“I guess we have a problem?” Mason asked him.
“Yes, we have a big problem. One of my sources has confirmed the rebels are launching an offensive to take Damascus. Who is this beautiful creature?” he said, offering his hand to Renee.
“Renee, this is Ahmed.”
“It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said, taking her hand and lightly kissing it. Mason had seen the urbane version of Ahmed many times, but this was the first time it had made him a little jealous.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” she said in Arabic, causing the Libyan to arch his brow in delight.
“I am sorry that we couldn’t have met under better circumstances.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Mason said, taking Renee by the hand and pulling her away from his mentor.
“Ahh, so you are the one I have been hearing about? The first American woman to join their elite commandos.”
Ahmed smiled before becoming gravely serious.
“Why have you brought her here? This isn’t a place for a lady.”
“She can take care of herself, I promise you.”
Ahmed only needed to glance at her stony face to realize that might well be true. “We need to leave this place before it gets too dangerous.”
“I can’t do that, and you know it.”
“Mason, the man you are looking for is going to die out there, and so will you if you don’t come with me. I know you have a death wish, but are you willing to sacrifice her life?”
Renee spoke up. “It’s not his decision. The man we are after killed my men, and I can’t let that pass unavenged.”
“I understand you have suffered, child, but this is not a fight for you,” Ahmed said soothingly.
“I’m not leaving and neither is he,” she replied.
“Leave it to you to find a woman as stubborn as you are. Fine, but it is on your head,” he said, pointing to Mason.
The storeroom was lined with shelves and boxes. In one corner the wooden shelves had been modified to conceal a set of stairs that led down into a small basement. Ahmed turned and headed down the stairs. As they descended, Mason saw a single bulb hung from the ceiling, which cast enough light to reveal a space filled with neatly stacked wooden crates. In the center of the room was a large table covered with a respectable assortment of heavy weapons and ammo.
“Nice setup,” Mason stated as he approached the table.
Zeus strolled around the table like he was buying vegetables off the street. He picked up a few items and looked them over before setting them down and moving on. Near the end of the table he found a canvas backpack with three RPG-7 warheads nestled inside. He checked the safety wires attached to the noses of the warheads, then began looking for the launcher.
While Mason was filling his assault pack with Russian grenades, Renee lifted the top off a wooden crate and found an RPG-7 launcher inside. The model had been designed for paratroopers and allowed the operator to break the launcher into two pieces. It still had the packing grease on it and was already mounted with the two-power optic.
Holding the two pieces aloft so that Zeus could see them, she snapped the launcher together and checked the optic and the flip-up sights.
“You have a good eye,” Ahmed said approvingly.
“Tarek, go get the rag to clean off the grease,” Mason said, looking at Renee.
Tarek gave him the finger, but he ignored him and smiled as Renee twirled the launcher like a child with a new toy.
“I was saving this for a special day, but seeing as how my shop probably won’t be around for long, feel free to take it.” Ahmed knelt below the table and lifted an M249 light machine gun from the floor. He set the machine gun onto the table with the flourish of a magician who has just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.
“Where did you get that?” Zeus asked as he walked over to the machine gun.
“Oh, I traded a man two boxes of medicine for this and hadn’t gotten around to selling yet.”
The M249 squad automatic weapon, or SAW, had a cyclic rate of fire of seven hundred rounds per minute. It could effectively hit a man at eight hundred meters, but the max range of thirty-six hundred meters allowed the operator to engage a larger target much farther away. Zeus ran his fingers lovingly over the cool metal before lifting it off the table.
He rotated the weapon toward the ground at a forty-five-degree angle. Carefully placing the muzzle on the concrete floor, he used the barrel and bipod for support. Squatting down, he flipped open the feed tray cover and performed a functions check. Unlike Soviet-designed machine guns, the SAW was not made of stamped metal and had tighter tolerances. If the weapon wasn’t properly maintained and cleaned, it would jam, which was not a good feeling in a firefight.
Ahmed also had the barrel bag that came with the weapon. The green bag held an extra barrel and two hundred-round cloth pouches. Mason lifted three ammo cans of linked 5.56 onto the table and pointed to the ammo pouches.
“Hey, Zeus, you know what we called those in the military?”
The Libyan slammed the feed tray cover closed and lifted the weapon off the floor by its buttstock. “Ammo pouches?”
“Nope, they’re called nut sacks.”
“Don’t be gross,” Renee said as she grabbed an AK-47 and checked the action.
“What? It’s true,” he said, shrugging.
“I think that if your government allowed more women in your army, there would be less…” Zeus struggled to find the right word.
“Gayness?” Mason suggested.
“Yes, that is the word I was looking for. Gayness.”
“Boys and their toys,” Renee replied, grabbing a stack of magazines and looking for something to put them in. “Well, look at that, are these real?”
She was holding up a Chinese chest rig, which had been made famous by the Rhodesian army during the bush war. The simple rig was one of the most effective pieces of kit ever developed, and Mason walked over to have a look.
“Yeah, they look real, and there’s a whole box of them.”
Mason grabbed one for himself before shouldering the assault pack and heading for the stairs. He passed Tarek at the top of the stairs, ignoring the rag he showed him.
“Stop messing around and load up the gear,” Mason said.
Tarek sighed and headed back into the basement, while the rest of them began loading their weapons into the car.
Ahmed tried to persuade Renee to stay with him, but she was busy loading the empty magazines. He turned his scowl on Mason, who stood before him, looking at the ground. The American knew all too well that Ahmed didn’t approve of his obsession with revenge. “Ahmed, I thank you for everything that you have done.”
“It is not too late.”
“If I don’t go, a lot of people are going to die.”
“People begin dying the day they are born, and in our world they die every day. This has always been about you.”
“Maybe, but it’s too late to turn around now.”
Ahmed’s eyes watered as the two men embraced. He kissed both sides of the American’s face and tried to shake the overwhelming sense of guilt that he was feeling. “What about you, Zeus? I believe that you still work for me.” Zeus looked away, unable to meet the man’s gaze. “Are you and your little friend going to defy me after all of this time?”
“I am just doing what you would do.” Zeus towered over the man but looked vulnerable standing there.
“I always knew he was a bad influence on you.” Ahmed smiled and patted the large Libyan on his arm. He was proud of them, but his heart still grieved. “Be careful and watch out for Tarek; he was never good at anything but computers.”
Mason waited as the two men went to the car and began kitting up. Turning to Ahmed, he said, “You told me once that our paths are known only to God. If it is his will, I will see you again.”