Hammer of God: Alex Hunter 5.5 (4 page)

The HAWCs followed the signal frequency given to them by the Israeli Metsada, and it led to a small building on the edge of town. It was still dark, but dawn was coming fast. The small flat-topped building had curtains drawn and was tomb silent, but Alex knew they were being watched from the moment they approached.

He turned to Casey Franks. “And you behave, or you can walk home.”

Franks nodded, her mouth never losing its scar-pulled sneer. “Always.”

Alex knocked on the door, standing slightly to the side of the frame. He looked to Sam. “Give me thirty seconds.”

The HAWCs spread each side of the door as it was pulled inwards a crack. Alex pushed on the door and stepped into the ink-black room and waited. He could sense the people, three of them, without seeing them. One to his left and another to the right, both watching him from their dark spaces; the third was seated directly in front of him.

An oil lamp was suddenly lit, but it was turned down so low it only cast a tiny yellow circle of light over the person beside it. Alex lifted an arm and pressed a small stud at his neck. The full face shielding telescoped back into the collar of his suit.

There came a soft laugh. “Of course it would be you.” The woman smiled, and in her eyes there was genuine interest, and perhaps even delight at seeing him.

Alex gave a small bow, looking at her more closely. She seemed relaxed but he knew there was lethal power coiled in that athletic frame. She wore two Israeli designed Barak pistols, which meant “lightning” in Hebrew. They were blunt and business-like – the power punch of a magnum without the weight. She had them both strapped on her front so the gun barrels pointed down toward her groin, creating a “V” shape for rapid access and firing.

“Adira.” Alex straightened, waiting.

He expected her, and knew she expected, or maybe hoped, it would be him. He knew everything about her – her name meant “mighty” in ancient Hebrew, and it suited her. She was related to the famous Chana Senesh, who was sent by the Kibbutz Sdot Yam to save Jews in the Nazi-occupied countries and was betrayed to the Nazi regime. Severely tortured, she never informed on her friends, never gave in, and for that she was sentenced to death. Adira Senesh had all of her ancestor’s grit and courage.

She rose to her feet; above average height, with a smooth olive complexion and dark eyes like pools of oil. She smiled disarmingly, but Alex knew she was a fierce warrior in the Metsada, and was responsible for single-handedly entering a Hamas terrorist tunnel network and rescuing a captured twenty-two-year-old border guard from a nest of ten Hamas butchers. No terrorists had survived.

Alex looked to his left. “Come into the light.” He turned to the right. “You too.”

Adira nodded. “It’s okay, we’re old friends.” The two large men came forward. Both cradled skeletal-looking automatic weapons in their arms. “Friends …” Adira repeated and shrugged. “Sort of.”

Alex half turned. “HAWCs.”

Casey and Sam came in fast, taking up positions just inside the door. Sam’s bulk filled the space, and Casey slowly shut the door behind them. They both retracted their face shields.

Adira looked coolly at Casey, the female HAWC returning the steady gaze. The last time they had met at the foot of the Black Mountain, Adira had bested her in a one-on-one fight. Casey hadn’t forgot it. Adira nodded, but turned away, not interested in the woman’s blazing glare.

Adira’s smile returned and she stepped forward to tap on Alex’s armor. “There’s still a man in there, yes?”

“It’s good to see you again, too.” Alex smiled. “And yes, still here, just a little more battle-scarred.”

“Like us all.” She stood in front of him, looking into his face. “Unfortunately, it’s the business we are in.” She turned to the giant figure in the room. “Sam Reid; big as a house as ever, I see. Still part robot, I assume?”

Sam grinned. “Only the best parts … and they all still work.”

She shook his hand warmly, and then called her own team forward. She motioned first to a dark eyed, formidable-looking man, whose eyes darted from one HAWC to the other, missing nothing.

“Agent Eli Livnat.”

He nodded almost imperceptibly. She then turned to other man. “And Moshe Levy. Both are experts in explosives, weaponry and combat.”

The three HAWCs examined each of the men. They appeared capable and if Adira had selected them, then they’d be as good as they looked.

“We’re in your hands … for now,” Alex said. “We should compare Intel, and then investigate the Mosul facility.”

