He handed his new slave down to those meeting them on the beach, several of the women covering the new arrivals head to toe in black burkas, the only clothing they would ever wear for what remained of their lives. There would be no hostage exchange, no negotiations.

  There was no need.

  Yemen wasn’t Gaza.

  They weren’t surrounded in a narrow strip of land by oppressors, by invaders, by colonists who had forced the Palestinian people out of their lands after a guilty White world punished the innocent for crimes against the Zionists by one of the few infidels who truly understood the danger the Jewish race represented. Adolf Hitler had it right. The world was better without a single Jew in it. And while some denied the Holocaust had ever happened, he wasn’t one of them. For him, it was an example of what could be accomplished if everyone worked together, and that day was coming once again. “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free,” chanted worldwide by ever-growing crowds, Hamas and its supporters winning the propaganda war, turning Israel’s traditional allies against it, proved the tide was turning. He couldn’t wait for the day when Muslims the world over converged on the Jewish state and destroyed it. The country of Israel stood between the river and the sea, and eliminating it meant killing almost ten million of the vermin.

  What a glorious thought!

  He pointed at a transport as it pulled up. “Put the hostages inside.” He grabbed his prize by the wrist, holding up her arm. “This one’s mine. No one touches her. The rest, I don’t care what you do, just make sure you don’t kill them. They’re more valuable to us alive.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He handed over the girl and she collapsed on the beach. “Please no! My daddy will pay! He’ll pay you whatever you want!”

  Al-Sabri laughed along with the others. “Your money won’t help you now, little girl.”

  His man dragged her along the sand by one arm then tossed her into the back of the truck. He turned, surveying the operation. All five boats were now ashore, his own already being pushed back into the water. They had landed just west of the capital. They would have the hostages in secure locations within the city soon enough, with the citizens of so much concern to the infidels as their shields. He found it hilarious how those in the West were so troubled with civilian casualties. Not only did they not understand that those who died at the hand of the infidel in jihad against them earned guaranteed entry into Jannah, but those same people they were so eager to defend would slit their throats if given the chance.

  The global caliphate was a certainty. It was written. It would happen. And this was a glorious time to be alive because it was happening now. Perhaps, within his lifetime, but certainly that of his children, the flag of Islam would fly over every capital. And the sooner the infidel accepted that, the sooner they would stop dying at the hands of the true believers. His sons would raise their children in a glorious new world with so-called Judeo-Christian values relegated to the history books.

  He climbed into the cab of the transport holding his hostages and signaled for the driver to head out. He had no doubt they were being watched, but he had a plan for that.

  One that would ensure the American devils would never find their people.

  22 |

  Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia

  Leroux frowned as the angle they had on the Houthis grew increasingly poor. He was about to say something but Tong beat him to it. “Switching birds.”

  The main display updated with a top-down view of the action. “What’s our coverage going to be like?”

  “We should have complete coverage. Two birds have been re-tasked, plus we have two Reapers overhead with four more inbound. There’s a chance we could lose the UAVs, however. They have Iranian-supplied air defense systems.”

  “Understood.”

  The trucks pulled away from the beach and he held five fingers high. “Five trucks, people. That means they probably intend to send them to five different locations. You all have your assignments.” He turned to Marc Therrien at the back of the room. “Marc, I want you and your team confirming who went into what truck. We have the best coverage of what’s going on and our allies are gonna wanna know where their citizens went so they can coordinate their responses. Designate the targets Alpha through Echo.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  “Sir, I’ve got Paladin on the line,” said Packman.

  Leroux grabbed his headset, fitting it in place. “Put him through.” Packman gave a thumbs-up. “This is Control Actual. Go ahead, Paladin.”

  “Control, I’m at the beach. I’ve got five transports plus half a dozen other vehicles in sight. I can tail one. Dealer’s choice.” Paladin was a Yemeni asset recruited by Dylan Kane three years ago, and had proven useful on several occasions.

  Leroux turned to Therrien. “You pick.”

  Therrien stared at his station, no doubt going through who they had so far identified. “Transport Charlie has two Americans and the ship’s captain.”

  “They’ll be keeping him with the leadership.” Leroux turned back to the display, the computer superimposing assigned designations to each vehicle. “Paladin, Control, your target is Transport Charlie. It’s the second last transport coming off the beach now.”

  “Copy that, Control. Second last transport coming off the beach now. I have eyes on the target. How many am I dealing with?”

  Leroux pointed at Therrien, who jacked into the conversation. “Two hostiles in the front cab. Three hostages in the rear, two female. Plus four hostiles with them, all armed with assault rifles. AK variants.”

  “Copy that, Control. I assume then your recommendation is for me to not engage the six hostiles on my own?”

  Leroux smirked, Paladin known for his wry humor. The man was Yemeni, but educated in the US, having returned to his homeland in what had turned out to be a fruitless attempt to improve it. “Paladin, we recommend you do not engage the six hostiles. Track and report only, acknowledge.”

  “Acknowledged, Control. Paladin, out.”

  Leroux turned to Tong. “Do we have eyes on him?”

