Infidels Read online

  “It is as we suspected. They are camped just across the border, not ten miles inside Yemini territory.”

  “And they have the Black Stone?”

  The man frowned. “We saw no sign of it but they must have taken it.”

  “But it could have been moved beyond their camp?”

  The man shook his head. “I’d be surprised. We weren’t far behind them, maybe an hour. I have a feeling the illiterate fools believe the story the government is feeding them—that what they have is fake.”

  “If so, then they may just accomplish what we had planned.”

  “They might.”

  “It would be unfortunate. I had hoped to capture the event on camera. It will be a glorious moment in history.”

  “True, very true. But you still may. I left two men behind with the necessary equipment. They’ll film anything should it occur.” The man took a sip of his tea, sighing. “How do you plan to get it back?”

  Al-Qarmati smiled.

  “A plan is already in motion.”

  Houthi Rebel Encampment, North-Western Yemen

  Master Sergeant Mike “Red” Belme crawled on his belly to the top of the sand dune, taking up position just enough over the crest to see the camp below. Peering through his night vision goggles, the hazy green glow showed half a dozen tents with waning fires glowing at the entrances and two technicals, old Toyotas with rear mounted .50 calibers.

  Exactly what the UAV had shown, though the perspective was always different from the ground, the terrain a little more obvious than the bird’s-eye view.

  He flicked a switch and the view changed to infrared, their hostiles now visible.

  “I’m counting fourteen targets, two guards, one on the south side, one on the north, the rest inside the tents, sleeping or lying down. Confirm.”

  “Confirmed,” came Sergeant Leon “Atlas” James’ low rumble beside him. “But which one is the Prince?”

  “Let’s assume anyone without a gun,” replied Red.

  “And if he’s got one?”

  “Then he’s on the wrong side.”

  Atlas chuckled. “So wake ’em and bake ’em?”

  Red nodded. “Yup. But look at those tents. Two of them have four men each, lying side by side. There’s no way they’d have a prisoner sleeping with them like that. Two other tents have just two guys in each, sleeping far enough apart that at least one of them could conceivably be the Prince, but…”

  “But it just doesn’t make sense,” said Sergeant Will “Spock” Lightman. “If they’ve got a high profile prisoner, he should be guarded, and that guard should be awake.”

  “Agreed,” said Red. “I have a funny feeling he’s either no longer here, or never was.”

  Spock grunted. “My bet’s on never was. Vehicle engines are cool and the UAV overflight a few hours ago showed the same two vehicles.”

  “And the same fourteen heat signatures,” added Atlas.

  “Okay, second-guessing gets us nowhere. Two teams of two, one on the north side, one on the south. Two sniper teams positioned here, take out anyone with a weapon that moves. We’ve got four tents with occupants. Spock, you’re with me. We’ll take out the guard on the north side then enter the nearest tent with the two occupants. Atlas, you’re with Jimmy. Take out the south side guard and the other tent with two inside. Confirm your targets before eliminating them. If we get our target, fall back to the ridges here and here,” he said pointing at dunes to the north and south of the camp. “If we don’t get our hostage, fall back to the same ridges and we’ll fire a couple of rounds. That should get the eight remaining hostiles up and at it. Take out anyone with a gun, and if someone’s left alive, he’s either a hostage or a coward. We’ll interrogate him to find out where our Prince actually is if he’s not down there. Questions?”

  Head shakes from his team of eight.

  He activated his comm. “Control, Bravo Zero-Two. Ready to proceed, over.”

  “Bravo Zero-Two, Control. UAV shows the area clear beyond the target zone. Clear to proceed, over.”

  “Roger that Control, Bravo Zero-Two, out.”

  Using hand signals, he sent Atlas and Sergeant Gerry “Jimmy Olson” Hudson heading south, he and Spock racing north. He kept an eye on the camp but was relying on the two sniper teams to be watching the guards, telling them to drop if they turned toward their approach vector, taking the hostiles out if necessary.

