Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut (11 page)

They walked into the derelict building where the men of Echo Six sat around, cleaning, checking, and reloading weapons before the next action. Doing what soldiers did the world over between battles. Grabbing something to eat and a little rest, never knowing when another opportunity for downtime would arise. Guy gestured to a cleared area, with a half-dozen rickety chairs, and a greasy workbench they'd pressed into service as a table.

"You may as well take a seat. Heinrich, see if our friend can tell us anything more, it's more important than ever. But try and keep it quiet."

"Jawohl."

He stumped away to the alcove where they had the Hezbollah prisoner securely tied. Guy looked at Talley and grimaced.

"The man is tied to a chair, so he can't escape. And I've told Heinrich not to be too hard on him. You know what I mean. That German only has to look at you to frighten you out of your wits. There's no need to extreme violence."

"I can't see Heinrich just chatting to him."

Guy chuckled. "No, but if he tries to make any noise, Buchmann gagged him before you arrived. The noise was getting on our nerves."

Talley nodded. "I hear you. We have to get to Habeeb. It sounds to me as if he's the key to the whole thing. Besides, I can't let Nava fall into the hands of…"

He could see the men looking at him strangely. Rovere was closest to him.

"I thought this operation was about the UN Commissioner, Andreas Jensen," he said softly, "Has something changed? My understanding is he only has four days left. After that, they'll chop his head off."

Talley looked around at them. "Of course we need to get Jensen out. It's just…"

Guy came to his rescue. "We understand, Boss. But you have to remember our orders, and why we're here. Don't worry, it's almost certain they'll have Nava in the same place as Jensen, so the objective is the same."

He relaxed. "Right. We can't move until nightfall, so we'll rest up here for the day. It's a pity about the bus. If it wasn't so shot up, we could have moved sooner."

Shimon Goldstein looked alarmed. "You know they'll be looking for the bus all over the Lebanon? It's a real slap in the face to these people, not only that foreign troops are operating on Lebanese soil, but stealing the transport that belongs to their favorite football team. Sacrilege."

The Brit grinned. "One of our English soccer team managers once said, 'some people believe football is a matter of life and death. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that.' I guess that sums up the attitude to the game around here."

Goldstein inclined his head. "It is the same all over the Middle East. But is it so surprising? Their attitude to life and death is rather different to that in the Western world." He looked at Rovere, "I believe in Italy they take a similar viewpoint."

"Be absolute for death; either death or life, shall thereby be the sweeter."

The Italian smiled, but Goldstein looked puzzled. Talley took him back outside. Lieutenant Domenico Rovere and his diet of Shakespeare were definitely an acquired taste, and the discussion about soccer was becoming too philosophical.

"We still need to get to Masnaa. Could we make it in the bus? I know it's shot to hell, and they'll be scouring the country for it. But we'll be traveling at night, and Lebanon doesn't strike me as the kind of country that will be lit up with streetlamps."

He thought for a few moments. "It is still a huge risk. At night there will be even more checkpoints, and we can hardly disguise it. No, in my opinion, we won't make it. We do have my VW minibus, but…" He spread his hands, looking oddly like a bazaar merchant negotiating a deal, "it will not carry all of your men."

Talley thought for a few moments, then he stared at the Jew. "We'll have to acquire new transportation, a truck or another bus. If you'll drive them back into the city, I can lend you a couple of men to find a vehicle and persuade the owner to part with it."

The other man smiled. "It could be done. We have several hours before nightfall, plenty of time to pick up a suitable vehicle. We'll have to leave now. The later we leave it, the more chance there is of the fighting in the city becoming worse."

They headed back, but they could hear muffled squeals from the room where the prisoner was held, so they changed direction. When they went inside, the Hezbollah clerk was tied to a chair, with a piece of oily rag stuffed into his mouth to muffle his screams. It was a miracle he'd been able to make any sound at all, but the reason for them soon became obvious. Buchmann had stripped him naked and pinned his penis to the seat of the chair with the tip of a rusty screwdriver. In his other hand, he held a chunk of masonry, which he was about to use as a hammer to drive it through.

"Heinrich! Cut it out!"

His voice cracked across the room with the force of a bullwhip. The German froze and looked around at them, his stare belligerent.

"You wanted me to make him talk. He's proving to be difficult."

"I don't care. You know why we're here?"

"Sure," the big man shrugged, "We're trying to locate the Commissioner."

"We're here because we're the good guys. They slaughter their own people, take prisoners and behead them. If we descend to their level, we may as well pack up and go home. Have you tried offering him money? Remember, we're in the Arab world. Apart from death, the language they speak is money, bribes."

He stepped forward and pulled the filthy rag from the man's mouth.

"Listen, if you just tell us what we need to know, we'll pay you well. You don't need to worry. You can go home afterward and pick up your life again." He glanced at Buchmann and then back at the prisoner, "I can only hold this man back for so long. Why not make it easy for yourself, and tell us what we need to know? Otherwise..."

The man started to sob. "I would tell you everything if I could. But they will kill me. You don't know these people. I can't, not for anything."

"How about for ten thousand dollars?"

The man's head jerked up. "Ten thousand dollars? What do you want to know?"

"The place where Jihad Habeeb keeps his hostages. That's all. And no one will ever know who told us."

The Arab grimaced. "They always find out, believe me. I could never go home. But for ten thousand dollars, perhaps I could go a long way away from the Lebanon."

"You can. Where does he keep the hostages?"

It came pouring out, so that Talley had to stop himself from laughing out loud. It was a variation of the old 'good cop, bad cop' routine. Most likely without Buchmann's threat of extreme brutality, the bribe wouldn't have worked. He wondered if the German would have carried through his threat to drive the screwdriver through the man's member. Probably. Buchmann was old school brutality. In previous times, his type would have joined the Gestapo. He'd need to have another chat with him and spell out the red line. Cross it, and he'd be out of the unit, alive or dead, even if he had to kill him himself.