“Tonight, we go in. Today, we scout the area and make a plan.” She half smiled, her eyes going to Casey and Sam. “Where we are going is into the belly of the beast – over a thousand fanatical jihadis, light and heavy weaponry, and unfriendly eyes everywhere. You walk around looking like that, you’ll have exhausted your ammunition before you even get inside the city walls.”

“What about the local population – any chance of friendlies?” Alex asked.

“Maybe once.” She tilted her head. “Most of the sectarian civilian population fled months ago. Those that stayed were either killed or learned quickly to become informants, sycophants, or themselves turned into butchers. Daily, the Hezar-Jihadi
brings back captives to either sell as slaves, rape, torture, or simply execute for the enjoyment of the blood-hungry crowd and the western media. This place has been turned into hell, Captain Hunter.”

She walked to a large plastic bag and emptied it on the ground. Mounds of clothing piled on the floor of the cabin and she began sorting and then throwing garments at the HAWCs.

“Thawbs. Traditional robes of men in the area; it will conceal everything. One for each of us.” She tossed one to Casey. “You get one too as you can pass as a man.” She half smiled.

“No shit,” Casey said, snatching the robe from the air.

“Moshe, the map.” Adira moved to a small table.

Moshe Levy brought a tablet computer to the table and opened a satellite view of Mosul. He drilled down to the building they had targeted.

“In here.” Adira moved the image around, pointing at different sections of the street and other buildings. “There will be people watching. I would place them up here, in here, and here.” She looked up at Alex. “They need to be taken out first.”

Alex nodded. “But we go in together.”

“Then you better be quick.” She looked back down at the map. “In and out, because if we stall and get trapped inside, no one is coming to our aid.” She drew the image back to take in the entire city center, a sprawling metropolis, with many of the roads blocked now either by formal gates, or simply piled high with the rusting hulks of cars.

Adira looked at the HAWCs. “Which of you speaks Arabic?”

Sam nodded and said a few words to her.

“Not bad, but a terrible accent,” Adira said. “Though the primary language is Mesopotamian Arabic, most other dialects are spoken and understood. For you, Sam, I can hear a touch of American, so speak only if in an emergency. I suggest each of you accompany one of us. Team one, Alex with me. Team two, Sam and Moshe.” She turned and grinned. “And Eli gets Casey Franks all to himself, as team three.”

Eli Livnet’s eyes went to Casey, and hers to his. She seemed to snarl, and he looked away slowly, clearly not impressed with his choice.

“We’ll do all the talking,” Adira said. “But hopefully we can avoid anyone else.” She looked at a wristwatch and then opened another plastic bag full of clothing. She sighed. “And a niqab for me.” She holstered weapons and knives, and then pulled on layer after layer, the clothing even covering her face, leaving just a slit for her eyes.

“Stifling.” She adjusted the heavy cloth, and pointed again at the map. “Alex and I will take this route – Jalba, the direct one, and leave first. Five minutes later, team two will enter through Al Jaddid Road,
this route
. And then in another five minutes, team three will walk east toward Yarmuk,
here
. These are fairly small thoroughfares and unlikely to be guarded.” She looked up. “But they’ll be watched by a dozen eyes; hopefully none of them Hezar-Jihadi.”

“Good.” Alex, Sam and Casey pulled on the thawbs. The loose fabric concealed most things, but not that each of them was oversized.

Adira looked at them and then shook her head. “
Shizza
. Both of you bend forward slightly. The only ones to stand so cockily upright are the fighters. Everyone else should be bent, humble, and permanently living in fear.”

The HAWCs rounded their shoulders and hung their heads.

“Better,” she said. “We meet back here at 1200 hours. That will give us plenty of time to observe from many different perspectives. There are numerous coffee shops still open – better to be seated in one, than to be loitering.” She looked at each of their faces, her eyes narrowing behind the niqab. “If you hear gunfire, screams, anything, you ignore it; it is a common thing here. You will see things that will frustrate you and horrify you, things that will demand your intervention, but do not engage. We have a priority mission, and that is not to spend our time rescuing individuals.” She waited. “Got it?”

“Got it,” Alex said.

She held his eyes. “I mean it.” She turned back to the table and pulled on a pair of black gloves. “Pull your cowls over your heads.” She leaned forward onto the table. “And one more thing; don’t get captured. The last high-value foreign fighter they managed to take prisoner ended up locked in a cage and burned alive for the pleasure of the online wanna-be jihadis still scattered around the world. The more barbaric the act, the more it works as a recruitment tool.”

