayed his hatred and revulsion to what he had just witnessed. The man’s eyes moved from him to the dead girl to the two women tied on the floor. Zebar thought he was about to get his head blown off. The man’s finger moved inside the trigger guard.

  “On your knees,” Mustafa yelled. Zebar looked at the man he didn’t know. His finger was still on the trigger but the spell had been broken. He might live after all.

  _________________________

  Mike Walton used all his might not to throw up. He watched as the pig in front of him got to his knees before getting kicked in the groin by McArdle. The man’s hands shot to his genitals and then he collapsed to his side.

  “Mike,” McArdle said, “you okay, brother?”

  “Yeah,” Mike replied. Get a fucking grip. “We probably have less than five minutes before someone shows up.”

  “Shit! This one’s gone,” McArdle said, after taking the pulse of the woman Zebar Selam had been on top of. “What do we do with these two?”

  Mike couldn’t leave them behind. They weren’t his mission, and they’d be a major burden to their extraction. He knew that. But how could he not take them after what he had just witnessed? Impossible.

  “I’ll take care of them,” Mike said. “Check the rest of the apartment while I have a chat with this piece of shit.”

  McArdle stared at him.

  “Don’t worry, I’m good,” Mike said.

  Once the Ranger was out of the room, he kneeled down next to Zebar Selam. “You’re in luck, you fuck,” Mike hissed in his ear. “We’re short on time.”

  _________________________

  Zebar Selam was on his side, breathless. Mustafa’s foot had hit him right under the scrotum with such force that he felt like he had been stabbed with a white-hot knife. The pain went all the way to his stomach and a wave of nausea washed over him. He started to retch and just when he began vomiting, his back was pinned to the floor. Worse, he couldn’t open his mouth. Mustafa’s friend had clamped one of his hands over it while the other one was pinching his nose.

  “You don’t get to be sick, you fuck,” the man roared. “Not after what you’ve done.”

&
nbsp; Zebar’s body convulsed as the vomit entered his lungs. Eyes opened wide, he looked at the man on top of him. There was no pity in his eyes, only resolve. Drowning on his own bile, Zebar struggled to escape the man’s powerful vise but he had no strength left. Suddenly, he was jerked back to his side and allowed to retch. But that brought no relief. The tightening in his throat and stomach were like grips wringing him dry.

  The moment he stopped puking, the man grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up. With his pants still around his ankles, he quickly tripped over them and fell on his back. The man fell with him and the next thing he knew, he had a knife to his throat.

  “Where’s Bashi?”

  _________________________

  Mike Walton lost it when Selam tried to play the “I speak no English” card. He whacked Selam twice in the teeth using his knife hand. Then he hit him one more time for good measure and personal satisfaction.

  “Where’s Mouin Bashi?”

  Selam turned his head to the side and spat a mix of teeth, blood and bile. Mike slapped him. “I won’t ask again. Where is he?”

  “I do not know.”

  Mike cocked his head and pushed the blade against the ISIS fighter’s skin. “Really?”

  Tears rolled down the rapist’s cheeks. “I do not know,” he repeated. “I swear.”

  “What were you planning to do with the other girls?” Mike asked, staring into Selam’s soul.

  Selam averted his eyes but it was too late, Mike had seen the shame, the guilt, and the fear associated with what he would have done with the girls. Keeping his Glauca B1 knife to Selam’s throat, he used his left hand to pull on the man’s already bruised scrotum so hard that he literally tore it off.

  Selam’s screams could be heard across the apartment and probably much beyond.

  “How does that feel?” Mike yelled, showing Selam his balls. “How does that fucking feel?”

  _________________________

  White-hot pain exploded where his testicles had been. Zebar had never felt anything like this before. Seeing his testicles, detached and in another man’s hand, was surreal. He wanted to die.

  And he was about to.

  CHAPTER 12

  Ar Raqqah, Syria

  For what he had done to the poor girl, Mike Walton wanted Zebar to feel the same degradation, the same humiliation he had wrought on the dead woman. He would have pushed the physical and psychological torture further if it hadn’t been for McArdle.

  “For Christ’s sake, Mike, what are you doing?”

  Mike looked around him, there was blood everywhere, and the two girls were crying. They were probably as afraid of him as they were of Selam.

  “Did you find anything?” Mike asked, still holding Selam’s testicles.

  McArdle appeared confused for a second. “I…”

  “Did you get any intel on Bashi’s whereabouts?”

  “Sorry… I’ve found a couple of laptops and a bunch of flash drives. I think—” McArdle started but was interrupted by Lisa’s voice.

  “I’m two hundred meters from the vehicle,” Lisa said. “And you’ll have company in less than a minute. Four men, all armed.”

  That couldn’t be right. His wife was supposed to be at McArdle’s apartment. How could she be two hundred meters from their vehicle?

  “Say again, Lisa?”

  “Wake up, Mike,” his wife replied. “I’m here to give you guys a hand. And it looks to me like you’ll need one soon.”

  Mike made the executive decision that they would leave immediately. “Grab the gear,” he said to McArdle. “We’re getting out of here.”

