Run With The Brave (14 page)

When they were almost two-thirds along the tunnel an engine starting shattered the silence and headlight beams flooded the space ahead, residue spilling to where they stood frozen, the source hidden by the curve of the tunnel.

Everyone scrambled into wall crevices for cover. Ryder pulled Afari in with him and both had to press hard up against one another to keep within the shadows and avoid the wash of light.

“What the fuck's that?” shot Kellar, from the crevice beside them.

Ryder's mind raced; no vehicles had been on the dam when he last looked shortly before leaving the hide. If any had entered the tunnel since, they would have noticed them descending the mountainside. Was there a guard point at the end, in the blind spot, where the dam met the tunnel? He cursed himself for having overlooked that possibility.

“Sounds like a diesel, and coming this way,” he shot back, pulling Afari closer into the narrow crevice as the vehicle rumbled towards them, headlamps now much stronger. He prayed they were all well concealed by the shadows cast.

Shortly, a small Jeep-like vehicle came into view. Ryder glimpsed a uniformed man at the wheel as it swept by, driver unaware of those concealed in the tunnel wall. Both Ryder and Afari let out a sigh of relief; he could feel her breath hot on his cheek and the warmth of her body tight against his. For a fleeting moment all thought of danger evaporated, but quickly returned as he eased her and himself out from the slit in the rock.

What was at the end?
Ryder took the lead from Shiron and five minutes later saw in the dim light a small guardhouse to the left with a closed bar barrier framed in the jagged archway, beyond which lay the road across the dam. From the light of a small portable TV flickering inside the guardhouse he could make out the head of a man sitting watching. He was alone.

Shiron and Brady moved to his side.

“Must be the night shift replacing the guy who passed in the Jeep,” whispered the American.

“But why a guard?” asked Shiron. “Not as if anyone is likely to blow this dam without a hefty amount of high-ex. It'll take truckloads, which wouldn't get anywhere near this place.”

“Probably to keep check on unauthorized personnel using it to fish the reservoir, or maybe even drag racers using the road,” Brady grinned.

The American may joke, but we are not going to get across the dam with the guard there
, thought Ryder.

“What now?” shot Brady, rubbing his shoulder.

“Take him out,” Ryder said.

“How?” hissed Shiron.

“I'll take him; when I do, head for the road. Keep below the parapet line on the reservoir side and don't stop until you reach the other side. I'll be following close behind.”

Ryder then crept away towards the guardhouse. Keeping low, he crossed the tunnel to the opposite side and edged his way slowly up behind the small, half-glazed cubicle, no more than 6 feet square. The entrance door was on the side he faced and the guard conveniently sat with back to the door, watching a football match on the portable TV. Reaching the door, he pulled it open. The guard turned, face registering alarm, as Ryder pounced, grabbed him about the throat and expertly wrenched his head to one side, breaking the man's neck. He dragged the body out of the cubicle, pulled the dead weight towards the reservoir parapet and eased it over, hoping no one would hear the splash as it entered the water some 25 feet below. When the Iranians found him he hoped they would think it was an accident.

A pale light reflected off the surface of the reservoir from the half-moon that peaked over the mountain. Ryder turned and followed the others, running crouched below the parapet line. The desolate aspect of being on the narrow top of this huge dam made him feel exposed and vulnerable, expecting floodlights to sear the roadway at any moment, compounded by the thought that they had to be well away from this place before the charges in the tunnel blew. He wondered what was the strange, loud hissing noise he could hear dominating all others, and then realised it was the sound of sand blown by the wind, hitting the massive bowl-like structure and racing up the face of the concrete at great speed.

He caught up with the others and, after what seemed an interminable time, they reached that part of the crest where the road turned almost at right angles and ran across the spillways. Here, if anywhere, they would easily be seen from the buildings on the other side should anyone be observing. Ryder prayed this would not be the case. Trailing quickly across the bridge structure close to a parapet, black void of the spillways to their right and pale waters of the reservoir to the left, they eventually reached the 15-foot-high concrete retaining wall on the other side undetected. Above them, over the parapet, lay the road that led directly to the power-grid enclosure beyond. After a short breather, Kellar hoisted Hellmann onto his shoulders. Both men steadied themselves against the wall to allow Brady to clamber up using their bodies as a ladder. The American reached the top experiencing no problem with the climb; the others followed in quick succession until only Kellar was left. Then, with Sicano dangling almost halfway down the wall, feet held by Hellmann and Shiron, he and the two Israelis pulled the big American up and over the parapet.

