Hard Case VII - Red Waves (John Harding Series Book 7) (31 page)

Hands went to hips with Rachel’s face jutted toward the smiling Nick. “Let me get this straight. Your two teams of killers, numbering just over a dozen, will be attacking the port of a fully nuclear sovereign nation that has been on bad terms with America for decades and supports every radical terrorist group in the world. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“It does sound bad when you blurt it all out at once like that.”

“What was the new adventure you have going on with Neil? I know John and Cala went to a masjid to check it out. Are you bunch going to destroy every Islamic meeting place in the area? Just checking. Inquiring minds want to know.”

“In answer to your question, we’re going to wipe out every snake’s nest we can find. In this case, a guy who runs it is no holy man. He was the number two Al Qaeda honcho in Europe. Denny Strobert wants him for questioning. He may be another key to the Starlight affair.”

“I know I’ve annoyed the hell out of you with this, but why don’t all the special ops guys get sent to handle the snake pits. You’re the top assassin in the world, Muerto. Have some respect for your exalted position since you cut the throat of that Felix guy. By the way, don’t you get a trophy or something?”

Rachel watched Nick’s more than a few moments appreciation of her adlib with a weary smile. “I’m glad you can laugh when every time you launch the cartoons, Tina, Cala, and I can become widows.”

“You’re funny when you stick to comedy, Rach. You suck at the drama queen stuff,” Nick replied, ducking a left hook. “Hey… no hitting!”

“This is perfect, Jer!” Nick, Gus, and John looked over the very high furniture van with professional vision.

He knew a hill perfect for a long range shot in case John and Cala had trouble at the door. They were to talk their way inside with John using his Ebi Zarin identity once more and hold the doorway. Because he had no idea what was being stocked in the masjid, Nick didn’t want to trigger some kind of chain reaction that blew the neighborhood off the map. They were all networked together, including Cala. The easy gamble would be if John’s Ebi Zarin identity stirred the interest of Al Sirani. John had met him before from afar. John could recite the date and place to prove he was indeed Zarin. He would explain being hesitant about giving his real identity until certain Al Sirani was forming a cell in Pacific Grove and would need his help. Nick understood an experienced competent operative could not be found in Monster.com or a local paper. Curiosity alone helped John’s gamble. Gus thought it was too big of a gamble and too risky inside. Once the front door was held, Nick would be there in under a minute with Gus throttling Jerry’s furniture van to the action where Nick would launch inside.

“How much, Jer?”

“Five thousand, and it can disappear anywhere.”

Nick handed him an envelope. “Here’s twenty. I’ll bring you something nice to keep next time.”

Jerry shook his head at the money. “Why ask me if you’re going to hand me four times what I ask anyway.”

“You’re irreplaceable, Jer. I give you cars. You clean them, even with advanced computer and GPS tracking. This is a special job on short notice. Thank you.”

“Anytime. Nice seeing you cartoons so busy. I never miss an episode. Is this one of them?”

“Not this time,” Nick answered. “See you soon.”

Nick called his two US Marshal friends next as Gus drove the van away with John sitting between them. Grace Stanwick and Tim Rienhold, assigned to protect Rachel Hunter and her daughter Jean in the Witness Protection Program, enticed Nick into helping unknowing he was a premier assassin. They understood many things about him now. One was do as he asked. That was the golden rule. The second was don’t ask questions.

“Hi Nick. Since I know you don’t care for overly detailed questions, what’s the job?” Grace’s voice sounded dismissive as usual.

“We have a cell working in my backyard. The Company wants it handled with one survivor and a nice neat story. Here’s my plan. If I get Al Serani, I don’t give a crap about the others there. Neither does CIA. When I get him to set the scene the way I want it, all I need do is collect the wanted guy and leave a trail of evidence he did it on his own. I need the area I’ve already texted you to remain law enforcement free from ten tonight to one in the morning.”

“Al Sirani in your damn town! What the hell are they doing, Nick, making sure we import the entire terrorist network here?” Grace quieted for a moment. When Nick didn’t answer, Grace continued in toned down manner. “Consider it done. Will there be a lot of noise?”

