Mason smiled, embraced his old friend, and said, “Tarek didn’t make it.”
Ahmed placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “He was a soldier, just like you. Allah set his fate long ago, my friend.”
“I managed to get this.” He handed the silver tube to Ahmed, who looked at it with a frown. “I checked it for leaks. I think it’s still secure.”
Ahmed held the tube up to the light and inspected the shallow gouge in the smooth metal tube. Running his thumb over the jagged crease, he shook his head while judging the weight in his hand.
“It is amazing that such a thing could kill so many people. There is still much to do,” he said as Renee went to look for ammo.
“What else is there to do? Barnes is gone.”
Ahmed’s laugh bounced off the walls as he closed his hand around the silver tube. “Gone? Where is he going to go? Does he have wings that would allow him to fly away? No, my friend, he is most definitely not gone.” An icy tone entered Ahmed’s voice, and Mason felt a surge of hope.
“What do you mean? He got away. I couldn’t stop him.”
“Abdul, the commander here, is a crafty man. It is amazing how fear motivates.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Come with me. There isn’t much time.”
Fifteen minutes later Mason was sitting in the bed of a pickup heading back to the blast site. The sun was slowly dipping below the horizon. The street was eerily quiet as the call to prayer spread out over the battlefield. The fighting had stopped as the faithful prepared to pray for the dead and for those who would die.
Mason was thinking about the conversation he had just finished with Ahmed. The old spy had told Abdul that whoever aided his friends aided him. Finding the Lebanese commander had been a blessing, and Ahmed had made sure to take advantage of the chance encounter. He had offered Abdul half a million dollars if he found Barnes but advised him that if the American got away, his family would pay the price. It was a terrible bargain for a terrible time, but when Ahmed wanted something, he made sure to offer proper motivation.
Mason had lightly kissed Zeus on the head as his friend lay asleep on a cot. The medics had treated his wound and given him another shot for the pain. Abdul had a doctor en route under heavy guard. Zeus didn’t even move when Mason bid him farewell. He knew that if he said good-bye to Renee, she would demand to come with him, and he wasn’t ready to tempt fate with her life.
“Look after Renee for me,” he told Ahmed as he stepped through the broken arch that led to the courtyard.
A truck sat idling in the open, and after a final farewell, he had jumped into the bed of the pickup. Now they were headed back out into the city.
Abdul’s men moved into the area, motivated by their commander’s sudden zeal. Since the Syrian army was busy trying to regain al-Hajar al-Aswad, Hezbollah had free rein to do as they pleased. The fighters had blocked off an entire mile northeast of the mosque and reported that Barnes was trapped somewhere inside the perimeter.
The truck slowed to a halt near the site of the explosion. All that was left of the battle was a huge crater and piles of concrete and twisted metal from the vehicles. Mason walked past the blackened hole and reverently approached the spot where Tarek had died. The explosion had erased all but the memory of his friend.
The bodies of Barnes’s men had been stripped naked and propped along the wall of one of the buildings. After their gear and clothing had been removed the corpses were riddled with rifle fire, leaving them almost unrecognizable, except for the paleness of their skin.
Mason was by himself again, and it was a fitting end to the journey. He walked solemnly to the corner where Harden had shot Zeus. Running his hand over the pockmarked wall, he was barely able to make out the faint trace of blood before he crept up the alley in search of his prey.
Very soon the evening prayer would be over and the fighting would continue. He knew that Barnes would wait until darkness before moving out. There was no way he would risk certain death by moving in the daylight. As the sun dipped out of sight, Mason heard scattered small-arms fire rising up around the city.
Staying in the shadows, Mason placed his night vision over his head and waited for Abdul’s men to begin. It was quiet and still in the street. Emaciated dogs ambled from alleyways in search of food.
A breeze came out of the east, carrying with it the distinctive clink of a mortar round being lowered into the tube. Seconds later he heard the light thump of the round leaving the tube, and then silence. The eighty-two-millimeter high-explosive mortar blasted with a resounding crummmmmp, and a burst of orange light lit up the stillness.
More mortars were fired into the area. He imagined there were two or three mortar teams working off in the shadows. If they knew what they were doing, the plan would work. But if they were off target, things would go to shit fast. The plan was simple: The mortar crews would beat the bushes while the rest of Abdul’s men waited for anyone to come running out. Those who stayed in the maelstrom belonged to Mason.
It wasn’t the most cutting-edge plan, but as long as everyone stuck to the script, it should work. However, with the first shriek of an inbound 107-millimeter rocket, Mason realized that someone had decided to take it up a notch.
The Type 63 rocket launcher is nothing more than twelve metal tubes mounted to a launch platform. Hezbollah had learned the hard way that stationary rocket sites had an extremely low survivability rate and had begun mounting them to trucks during the last war with Israel. The rockets were a cheap but effective way to blanket a wide area with an indiscriminate number of high-explosive rounds. The Soviet design philosophy of “more bang for the buck” was appealing as long as you weren’t on the receiving end of the deal.
Mason had given explicit instructions to Abdul on how the “fire missions” should be prosecuted. He had even taken time to mark a “no-fire area” where he planned on setting up an overwatch position. Apparently no one had bothered to listen to that part of the briefing, because as he approached the chosen building, it took a direct hit from a rocket.
As he ducked to avoid debris from the shattered building, he knew he needed a basement or at the least some overhead cover. He could see a shop across the street that was unscathed by the recent fighting. Scrambling away from the flying debris, he kicked open the door and dove inside.
The shopwindow shattered as a mortar round exploded in the street. Mason quickly scanned the interior of the building through the noxious dust and smoke. Staying low, he glimpsed a metal ice cooler next to an equally ancient cash register. Old steel coolers were lead lined and would hopefully withstand an indirect hit.
Another rocket came screaming into the impact area. The high-pitched wail of the mortar was unforgettable. There was no way to tell where it was headed. He managed to dive into the metal cooler as the rocket slammed into the shop and pulverized the brick wall. Mason felt the cooler shift violently as debris bounced off the steel exterior and slapped it across the floor. The impact sloshed the stagnant water that filled the bottom two inches of his makeshift bunker up to the top of the lid and down into his face.
Mason felt his clothes soaking up the nasty liquid as he tried to spit the brackish water out of his mouth. It felt like he was in a metal trash can and someone was beating on it with a bat. He prayed that the cooler wouldn’t become his casket.
When he heard the explosions starting to move more to the south, he tried to push the lid open, but something heavy was holding it down. Managing to contort himself inside the claustrophobic confines of the metal box, he got his legs up and began pushing on the lid. The weight on top of the cooler combined with the worn rubber seal around the edge made it airtight. He struggled to breathe. He could feel his spine grinding against the metal floor and his thighs were quivering as he tried to get some air. Finally the lid budged open about an inch, and Mason greedily sucked in a lungful of air.