Enemy of My Enemy (52 page)

The two military men confirmed that the four trucks were approaching with heavy escorts. "We'd better remind our men to hold their fire until we give the order," Ben Zvi said to Davis. They both got on their cell phones and barked that directive.

Michael took a position next to Jack at the window. "Now where is Lieutenant McCallister?" he said.

"I wish he were here already. When all hell breaks loose in a couple of minutes, it may scare away whoever is bringing him."

Michael recoiled at that possibility. "That had better not happen, or they'll fry my ass in Washington. For my bosses, that's what this is all about."

"It may have been once," Jack replied. "But right now it's about a lot more than McCallister."

Igor said, "I'm going into the cafe to try to protect the owner and his wife."

"Be careful," Jack told him.

Outside, the wind was blowing hard, swirling the dust. Jack stared hard through the binoculars screwed to his eyes. Finally, he saw a large black Mercedes approaching from the west. That must be Suslov, Jack decided. His conclusion was confirmed by the license plate. In Russian letters, the vanity plate spelled out the boss.

The Mercedes eased into the truck stop's parking lot. Michael's heart was pounding as he watched the driver climb out and look around. Then he opened the rear door for Suslov.

Shielding Suslov with his body, the driver led the way into the cafe. Michael was tempted to raise his machine gun to the open window and mow both of them down. The bastard would be directing the battle from the safety of the cafe, Michael deduced. Shit.

Jack stared at the headlights approaching from the north and swallowed hard. The tip of the lumbering truck convoy was only a hundred yards from the intersection now. The four trucks were escorted by armored personnel carriers that were loaded with troops. "Ah, hell. How are we going to stop these people?"

Davis and Ben Zvi were looking anxiously at Jack. "I say we start firing now," Ben Zvi said.

Jack held up his hand. "We need McCallister. He's not here yet."

"If you wait much longer, their soldiers will be on the ground. Our job will be much tougher."

Jack knew Ben Zvi was right. He was ready to say, "Give the order," when he scanned the area through his binoculars once more.

Suddenly he saw what he was looking for, approaching from the east. With the sun now rising behind it, a white ambulance was racing toward the intersection. They must have Robert McCallister inside, Jack decided.

"One more minute," he said to Ben Zvi and Davis. Then Jack glanced quickly at his wristwatch. It was just past five a.m. They had to hold out for another forty-five minutes.

Jack watched the ambulance skid to a halt on the side of the road next to the truck stop. Kemal and Abdullah, each holding a gun, quickly climbed out and went into the cafe. Jack was relieved they must have left McCallister in the ambulance. He'd be easier to rescue that way. Jack would have to get him out before a shell hit the ambulance and blew it apart.

Jack turned to Ben Zvi and Davis. "Now," he said. "Go."

Davis barked into his phone, "Begin firing immediately. Don't hit the ambulance."

They both scrambled down the stairs to get outside and join the fight. Avi was a step behind them.

In seconds flashes of light illuminated the area. Shattering sounds and booming noises filled the air as the Israelis and Americans opened fire at the convoy, which was grinding to a stop. The first volley was aimed at the four trucks. One of Davis's soldiers, hiding in the construction site, fired a grenade, which exploded on the engine of the lead truck. The roar was deafening. A spectacular explosion was followed by flames and then billowing dark clouds from the diesel fuel.

From behind the produce vendors' stalls, an Israeli rolled a grenade under the back of the fourth truck. When it exploded, the back of the truck sagged and dropped to the ground in a disintegrating mess.

The second and third trucks were now hemmed in, but the Americans and Israelis weren't taking any chances. From the construction site, sharpshooters took aim at the tires of the other two trucks and flattened all eight of them on one side of each truck.

In awe, Jack stared out of the window. The good news was that those nuclear weapons weren't going anywhere soon. The bad news was that the battle had just begun. The Russian soldiers were jumping out of their APCs and firing in every direction from which the shots had come.

The
clack clack clack
of automatic weapons filled the air along with flashes of gunfire. A Russian officer was shouting orders to his troops, imposing discipline, trying to get them out of the line of fire to take control of the situation.