  It wasn’t necessary.

  They made it to the ridge, both hitting the deck with Jagger and Sweets, both spotters for the sniper teams, giving the all clear.

  “Zero-Seven, Zero-Two. Report, over.”

  Atlas responded instantly. “Zero-Two, Zero-Seven. In position, over.”

  Red surveyed the camp below, the two guards still within sight, no movement evident within the tents. “Zero-Seven, Zero-Two. Execute in Three… Two… One… Execute.”

  He and Spock jumped up, rushing silently down the dune toward their target, a guard who was busy unsuccessfully lighting a cigarette, his lighter sparking repeatedly in the dark, no flame appearing. The man spun, whipping his lighter in anger just as Red reached him. Red plunged his knife deep into the man’s stomach, jerking it up hard as he clasped a hand over the man’s mouth and used his momentum to bring the struggling man silently to the sand. He yanked his knife free then slit the man’s throat as Spock covered them with his MP5.

  “Zero-Two, Zero-Seven. Target eliminated, over.”

  “Roger that Zero-Seven, proceed to next target, over.”

  Red wiped his blade on the man’s shirt then sheathed his knife as he drew his Glock 22, threading the suppressor in place. Rushing toward the tent, Spock on point, he listened as Jimmy and Sweets continued with updates over the comm.

  Atlas signaled he was in position with a thumbs up to the spotters, not able to verbally confirm without possibly waking those sleeping inside their tent. Red gave a thumbs up.

  Jimmy’s voice came over the comms. “Execute in three… two… one… execute!”

  Spock swung the flap of the tent aside and Red stepped inside, his night vision goggles in place as he took a bead on the first sleeping man.

  Thick, long beard, not our man.

  He swung his weapon to the second man.

  Thirty years too young.

  Both had weapons lying beside them.

  He double tapped the younger man in the chest, quickly swinging his weapon to the bearded man who woke from the sound, his eyes wide.

  A double tap put him down permanently.

  “Bravo Team, Zero-Two. Two hostiles eliminated, we don’t have eyes on the target, over.”

  “Zero-Two, Zero-Seven. Two hostiles eliminated, no eyes on target, over.”

  “Roger that. Fall back to the ridgeline, over.”

  “Hold!” came Jimmy’s voice. “I’ve got movement from the western tent, someone is getting up. Zero-Seven, you’re clear. Zero-Two, hold, over.”

  Red squawked twice on his comm, taking a knee as he listened, flipping his night vision goggles out of the way.

  “Target has left his tent, he appears unarmed. Walking toward your position, Zero-Two—”

  “Zero-Seven in position, over.”

  “He’s rounding your tent, he’s going to see your target any second now.”

  Red handed his Glock to Spock, unsheathing his knife. Using the blade to open the tent flap, he peered out just as the late night stroller shuffled past, his feet bare, dragging in the sand. Red flipped his night vision goggles back into place.

  Not the prince, but is he a hostile?

  The man’s eyes were half closed, it clear he was barely awake. This was a piss break and nothing more. If they were lucky he might walk right by the body, do his business, and head back.

  But they’d never get a better chance to take this guy out safely, leaving them with only seven to deal with.

  The man lumbered past the body, oblivious, then stopped at the bottom of the dune they were supposed to take cover behind. He turned to face the camp, Red slowly letting the flap close, leaving all but a sliver. Suddenly he reached behind his back, pulled something out, tossed it on the ground, then dropped his pants around his ankles and squatted.

  A fart rolled across the desert sand, followed by several more.

  “Pleasant,” muttered Spock.

  “I guess he’s never heard about not shitting in your own campground.”

  “Zero-Two, One-Zero. We’ve confirmed the object he threw on the ground is a handgun. Subject is hostile, over.”

  Red squawked twice, sheathing his knife and taking his Glock back. “Let’s take him out.”

  Red pushed the flap aside, stepping out as if he owned the place, his weapon behind his back as he strode toward the man, deep in thought, oblivious to his impending doom.

