CHAPTER 17
The sun was setting over Benghazi when Mason and Zeus pulled the dusty BMW into the small garage of the safe house. They had been on the road for the last eighteen hours, and Mason’s mouth tasted like the car’s ashtray. Both men had taken an amphetamine tablet halfway through the drive, and their minds were sharp despite the fatigue of their bodies.
Mason knew he could go another day without sleep but hoped that Tarek’s plan wouldn’t take that long.
Once inside the garage, Zeus set about switching the car’s plates, while Mason pulled a toothbrush and a bottle of water from his assault pack.
It was amazing how brushing your teeth could make you feel like a new man. And the house actually had running water and a Western bathroom. No holding himself over a hole in the floor. Life’s little luxuries. Mason judged his reflection harshly in the bathroom mirror. He despised the cold, hateful eyes, which stared at him like a mongrel guarding a trash pile. The face looking back at him was a mask he wore to hide from the things he’d lost. He thought about the last time he’d seen his ex. He’d surprised her by coming home early, and they’d gone out to see if there was anything left to talk about, or if they could maybe even try again.
Mason had spent most of their dinner nervously drinking Jack and Cokes while she laid out the problems with their sham of a marriage. He’d listened, nodding his head occasionally, but it was a one-way conversation for the most part.
The first sign that he’d changed more than even he had realized came when the movie started. He was reaching for the popcorn when there was a huge explosion on the screen. He thought he was in control, but the deep rumble that came from the massive speakers lining the ceiling of the packed theater sent him sprawling to the floor.
“What are you doing?” she asked, clearly freaked out.
“Holy shit, that was real.” He grinned drunkenly from the floor.
“Mason, what’s going on?”
Mason looked around, a deep feeling of shame burning its way across his face. He was supposed to be tough, and here he was lying on the floor like he belonged in a psych ward.
He didn’t care whose feet he stepped on as he climbed to the end of the aisle and staggered toward the exit. She tried to grab his arm, but he pulled it free with a jerk. He needed air.
“Mason, stop, where are you going?” She grabbed him by the back of his shirt as the glass doors banged against the outside of the building. At the curb he doubled over, his mouth stretched into a mask as he vomited.
“Oh, Mason. I’m going back in to get you some water. Just wait here. Don’t go anywhere.”
As soon as she went inside Mason pushed himself up and, fighting off the world spinning around him, stumbled into the shadows.
That was the last time he’d seen her. But he knew that it was better that way.
Mason heard Zeus enter from the garage and go into the kitchen, where he began banging around in the cupboard. Drying his hands, he flipped off the light and went to meet his friend.
“Do you have to make so much noise?” he asked, walking into the kitchen. The Libyan was filling a black kettle with water, and he squinted as the cigarette smoke got into his eyes.
“Why does it matter? I’m making tea, not going to the mosque. Maybe you can make less noise fixing us something to eat.”
“Who’s going to pull guard if I’m cooking food?”
“The only people coming to this house are those that we bring here.” Zeus might as well have added “idiot” to the end of the sentence from the way he said it.
“Well, shit.” Mason shrugged and started searching through the cabinets for something to cook. Tarek had ensured the safe house was fully stocked with everything they could possibly need, including cabinets full of food. Mason found a box of rice, some beans, and dried dates. Throwing the rice and beans into a pot, he added bottled water and placed it on the gas stove.
They ate the simple meal and went over the plan one more time. The fluidity of the situation required the ability to remain flexible. Tarek was in charge of the surveillance assets who were tracking the target, and Mason and Zeus would handle the crash-and-grab.
Once they were finished, they checked over the gear Mason had requested from Ahmed.
Each man had an AK-47 with five loaded magazines and three Russian grenades. He had asked for folding stocks on the rifles, and that was it. There weren’t any optics or fancy flashlights that might give them away. Low-pro body armor, a trauma kit, pistol ammo, and two flashbang grenades rounded out the kit.
Mason took his worn Glock 17 from its holster, dropped the magazine, and ejected the round in the chamber. Aiming the pistol at the ground, he pulled the trigger and locked back the slide. Once the pistol was disassembled, he used a frayed toothbrush to clean the dust and sand from the slide before pulling a barrel snake through the chamber and out the muzzle. A light coat of oil and the weapon was reassembled and loaded.
Next he laid out the five pistol mags, unloaded them, and began disassembling them. After lightly oiling the springs and brushing out all the crap that had collected inside, he put them back together and reloaded them. After securing his pistol and magazines to his kit, he turned his attention to the last piece of equipment.
The Taser had been hard to find, but Tarek was a resourceful man. It was a Chinese knockoff and the voltage was higher than he was used to, but it would do the trick. The yellow pistol had been painted black so it wouldn’t stick out, and Mason checked the cartridge and the self-contained probes to ensure that no paint had gotten into the mechanism.
Mason was finishing up his inspection when Zeus’s cell phone rang. The conversation lasted less than ten seconds before he hung up.
“The target is on the move — Tarek will pick us up.” Mason nodded, grabbed the vest from the table, and strapped it on.
Ten minutes later, Tarek pulled up to the house in a four-door Toyota pickup. He was wearing an assault vest covered by an open shirt and his cut-down AK-47 was strapped above to the cab’s ceiling. Mason got into the backseat with the barrel of his rifle pointing down. His eyes darted to the portable radio in the center console as a voice called out Decklin’s position.
“He is four kilometers from your location, traveling west in a white car,” the voice reported over the accelerating engine.
“Any idea where he’s going?” Mason asked Zeus, who was talking over the radio while Tarek drove.
“He has been driving around for most of the day, but now that it’s getting late he could be heading to the apartment or to get something to eat. I have a position set up if he goes to the apartment, but if he doesn’t…” Tarek shrugged as he looked into the rearview mirror at Mason.
“The target is checking for a tail. I am going to have to pass him off,” one of Ahmed’s men, Jamal, said over the radio.
“I have the vehicle. He is approaching the intersection. He is moving south now in the second lane,” another man said.
“What is your location?” Zeus asked. The man answered and Zeus advised that they were two minutes away.
Mason’s heart was pounding as the different cars radioed information back and forth. Somehow they had to catch him out in the open but away from anyone who might be watching.
“He just turned in the middle of the road. The target is moving north. I cannot get to him.”
“Shit, don’t lose him,” Mason said.
The radio fell silent as Tarek passed a slow-moving van and gunned the engine. Mason was looking for the white car, but it was dark and he couldn’t tell the color of the cars until after they had passed. Luckily, traffic was light, but it would be easy to lose a tail in the city.