Alex’s jaws worked as he remembered the brave Jordanian soldier. He ground his teeth. Inside him something stirred, whispering for revenge, wanting to obliterate, to crush and butcher the butchers. He shook it away; they had bigger fish to fry this day.

Adira pulled up her sleeve and checked her watch one last time. Her dark eyes found Alex. “Don’t be taken alive. Being beheaded would be a mercy compared to what these animals would do to you.”

“It won’t be us that dies this day,” Alex said evenly.

She nodded and then turned. “Reid, hunch over more, you’re still as big as a mountain. Let’s go.”

*

The groups left at their allotted times, and entered the sprawling city from different roads.

Alex kept his head down, but marveled at the mix of new and ancient structures. He also noticed how quiet it was, and worse, saw there were huge patches of rust-brown in the dusty streets, and knew it for what it was: old blood. Mosul was an age-old city first mentioned by the Greek historian Xenophon in 401 BC. At its peak just a decade ago, it had nearly two million residents. Now over a million had fled, and the modern city was rapidly sliding back to being a medieval stronghold, complete with torture, stonings, and beheadings.

New military hardware was stationed everywhere – ever since the Iraqi armory in Kirkuk was overrun and around a billion dollars of American equipment was stolen, each barbaric terrorist now had modern weaponry, anti-aircraft batteries, and tanks and armored vehicles were parked at strategic places in the streets. Alex had no doubt that many of the rooftops would have surface-to-air missiles and heavy RPG launchers ready in the event someone was brave enough to try and drop in. And a full airborne strike, the preferred option, would be impossible while there were still so many inhabitants living there.

They continued along Jalba Street, moving swiftly along its rubble-strewn pavement, close to the industrial area and the gas power plant. There were a few people moving around now, and a few sullen-looking soldiers glared from vehicle windows, but a woman, seeming old and bent over, accompanied by perhaps her son, should not have raised suspicions. At least that’s what they hoped.

They turned into Al Shazani Road and spotted the flat two-story building they needed to examine. At the far end, coming in the opposite direction, was a pair of figures in brown shawls, their size unmistakable to Alex.

“Your Franks and Eli, – don’t even look at them,” Adira said.

Alex grunted his acknowledgement, and just kept his head down. He allowed his eyes to move over the streetscape.

“Here, Café Jaralqmar.” Alex nodded to a shop entrance where a roller door had gone up. An old man was placing chairs on the pavement, and wiping down tables.

Adira half turned, her expression impossible to gauge behind the heavy head covering. “Good, but too early; we don’t want to be the first in. We’ll circle the block.”

Alex spoke softly into his throat mic as Casey Franks came abreast of them. “Franks, on your left; target is flat-topped building with the green paint.”

“Got it, boss,” came the immediate reply.

“And we already called the café.” Alex smiled within the hood.

“Shit, I need my caffeine hit,” she growled.

Adira stopped, and pulled a packet of cigarettes from a slit in her niqab. She turned and handed them to Alex. “Light one, take your time.”

Alex nodded and took the pack. “I thought it was banned.”

“It is. Like a lot of other vices it has been declared
haram
. But men can flout the rules.”

Alex opened the red and white pack and first took the small plastic lighter out, then one of the filtered cigarettes. He put it in his mouth. Adira stood facing him, but her eyes wandered over the rooftops, windows and dark door entrances of their target building.

“Seems abandoned,” she said. “Big enough for a chopper to land on the roof, but if it is some sort of bomb factory, then it should be heavily guarded.” She looked along its façade. “Its ground floor is fortified, steel grills across windows and doors, but the second floor is wide open.” She frowned. “Those symbols painted on the walls and door are strange. It’s very ancient Arabic, in fact I think it’s an extinct dialect of Northern Arabic – not spoken by anyone anymore.”

After a moment she said, “Hard to read, doesn’t make sense.” Alex saw her frown as she concentrated on a translation. “It says something like, praise those who choose, or are chosen, to become the fire of god.” Adira spoke softly. “Maybe a jihad reference, but why write it in a language that is mostly forgotten?”