“I believe so. I’m not too sure how this plan of mine will proceed – only that I will have Al Sirani in hand and his posse dead.”

“I’ll get to work on it.”

* * *

“Damn, Muerto. Nice spot.” Gus watched the video from Nick’s cam where he had a makeshift sniper’s nest above on the furniture van roof. No one could see him from the street. Junk furniture, tied to the roof hid the sniper’s nest completely. “I can see the doorway plain as day with the new infrared sight.”

“We are approaching the masjid,” John stated. “You can see it’s very well lighted. They are coming out to greet us, Muerto. That cannot be good. I hope my Ebi Zarin name drop works.”

“Stay calm. I always have a plan, Kabong. How are you doing, Cleaner?”

“I am fine. Let me pull my MP5 and hose them down.”

A moment of hilarity ensued. “Uh… no. Calm down Cleaner. Stick to the script.”

John greeted the men approaching them on the walk with the traditional Muslim greeting but was waved off by the seemingly enraged men.

“What are you doing here?”

“I am an old acquaintance of Al Sirani’s. My name is Ebi Zarin. We were unsure after the Salinas masjid destruction if it was safe here.”

“We know who you are, traitor!” The man reached into his coat. Nick blew his head off and then the man next to him before the first had settled to the ground.

“Pull your pieces, kids,” Nick directed. “Hide to the right. Hit the place with the cell-phone jammer. Let’s see how stupid these guys are. Stay quiet for now while I see how many curious cats I can give satisfaction to.”

“It is mean to mention cats to me, Muerto.”

Nick chuckled. “Sorry, Kabong.”

“Liar.”

Three more men ran out of the house to see what happened to the first two sent. Nick let them find the other two dead on the walkway. As they pointed machine pistols in all directions, looking for enemies, Nick squeezed the trigger with the rear most man in his sights. The hollow point .50 caliber slug pulped the man’s head. As his companions turned at the clatter of the dead man’s weapon, Nick repeated his action with deadly precision. Five bloody bodies on the walkway, clumped together made for a distinct and dangerous picture for the two peeking out of the doorway. Nick smiled. They repeated their peek-a-boo process twice. When the one on the right peeked again, Nick made his head into a shattered ripe melon. Nick fired through the doorjamb, wounding the other man. Nick had aimed low. The wounded man screamed in agony.

“Stay in place, Kabong. I think the screamer will get a couple more in my sights.”

Gus sighed. “You are a very bad man, Muerto.”

“We are not playing checkers, Payaso,” John said with irritation. “Understood, Muerto. We will wait for your orders.”

It only took a few minutes of screaming agony to bring the first contestant into Nick’s deadly game. When he tried to reach and drag the man out of the doorway, Nick fired through his wrist, leaving the hand gripping the clothes of the already wounded man but connected to the rescuer by only a patch of skin. The skin tore free as the man it was attached to collapsed in silent shock, holding his amputated member in the air. Nick fired into his head and then put the screamer out of his misery.

“I think I’ve drawn all the rats out I can, Kabong. Throw in the grenade. Gus and I will be right down.”

“On it,” Kabong said.

“Grenade! Really! What about Al Sirani? I thought we needed him alive.”

“We do, Gus,” Nick replied. “He’s like all the other chicken-shit leaders in this Isis/Al Qaeda outfit. He’ll be hiding under the bed somewhere safe. John throws the grenade in. We wait five and collect Al Sirani. Easy-Peasy.”

“Don’t ever let the words Easy-Peasy come out of your mouth again, Muerto.”

John chuckled and threw in the grenade. The explosion from the military grade grenade almost collapsed the building. Nick and Gus arrived a few seconds later. Nick led the way in after most of the smoke disappeared. The Unholy Trio and Cleaner fired into every body they found. As Nick had predicted, the rear most room was locked from the inside.

“Stay here, Cleaner. Watch the door. If anyone tries to open it. Fire low through the door at ankle level.”

“Yes, Muerto.” Cala knelt with MP5 trained on the room door.