The Russians had heavier arms as well. A missile flew out of a mobile launcher and smashed into the entrance of the oil company building, near the large black letters that spelled out spartan oil. Most of the front windows shattered. The blast took down an Israeli who had been shooting through a downstairs window. Instinctively Jack and Michael hit the floor and covered their heads to avoid being hit by flying glass.

Jack could smell smoke nearby. He felt the floor under him beginning to buckle. "Let's get the hell out of here," he said to Michael.

They sidestepped broken glass and ran down an inside staircase along one side of the building and out into the open air. In the equipment maintenance yard, in the back, they took cover behind a metal toolshed. Jack looked out of one side, Michael from the other.

Heavy black smoke was pouring out of the office building. The wind was fanning the flames. Suddenly the whole structure collapsed. Debris shot up into the air.

Jack watched a fierce firelight raging in all directions around the convoy. The Russian troops had taken cover behind their trucks, firing from there at the Americans and Israelis. He saw at least twenty Russians on the ground, dead or wounded. He desperately wanted to get to McCallister, who had to be: in the back of the ambulance, and pull him out before bullets or a missile struck the vehicle, but Jack knew he'd never survive the cross fire. The longer he waited, the greater the risk that Kemal and Abdullah might return to the ambulance and drive McCallister away. So Jack raised his machine gun and shot out two of the tires on the ambulance.

Then he glanced at his watch and turned to Michael. "Thirty more minutes. Our guys are good, but there are too many of the enemy. We're never going to make it. When your troops finally arrive, their only job will be to take away our dead bodies."

"Maybe," Michael said grimly, "but I'm sure going to kill Suslov before that happens. Try to cover me."

While Jack unloaded shot after shot from his Uzi, Michael raced out from behind the shed toward the cafe, keeping close to the ground and taking refuge behind a couple of cars while bullets flew in every direction.

Shells were now striking the shed with regularity. Jack kept ducking as he heard a
ping... ping.
One Russian soldier was hammering away at Jack and the shed. When he stopped to reload, Jack leaned out and mowed him down with a shot to the chest.

He snapped his attention back to the ambulance, waiting for the right moment to try a rescue. A Russian soldier tried to take cover behind the ambulance. Jack gunned him down before he got there.

* * *

Inside the cafe, Suslov, standing next to his driver, locked eyes with Ali Hashim, who was sitting at a table with the other three Iranians.

"I want my money now," Suslov demanded. "Give it to me."

Hashim wasn't intimidated. "Are you crazy? There's a war going on out there."

Suslov, who had been on the phone barking orders to the soldiers, wasn't worried. The vast majority of the weapons were still intact. New trucks could be obtained in the area. Most important, his men had the other side badly outnumbered. It was just a question of time. "Only a little skirmish," he said. "My troops are in control."

Hashim rose to his feet and glared at Suslov. "You don't get your money until the nuclear weapons have been transferred and we have the American pilot in our control."

Suslov, accustomed to having his orders followed, pointed a fleshy finger at the Iranian finance man sitting in front of his laptop and said, "Transfer the money
now."

The finance man looked up nervously, but kept his hands on the table.

"Are you deaf as well as stupid?" Suslov shouted. His tone was now belligerent.

The two Iranian bodyguards sprang to their feet, ready to go for their guns, which were holstered under their suits.

Watching the scene unfold with increasing horror, the proprietor of the cafe took cover behind the wooden counter. His wife put down a carafe of boiling water she had been holding to make coffee and ducked down beside him. Igor, pretending to be a customer who happened to be in the cafe at the wrong time, dove behind the counter to join them. He peered out of one side to see what happened next.

Seething, Suslov clinched his fists tightly to keep from losing control. He knew that the Iranians had outfoxed him for now. If they had brought cash, he could steal it and kill them. But he'd never be able to force them to punch the computer keys that would transfer the money. Only the finance man could do that. "All right," he said. "We wait until the firing dies down. Then we'll complete the transaction."

* * *

Butch Davis was pinned behind a large pine tree. Captain Ben Zvi was in back of another one six feet away.

Davis was worried. The battle was going the way he expected without the additional support. Of the hundred or so Russians who had arrived with the convoy, his guess was that about fifty were left. From the beginning all the Russian soldiers had taken cover behind the trucks.