  Another fart and a giggle this time, the man looking up, his jaw dropping. Red fired twice, the man falling back in his own pile of shit.

  Explain that one to your 72 virgins.

  He raced past the dead man, holding his breath to avoid the pungent odor, quickly clearing the ridgeline, Spock at his side. “Bravo Team, Zero-Two in position. Prepare to take out confirmed hostiles in three… two… one… firing.”

  Red fired a single shot from his MP5, immediately peering through the scope, the night vision attachment giving him a clear view of the camp below.

  Somebody shouted.

  Followed by more shouts as the tent closest to them suddenly stirred, the flap thrown open as the first victim poured out, AK-47 in hand. Red took a bead on the man, leaving him for the sniper teams.

  He crumpled to the ground, a massive hole where his heart used to be.

  Another emerged, spotting his buddy, shouting a warning as he whipped his own rifle into position. His body skid across the desert sand, catching on his fallen friend.

  Red switched to infrared, there only one man left in the tent, the shitter having already left it.

  Gun.

  He squeezed off two rounds, the man dropping.

  More gunfire from the other side of the camp echoed through the dunes, the distinct sounds of the M24A2 Sniper Weapon System burping single shots from their left along with MP5 rounds ahead quickly dwindled as only a single AK-47 round was heard.

  “Bravo Team, One-Zero, all clear, over.”

  “Roger that, One-Zero. Keep us covered. Control, Bravo Zero-Two. Anything to report, over?”

  “Negative, Bravo Zero-Two, UAV continues to show all clear, no movement on your hostiles, over.”

  “Roger that, securing area, over.”

  Red advanced cautiously, Spock at his side, confirming their kills, meeting Atlas and Jimmy at the center of the camp. He activated his comm and gave the all clear.

  “Jimmy, get photos to Control for identification, let’s see if we got anybody worthwhile. No eyes on our man?”

  Atlas shook his head. “Negative.”

  “Okay, search the tents, see if there’s any intel. We’ll start with this one,” he said, pointing to the largest tent where no one had been sleeping. Pushing aside the flap, he stepped inside the large tent, high enough to stand fully erect inside. He flicked his MP5’s tactical light on, as did Spock, revealing half a dozen good sized crates of weapons and ammo.

  “These guys were loaded for bear,” said Spock, his trademark eyebrow cocked. He pried open one of the crates revealing half a dozen AK-47s. “These are brand new.”

  Red lifted one of the weapons. “Still got that new gun smell.” He tossed it back in the box. “Check the rest of these, we’ll disable them before we leave.” He turned to survey the rest of the tent, several large baskets lining the other side. He slipped the lid off the first to reveal it half-filled with rice. “Looks like food supplies here,” he said, moving down the line. He flipped the lid off the last basket, smaller than the rest. “Oh shit.”

  “What?” asked Spock as he looked over at Red.

  Red shone his light into the basket and shook his head.

  “I think we found our prince.”

  Spock walked over and took a look, cursing.

  Inside was the head of Prince Khalid, his neck a bloody stump, his face showing signs of having been beaten before the beheading.

  Red stepped back, activating his comm. “Control, Bravo Zero-Two. We found our target. He’s dead, over.”

  “Bravo Zero-Two, Control, please confirm your last transmission, over.”

  Red tapped the side of the basket with his boot. “Control, Bravo Zero-Two. We found a basket with the prince’s head inside. Sending you images now, over.”

  Spock snapped several shots, transmitting them then nodding to Red.

  Red’s comm squawked. “Zero-Two, Zero-Seven. We’ve got something here you’re going to want to see, over.”

  “On my way.”

  Red motioned toward the crates. “Document everything then set some charges for when we leave.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  “And don’t you forget it.” Red left the tent, heading for where Jimmy was beckoning him. “What’ve you got?”

  “Trouble.”

  He stepped inside, Atlas turning toward him, his tactical light shining on a crate near the rear. “Take a look at this.”