  Then without warning, he plunged his knife into Selam’s gut. He twisted it a few times before pulling it out. He fought the urge to slice off Selam’s penis; the man certainly deserved it, but there was no time left and he was certain the terrorist had already received his message loud and clear. Instead, Mike stabbed Selam in the throat. Blood gushed out of his mouth as he started choking.

  “You didn’t deserve such a quick death,” Mike said, wondering if he would regret not cutting the rapist’s dick off. “Consider yourself lucky.”

  A moment later, he took a knee next to the two girls. Using his knife, he cut them loose and removed the dirty rags covering their mouths.

  “Speak English?” he asked them.

  Both girls nodded.

  “Okay,” Mike replied, relieved. “You stay here until we tell you to move. Understood?”

  “Yes,” one of them said, just loud enough for Mike to understand. The other girl was shaking like a leaf.

  “We’ll get you out of here,” he said, getting up. “I promise.”

  Mike exited the room frustrated that he had no idea what they would do with the girls. Leaving them here was out of the question. But so was bringing them back to the United States. He made eye contact with McArdle, who was already positioned at the apartment front door and peeking into the staircase. McArdle motioned him to stay where he was.

  “They just entered the building,” Lisa said. “And I’m in the truck.”

  McArdle signaled him that four men were coming up the stairs.

  “Copy, Lisa,” Mike replied. “Be ready to pick us up at a moment notice. And there will be four of us.”

  “Four?” Lisa replied but quickly added, “Never mind, I’ll be ready.”

  McArdle closed the apartment door slowly.

  “You ready?” he asked Mike.

  Mike’s MK23 was already up. It wouldn’t be as easy as it had been when they had rushed into the apartment. The discharge of the AK-47 only minutes ago had changed the whole tactical situation. Yet, Mike didn’t believe the ISIS combatants had the same training he and McArdle had, and he gambled they didn’t have stun grenades with them.

  Because we’re fucked if they do.

  The two IMSI assets positioned themselves in a way that would allow them to engage the same target from different spots. Armed only with pistols, it was imperative that their arc of fire overlapped each other.

  From where he stood, Mike saw the men’s shadows moving under the door. They were all gathering in front of the door prior to making their move. Mike cursed himself for not grabbing the AK-47. With all of the ISIS fighters bunched together behind a wooden door, he could have taken them all out in one long burst.

  Shit.

  With his senses on alert, Mike heard one of the men try the door to see if it was locked. Knowing it wasn’t, Mike prepared himself for what he knew was coming next.

  _________________________

  The first man entered the room the same way Mike would have. He briefly scanned his immediate vicinity before moving to the corner to his right. Mike first shot went one-inch-wide but McArdle’s bullet hit the man behind the head. The man collapsed and Mike engaged the next assailant who was still in the doorframe.

  His second and third shots hit the man in the chest and pushed him back against the two remaining ISIS fighters still outside the apartment. He and McArdle couldn’t afford to let them take this position from where they could “spray and pray.” They’d be trapped.

  “Cover me,” Mike yelled. “I’m getting the AK.”

  “Covering,” McArdle shouted back while pulling the trigger of his P226 again and again.

  “Moving.”

  Mike sprinted toward the AK only a few feet away and picked it up. Just when he was about to fire, he remembered that the previous user had fired on full automatic. Instinctively, he put the selector to semi-automatic.

  Damn it! How many rounds are left in the magazine?

  “Reloading,” shouted McArdle.

  With no time to check the magazine, Mike pulled the trigger of the AK-47. Please go bang, not click.

  “Covering,” he replied even though he couldn’t see where the two fighters had gon
e. He concentrated his fire on the left side of the doorframe, hoping that the penetration power of the AK-47’s 7.62 millimeter rounds were sufficient to go through the walls of the old building.

  Getting the AK-47 had been the right call. The sight of a falling ISIS fighter rewarded Mike. The man fell on top of the guy Mike had shot with his pistol. A second later, the last ISIS combatant threw his weapon on the ground and showed himself, hands in the air.

  “Please don’t shoot,” he said in English. “Please don’t shoot me.”

  What the hell? Who’s this guy?

  “You have him, Frank?” Mike asked. He hated not knowing how many rounds he had left.

  “Got him.”

  Once he was sure McArdle was covering him, Mike checked the magazine.

  Three rounds left. He would need to grab a few more magazines from the dead fighters. And they had to go now. They had no time left. Yet, he was curious to know who this man was.

  “Who are you?” Mike asked the only surviving ISIS assailant.

  “My real name’s Keith,” he replied, taking small steps toward McArdle. “You guys are Americans, right? Me too.”

  “Stay where the fuck you are,” McArdle warned him, his pistol pointed at Keith’s head.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” Keith said while continuing to advance toward McArdle. “I want to go home—”

  McArdle took a few steps back until he had his back against the wall. “I won’t say this again, asshole. Stay where you are.”

  Keith stopped. He was fewer than ten feet away from McArdle. There was something odd about the man.

  “Do you know where Mouin Bashi is?” Mike asked. He had the sights of his AK-47 aimed at Keith’s torso.

  “Mouin Bashi? Yes, of course. I know where he is. I can take you to him right now if—”

  McArdle’s bullet hit Keith right in the middle of the forehead. “Bullshit,” he looked at Mike and added, “Bashi’s not in town. This guy just wanted us to waste time. That means more fighters are on their way.”