His own troops and the Israelis were excellent marksmen, but there just weren't enough of them. He and Ben Zvi had started with sixteen. Davis's guess was that they were down to eight effective combatants.

Suddenly the Russians changed their strategy. The wind had died down. They decided to use their huge numerical advantage to take the battle to the enemy.

Davis heard an order shouted by the Russian unit commander. Then the troops fanned out from the trucks, firing as they raced toward individual soldiers on the other side.

Three of the Russians spotted Ben Zvi and ran toward him.

The Israeli fired rapidly, hitting one in the chest. The man went down. Davis got a second one, a head shot. Then Davis watched bullets tear into the center of Ben Zvi's body. The Israeli continued firing before he pitched forward onto his gun. Davis took down the third Russian with a short burst. He ran over and checked Ben Zvi. The Israeli was dead. "Shit," Davis muttered.

It's only a matter of time until they get all of us,
he thought.

"Fucking helos," he cursed. "Where the fuck are they?"

A bullet sailed over his head. A sniper had taken cover behind a nearby tree. Davis waited for him to lean out before drilling the man in the side. When he fell against the tree, he finished the sniper off.

Suddenly the radio on his belt cracked to life. "Major Davis... Major Davis."

The same instant he heard that, he saw dark objects approaching in the dawn of what would be a bright, sunny day.
Manna from heaven,
Davis thought.
The goddamn cavalry!
"This is Davis, over."

"Roger that. This is Captain Kelly, U.S. Marines. We're coming up on your position. Six Blackhawks, Chestnut four-one through four-six. Fourteen troops in each. I figure you'll need all of them. From up here it looks like a war zone. Over."

"Roger that. My guys and the Israelis, what's left of us, are all in camo. The Russkies are in brown uniforms and heavily armed. They've fanned out from the trucks. I need you to take out as many as you can. But watch carefully. They could be firing from anywhere. Over."

"Roger. Should be like a turkey shoot. Over."

"I hope you have a lotta fun, but wrap it up fast. We can't hold on much longer. Over."

"Roger that. We're movin' in. Over and out."

Seconds later Davis heard the chop of the rotors from the approaching helos. Two Russians raced toward one of their personnel carriers for cover. Just as they reached it, the lead bird let go with a Hellfire missile that blew up the APC. A third Russian tried to hide in the trees, but gunfire from another chopper cut his legs out from under him.

One of the other Russians loaded up a grenade launcher and aimed at the second helicopter in the formation. The grenade smashed into the main rotor housing. For an instant the helo was suspended in midair while the pilot struggled unsuccessfully to control its movement. It veered wildly out of control, tipped forward, and plunged headfirst into the ground; then it exploded, sending a fiery orange ball into the air.

Davis zeroed in on the Russian with the grenade launcher in his scope, aimed carefully, and nailed him in the center of his back. The other five Blackhawks landed. Marines poured out, firing as they ran.

* * *

When Suslov heard the sound of helicopters overhead, he turned deathly pale. He knew that he hadn't ordered any helicopters. If they were American, his troops would be no match for them. The Iranians would never turn over the money. This was turning into a fucking disaster. "We leave now," he said to his driver.

The driver, who was standing a few feet away from Suslov, took the car keys out of his pocket and held them in his hand. As he and Suslov turned toward the door, it opened from the outside.

Michael was standing there with a gun in his hand.

"You're a dead man, Suslov," he said.

Suslov's driver reached for the gun at his waist. As he did, Igor jumped up, grabbed the carafe of scalding water, and tossed it at the driver's head.

The man screamed. His hands flew to his head and he dropped the keys as well as his gun. It fired. That was enough of a diversion for Suslov to grab his own gun from a shoulder holster. He ran for the back of the counter, ducking while Michael's shots flew over his head. As he landed behind the bar, Suslov swung his arm and pistol-whipped Igor in the face. He grabbed the terrified gray-haired woman in her mid-sixties around the soiled blue apron at her waist. He kicked her husband hard in the head, knocking him out. Then Suslov stood up with the woman in front of him as a shield. He raised his arm, aiming his gun at Michael.