  “Negative. I traced his comms signal to within a ten-meter radius.” She tapped her keyboard and jerked her chin toward a display, an image appearing in the top left corner showing a small cluster of dilapidated buildings, civilians milling about. “He could be any one of them, but they’re all on foot. I don’t care how fast he is, there’s no way he’s chasing a truck for long. I’m assuming he’s out of sight.”

  “He might have already left. Back up the footage. He’ll probably be on some sort of motorbike as opposed to in a car. Once you find him, assign a Reaper for support. I don’t want to lose any of our assets today. Too many innocents have already died. From now on, I only want the enemy dying.”

  23 |

  Sana’a, Yemen

  Paladin, Samir Al-Harazi to his friends and family, Sammy to his buddies back in America, gunned the engine of his moped. He had a car back at his home, an old beater. Showing any type of wealth in today’s Yemen wasn’t wise. A twenty-year-old moped allowed him to fit in and go unnoticed. Plus, it got great mileage. He had traveled all the way from the capital city of Sana’a to the coast and back, and still had plenty to spare.

  Transport Charlie was just ahead, accompanied by a Toyota technical with four men inside, including two in the bed manning a .50-cal covering their rear. He had to stay far enough back to not raise any suspicions. Here, life was worthless. Those manning that gun wouldn’t hesitate to shoot anyone who even looked at them sideways. The only thing he had going for him at the moment was that traffic, mostly on foot, was heavy, and even though the transport was speeding through the street, honking its horn repeatedly to scatter those in its way, they were still forced to travel far slower than they would like. It meant a collection of mopeds were trailing them, allowing him to blend in and hopefully remain unnoticed. He had no doubt those he was following would turn off this main road soon.

  As if they were reading his mind, the transport made a sharp left, the Toyota following. He gently applied his brakes, allowing the pack he was riding with to surge ahead. He made the turn as casually as he could, the appearance of intention key here. He reoriented himself, intimately familiar with all areas of the capital. He continued to hold back, though their speed had increased with the lighter traffic. But the road had narrowed, forcing his adversary to control their pace.

  His target made a quick right but over-steered, plowing into an extended awning, tearing off the facade of a small shop, its owner rushing outside and screaming after them with a shaking fist. The .50-cal swung toward him, silencing him, and Sammy reached for his weapon then thought better of it. He might save the life of a shopkeeper, but what would happen to the hostages?

  Thankfully, the Toyota held its fire. Unfortunately, reaching for his weapon concealed behind his back had been spotted, one of the men in the back pointing at him. The heavy machine gun redirected toward him, and Sammy released the throttle, extending his arm, signaling his intention to turn. The Toyota held its fire as he banked to the left and activated his comms. “Control, Paladin. They made me. Do you have eyes on them, over?”

  A woman replied. “Affirmative, Paladin. We still have eyes on them. We’ll guide you in. Pat the top of your head to confirm we actually have eyes on you, over.”

  He chuckled, complying.

  “Confirmed, Paladin, we have you. Proceed to the next intersection, then take a right, over.”

  “Copy that, Control.” He cranked the throttle, sending him leaping forward. He reached out with his left hand and snagged a bright yellow scarf hanging outside a store, part of a display advertising their wares. A woman ran out yelling at him. “Sorry!” he called as he made his right turn, wrapping the scarf around his head and shoulders, hopefully changing his appearance enough that when he acquired his target again, they wouldn’t immediately recognize him. The last thing he needed was to get himself killed, because today, killing was his business.

  And he had a feeling business was about to be good.

  24 |

  USS Roosevelt Red Sea

  Niner lay on a couch in a rec room assigned to them, his eyes closed, his arms folded. Yet sleep eluded him. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could picture was what they had found on the ship. This one would haunt them for a long time. The stigma against PTSD and various other mental challenges in his trade had eased somewhat, but was still there. He had taken advantage of the counselors on a few occasions, including after the events where they had first met Professor Acton, after the death of a friend in South Korea, and after they lost Sweets in Myanmar. The first time was over guilt at what they had done, their false orders having them thinking they were killing terrorists when, in fact, they weren’t. The others were over traumas of losing someone he cared about.

  But this was different. The inhumanity here was on an unimaginable scale. You couldn’t train for this. You could never get used to this.

  The door opened, and he looked to see Atlas entering. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

  Atlas swatted Niner’s legs out of the way then plopped onto the couch with him. “No. Just can’t get it out of my head.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s one thing to watch the ten-seven videos. It’s another thing to see it firsthand.”

  “Yeah. It does kind of make you want to turn this whole region into dust if it’s capable of producing so many people so sick in the head that not only are they willing to do stuff like this, but those who didn’t partake would support it.”

  “Kind of makes me think there’s no hope for the Middle East.” Niner sighed. “We need to get off their oil. Imagine what would happen if we did. They have no economies. If the world got off their oil, we could just pull out, let them fight among themselves, then when they’re finally ready to smarten up, slowly welcome them to the world of civilized nations.”

  “Well, until that happens, all we can do is try to stop it as best we can.”