“Okay, boys. Let’s go collect everything of an electronic information nature, including cell-phones, tablets… everything. You know the drill. We have to hurry through this part so I have time to take a movie of Al Sirani taking the blame for killing all his own men before I make him disappear.”

Twenty minutes later, the Unholy Trio returned to Cala with a bag full of devices collected. Nick knocked on the door while standing off to the right of the doorway. Automatic weapons fire from what Nick recognized as an AK47 blasted through the door.

“That wasn’t very nice, Mohammed. Come out with your hands up. We need to talk. You’ll be coming with us.”

“Never!”

Nick kicked the door in, drawing more fire. He smiled at his three companions across from him. “Watch this. It’s really funny. Hey, Moe! I’m throwing in a grenade. We want to talk or I would have thrown it in before. You’ll have three seconds to live or die. It makes no difference to me.”

Nick tossed a grenade in with the pin still in place. It made a loud noise hitting the hardwood floor. One second later Al Sirani dived out the door, hitting the floor right in front of Nick.

“That is so cool, Muerto,” Cala said.

“Don’t encourage him, Cleaner,” Gus said as he and John strip searched Al Sirani with rough precision.

Nick went in to the bedroom, weapon at the ready in case Al Sirani had a confederate who wasn’t going to come out no matter what. The room was empty. Nick retrieved his grenade.

“Bring Moe back into his room. I’ll talk him into making the movie in here.”

Gus guided Al Sirani into the bedroom. He and John plastic tied him in place to one of the chairs. Nick handed John his iPad. “Kabong. Show Moe what we do with unhelpful terrorists. Maybe he’d like to do this the easy way. Gus and I will drag the bodies inside while he watches the movies. Stay with Kabong, Cleaner.”

“Yes, Muerto.”

After piling the bodies in the large meeting area to the right of the entrance, Gus and Nick rejoined John and Cala. “How did he like the movies?”

“The usual. We cannot torture him. We cannot make him betray his cause. He has rights as a terrorist sneaking into America illegally to blow up innocent people. Same song, different day,” John answered.

Nick took out his stun-gun and gave Al Sirani five seconds of hell on earth at his groin. He then threw water in his face, reviving Al Sirani who had passed out with the pain. “Wakey… wakey, Moe. That was your illustration of what we can and will do to you until we get what we want. Would you like another demonstration?”

“No!” Al Sirani cried out as Nick leaned toward his groin with the stun-gun. “I…I will make any deal you want. What do I get if I help you?”

Nick gave him another five seconds of hell. Al Sirani awoke this time with a high keening sound as if the kettle was on the boil. “What you get is I won’t keep zapping your balls until your dick falls off. That’s about it though.”

“I will! I will help! Please do not do that to me again.”

“Good. Here’s your script. I want you to memorize it quickly so we can do some practice takes. You will make the video with passion and feeling or I will make you wish you’d never been born a boy. Screw with my script or do it half ass and you only think you know what pain is.”

“Yes… yes… of course! I understand.”

Gus moved an end table over in front of Al Sirani. He propped the iPad in position for Al Sirani to memorize the script while restrained in the chair. After ten minutes, Nick freed his video star, draping him in a traditional robe with headdress. Cala and John positioned a desk and chair near the pile of dead bodies. Gus kept hold of Al Sirani while Nick sat at the desk, glowered straight forward, and pounded the desk with his fist. He then went through the script.

“I am Mohammed Al Sirani, formerly the number two of Al Qaeda of Europe. I came here to help my brothers in Isil bring America to its knees. All I have found here are lazy cowards. I murdered these jackals behind me for not being faithful to our cause. I go now to create havoc amongst the infidel devils. They will never find me.”

Nick stood, gesturing Al Sirani into his seat. “That’s all you have to do, Moe. Do it right with feeling or you and I will have a problem. Are you ready, Kabong?”

“Yes, Muerto.” John gave a thumbs up sign from the camera mounted on a tripod. “Watch me, dog! When I give you the signal begin your speech. Every retake we have to do will cost you in pain.”