  Red stepped over to the crate and looked inside. “Oh shit, is that what I think it is?”

  “I’m not going to say what I think it looks like,” said Jimmy. “But maybe I’ve been hanging around with Niner too long.”

  Red chuckled as he examined the large silver object, protecting a black hole in the center that he assumed held the Black Stone referred to in the briefing.

  “This can’t be real, can it?” asked Atlas.

  Red shook his head. “I’m way out of my depth with this. But I know someone who might be able to help us.”

  Assistance Publique Hôpitaux de Paris, Paris, France

  Archeology Professor James Acton looked toward the door of the hospital room, the hard rap on the door startling him and his still recovering wife, Professor Laura Palmer, awake. She had been shot in the stomach barely a week ago and had nearly died. She was still battling a bad infection that had almost cleared up, though she still had ten days of antibiotics to take before she’d be able to leave the hospital, her wound torn back open during her ordeal in the French countryside.

  It had been a terrifying experience for both of them, with devastating consequences that would have repercussions for the rest of their lives, the past few days being a horror of rollercoaster emotions.

  Yet despite their history of finding themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, a man so clearly government standing in their doorway was still enough to startle them.

  Especially in the middle of the night.

  He rose from the chair he had fallen asleep in, placing himself between his wife and the man. “Can I help you?” he asked as Laura moaned, rubbing her eyes.

  “Are you Professor James Acton of St. Paul’s University?”

  Acton felt his chest tighten slightly. “Who’s asking?”

  The man stepped inside the room, another taking his place at the door, facing outward as if covering the entrance. “I’m with the United States Government,” he said, flashing identification without giving Acton time to actually inspect it. “Your government requires your assistance.”

  Acton frowned, looking over at a now wide-awake Laura. “In what way?”

  The man placed his briefcase on the tray table by Laura’s bed, spinning the tumblers to unlock his briefcase before snapping it open. He withdrew two folders. “First I need you to both sign these Classified Information Nondisclosure Agreements.”

  “Why?”

  “What you are about to hear cannot be revealed to anyone. We need any promise you make to maintain the secrecy of this information to be in writing so it is legally binding.”

  “And if we violate this agreement?” asked Acton as he quickly skimmed the document.

  “You will be charged and face possible prison time.”

  Acton shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.” He looked at Laura. “What do you think?”

  “I wonder how as a British subject this would impact me.”

  The man nodded toward the second file. “Yours is specific to you and already cleared with your government.” The man tapped his briefcase impatiently. “Please, professors, this matter is extremely urgent.”

  “Can you give us an inkling?” asked Acton.

  The man pursed his lips then looked over his shoulder. “Close the door.” The other man complied, sealing the room from prying eyes and ears. “You have friends who need your help.”

  Acton instantly felt a rush of adrenaline as he exchanged a quick glance with Laura before scribbling his signature on the document. There could be only two possibilities as far as he knew. One was his former student, CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane, but with the term ‘friends’ being plural, he was leaning toward the Bravo Team, members of the elite Delta Force, and men who had done their best to kill them both during their first encounter.

  Operating under falsified intel, they had been told he was the head of a domestic terrorist cell, leading a group of students who were about to commit terrorist acts against their country. The Bravo Team had been sent in to eliminate them. It had been several days of hell, but in the end he had survived, met Laura, and made some of the best ‘friends’ anyone could hope to have, especially in his line of work that took him far too often into conflict zones.

  Or the fact conflict seemed to seek him and his wife out.

  But members of the Bravo Team had helped save his wife only days before, so whenever he was able to help them in any way, he never hesitated.

  Laura handed her file over.

  “Thank you, Professors.” The man flipped open some sort of fancy laptop from within the briefcase, entering a code in a side panel. The display snapped to life revealing the smiling face of a man he only knew as Red, his nickname apparently earned by his fiery red hair he kept shaved clean, though today he seemed to have a little stubble revealing his true colors. Acton had met him on several occasions and trusted the man with his life.