  Niner grunted. “It’s like playing whack-a-mole. There’s always gonna be another nutbar to pop up.”

  The door opened and Spock entered, an eyebrow cocking at the sight of the two of them. “Do you ladies want your privacy?”

  Niner batted his eyes at him. “Well, you’re not my type, but you’re welcome to join us and try to win me over.”

  Spock dropped in a chair across from them. “I might be a widower, but I’m not that hard up.”

  “Oh, you’ll be—”

  Atlas swatted Niner with a meaty palm. “Don’t you dare say it.”

  Niner grinned. “I like that you know what I’m thinking.”

  “I’m in no mood.”

  Niner frowned. Normally, he enjoyed pushing his friend’s buttons. It was always in good fun. Pretending he found the man sexually attractive was just hilarious. If they weren’t best friends, or if the man was at all homophobic, he wouldn’t do it. But since his friend was never actually offended and took it all in good fun, his reactions as exaggerated as the advances, it was always entertaining not only for the two of them but for the team. In this business, you needed to let off steam. You needed to laugh. And, God, did they need to laugh today.

  But it was too soon for that type of humor.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Niner turned to Spock. “How are you doing with all this?”

  Spock shrugged. “Not too bad. Fortunately, I was securing the rear deck, so I didn’t see as much of it like you guys did. How are you doing?”

  Niner blew air through his lips, causing them to puff out. “I don’t know. I can’t say I’m good. And I think if ten-seven hadn’t happened, I’d be a hell of a lot more shocked than I am. Knowing it’s happened before sort of prepares you for when it happens again.”

  Atlas’ head bobbed in agreement. “You’re right. I think that does help, though I’m not sure if that’s a good thing. It means it happened before. And now that it’s happened twice, you know it’s gonna happen again and again.”

  “That’s the thing. How do you combat something like that?” Niner gripped the back of his neck, squeezing. “Maybe it’s sort of like 9/11. Before then, if anybody jumped up on a plane and said it was a hijacking, they just sat back and wondered if they were vacationing in Cuba in a few hours. Now, somebody jumps up, and he’s attacked because everyone knows they’re gonna die anyway. When’s the last time you actually heard of a successful hijacking on an airplane? I know I can’t recall any since 9/11.”

  “So what? Now if you’re a woman, you just assume you’re gonna get gang raped? How does that help?”

  “I think it eliminates negotiations from the equation. I know for sure if I’m living in Israel and I see a screaming Arab running toward me, I’m shooting the bastard. I’m not gonna try to talk him down.” Niner sighed. “What kind of world are we leaving for our kids?”

  Spock cocked an eyebrow and Atlas eyed Niner. “Kids? You got something to share with the group?”

  The door opened and Jimmy entered. “Thought I’d find you guys here.”

  Atlas smiled at their comrade-in-arms. “It’s where the cool cats hang out.”

  Spock gave him a look. “Anyone who says ‘cool cats’ ain’t cool.”

  Atlas flipped him the bird, returning his attention to Jimmy as he sat. “You got here just in time. Apparently, Niner’s pregnant.”

  Niner rubbed his stomach and cooed. Jimmy, accustomed to Niner’s antics, didn’t bat an eye. “Don’t tell me Angela’s pregnant. You two just started dating. Do they not make condoms in your size?”

  Atlas snorted as Niner delivered double birds. “Don’t forget I shower with you guys, and with the exception of the Anaconda here, nobody’s exactly hung like a moose.”

  The door opened again and Dawson entered along with Red, their team lead picking up on the smiles in the room. “What did I miss?”

  Jimmy jerked a thumb at Niner. “Apparently he knocked up Angela because they don’t make condoms in his size.”

  Red laughed as he dropped onto another couch with Dawson. “Have you tried using a rubber band to hold it in place?”

  Niner eyed him. “Speaking from experience?”

  Red gave his junk a squeeze. “Don’t need ’em. I’m married and I’ve been snipped.”

  Atlas winced. “You got snipped?”

  “Yeah. One kid was enough. Now we have unrestricted fun.”

  Atlas chewed his cheek. “Unrestricted fun, huh?”

  Red stabbed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare think of getting a vasectomy if you hope to have any future with Vanessa.”

  Jimmy frowned. “I don’t know about you guys, but after what I saw today, the furthest thing from my mind is sex.”

  The mood soured, and Niner looked at Dawson. “Any word?”

  “Not much. You already know that the MS Horizon is steaming back to New Delhi where they’ll finish processing the scene. Delegations from all the different victims’ countries are already en route. Last update I had from the colonel is we are on standby to go into Yemen. We’re just waiting for word on where the hostages end up.”

  “But we are going in, right?”

  “That’s the word so far, but there’s no guarantee. You know how our government pussyfoots around this stuff so much. And they’re gonna have a lot of questions asked if we go in and do what the Israelis did after they were attacked. I highly recommend, however, that if you can manage it, try to get some sleep because we could be going in tonight. And depending on whether it turns into a Charlie Foxtrot, we could be there for a while, so you might want to call your much better halves while you can.”

 

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