Ten minutes later, they walked out into the open air. They had the information they needed. Jihad Habeeb had an underground room inside the Masnaa refugee camp. It was in the far north corner of the camp, furthest away from the Israeli border. Apparently, the Hezbollah commander used an old bomb shelter. It was situated beneath what had once been a government building, in the days when the place was a thriving small town, rather than the squalid and overcrowded camp it was now. There was only one entrance, and Hezbollah fighters and supporters heavily guarded the approaches to the area.

"It's impossible," Goldstein said, "Even our own people can't get access to these places. Those hostages will be more heavily guarded than the President of the United States."

Guy and Domenico came over to join them, and Talley explained the problem.

"It'll be tough, and we'll need air support," he told them, "We can't do it on our own, not this one."

The Mossad man shook his head. "You're wasting your time. We've tried it. We've tried everything. All it will do is send a signal to Hezbollah that the place is about to come under attack."

"We need a diversion," Welland suggested, "You tell us the place is impossible to reach because of the number of Hezbollah fighters inside. If there was a missile strike on the opposite side of the camp, wouldn't they flood in that direction, assuming it was the start of an attack?"

"It could work," Talley said, "We have to separate their people from the hostages. Let's run it past the rest of them and see what they think."

It was Roy Reynolds who pointed out the obvious.

"They're not fools. They have been fighting the Israelis for decades, and they'll be alert for any trick. I don't think a couple of missiles would do it. They're old hands, these people, they know the difference between a ground assault and an air raid."

Guy shook his head. "Roy, there are only twenty of us. If we split the unit and send half of them to attack the other side of the camp, we’re going to be seriously shorthanded. Remember, they're holding Commissioner Jensen, as well as an unknown number of civilians and a bunch of kids. Best guess is we'll be up against at least forty or fifty Hezbollah guards, maybe more. And that's assuming we can convince the rest of them to go to meet this other attack."

Talley saw it immediately. They were both right, and there was only one solution.

"We need the air strike, and we need more men. Anything less than a serious attack won't be enough to pull them away. I'll get onto Admiral Brooks and ask him for help." He looked around, "This looks like a good area for a night drop. It’s pretty quiet and there’s a wide area of level ground between the road and the quarry. Plenty big enough for an LZ."

Rovere still looked doubtful. "We don't normally work with other units. It could mean we’ll have problems of command and control."

"We're not working with another unit, not if this plan goes ahead. It'll be two independent assaults, one on the south side of the camp, and the real rescue to the north."

They talked it over some more, but there was no other way. Talley left them to go find Drew Jackson, the electronics and demolition specialist who was handling their communications. He was drinking a mug of coffee, chewing the fat with the two snipers, Vince and Jesse.

"I need to contact Brussels. We’re calling in air support and reinforcements. Can you set it up for me?"

Drew acknowledged and picked up his pack to start pulling out the tiny encrypted satcom and erect the dish. While he was busy, Talley went back outside to find his number two.

"Guy, we’ve got to have that transport. Take another man and go into the city. We'll need something big enough for forty men and equipment. I guess a couple of trucks would do it."

"Right away, Boss." He looked at Goldstein. "Are you ready to go?"

"I can hardly wait," the Jew said dryly.

"I'll take Raul Gonzalez. He's a pretty good wheelman. As I recall, he also knows just about everything about hot wiring stolen vehicles."

"Right. I don't need to tell you this entire area is coming apart. Unless they put the brakes on, Beirut is going right back to the bad old days, so don't get caught."

He nodded soberly. Any student of military history, especially the Middle East, would know about the Lebanese War. It lasted for fifteen years until 1990. One hundred and twenty thousand people lost their lives, and a million more left the country. A country in ruins, for the former jewel of the Middle East was no more. Instead, there was just a building site and wrecked houses occupied by hostile factions. Shiite Muslims, Palestinians, Syrian Alawites, Maronite Christians, and Druze, they'd brought the nation to its knees. It was making a slow and haltering recovery, and now that recovery was about to hit a brick wall, as once again the shells rained down to churn over the rubble.

Guy called for Gonzalez to join him, and together they climbed into Goldstein's VW and set out back to the city. Jackson called him over. He'd established radio contact.

“You need what!” Brooks didn’t sound too pleased.

He kept his voice level. “I need at least one armed drone over Masnaa, preferably two. And I want you to parachute in another outfit. Last I heard, Charlie Six was next in line for a mission.”

There was a long pause before Brooks spoke again, “Another unit? That’s a lot of men to risk, Commander.”

“There's a lot at stake, a UN Commissioner and a bunch of school kids. I need a diversionary attack, and it has to be the real thing. It’s the best way to keep the hostages safe. If we can’t get those Hezbollah people away from where they’re holding them, the chances of getting them out alive are nonexistent.”

A pause. “I understand your girl is in there with them.”

He took a breath before he replied. Brooks wouldn’t like personal business interfering with his mindset. “I don't know for sure, Sir. But I do know the kids are there, and civilian hostages.”

“The UN Commissioner, he’s your mission objective, Talley. Don’t forget it.”

“Of course not, Sir.”

“Of course not,” Brooks echoed drily. He was silent for a few moments, and Talley heard him tapping on the keys of his computer. Then he shouted at someone, “Get in here on the double!”

Several minutes later, he resumed. “Talley, I can arrange for one Predator to be over Masnaa after dark. It’ll remain on station until dawn. As for the other business, I’ll need to take it to the Supreme Commander of NATO.”