Ryder, relieved they had made it safely across the dam, now focused his mind on the power-grid enclosure. From where he stood in the darkness, the surroundings looked very different from those he had seen through binoculars earlier that day, making it difficult to orientate himself. Keeping to the shadows, he skirted the darkened buildings overlooking the spillway, followed in line by the others. After a short while, thankful no one seemed to be about, he instructed Shiron to take the lead and he went to the rear. The Israeli headed them along the edge of a tarsealed road which would lead to the grid enclosure.

It was not long before the humming sound of electrical current coursing through overhead cables could be clearly heard. Lights twinkled to the right on the plain below, and up ahead, Ryder could just see the black outline of heavy transformers with a maze of skeletal metal pylons scattered above. Moving as fast as they dared over the powdery snow dotting the landscape they eventually came to a wire-mesh fence enclosing the power-grid area. Here they concealed themselves in a shallow ditch between the road and the wire-mesh fence topped with three strands of barbed wire.

“Cutters would be handy right now,” said Shiron, tugging at the wire.

Ryder looked closely at where the wire went past the front of the nearest concrete post. “Mesh is secured to the post by clips and nails. No problem, we'll tear it out, and bingo, we're in.” He pulled out his knife and began to chip away at the post clip.

Several minutes later the mesh came loose and was lifted sufficiently for a man to crawl under.

“Sergeant, this was your idea,” Ryder said to Brady. “If you're up to it, you got the honour.”

The American moved towards the gap. “Shoulder's okay; pass the charges.”

“Jed, you sure you wanna do this?” Kellar asked. Then, without waiting for a reply, “The pack's heavy. Don't aggravate that shoulder, at least until it's healed more. I prepared the charges; better I place.”

For a second or two, Ryder wondered if the American's offer was from genuine concern for the sergeant, or did he have an ulterior motive – like not arming the charges and leaving a message at the same time. He let it pass.

“Thanks, Bear, I appreciate that. You're right; I should take it easy for a little longer. You take it.”

With that, Brady moved to one side, making way for Kellar.

“Distribute the best you can, where you think the most damage will be done. Set timers for one hour,” said Ryder to the American as he slipped under the wire and ran low towards the transformers. He wanted these charges to go off around about the same time as those he placed at the tunnel entrance.

Shortly after Kellar vanished into the blackness the sound of approaching vehicles suddenly came on the wind emanating from somewhere further down the mountain. Ryder's attention immediately focused towards the road. Moments later he saw wavering beams of light reflecting off the mountainside before they became two sets of headlamps cresting the road and heading towards them. As the vehicles came closer he steeled himself for action. Was the ditch deep enough? If discovered, would this position be defendable?

Moments later the two vehicles swept by only feet away, headlights rimming the ditch, with civilian drivers and two passengers in each, much to his relief. The cars stopped not far up the road; doors slammed, laughter, and all the occupants vanished into the buildings which overlooked the spillways. Ryder hoped there would be no more before Kellar returned and they were well away.

The wind whistled along the ditch as Ryder huddled silently with the others, shielding himself from the cold. It seemed the American had been away hours before he finally returned but in fact, when Ryder checked his watch, it had been less than fifteen minutes. Kellar gave the thumbs-up sign and grabbed his belongings.

“Okay, let's get the fuck outta here,” Ryder urged, relieved to get away. “We don't want to be around when this lot goes up.”

One by one they filed out of the ditch and headed down the darkened road with only the stars and moon to light the way. Following the road as it wound its way down to the river plain, they entered bush and scrub off to the side, when headlamps of more vehicles could be seen heading upwards. The slope was steeper than expected and dangerous to negotiate in the dark, but Ryder knew they could not stop or slow down, and began to worry they might not be far enough away when the charges blew. If the Iranians determined someone had sabotaged the dam and a search was made of the surrounding terrain come daylight, using dogs, the chances of being found would definitely be high. Spreading out, leaving enough space between to catch anyone should they slip, Ryder and the group made good progress down the mountainside until they arrived at a dried-up river bed. Here, speed was doubled now they could move over the dusty, flat surface, despite the slight upward gradient.

Around an hour after leaving the power-grid enclosure, low booming sounds from behind suddenly broke the stillness, followed by a series of erratic blue flashes on the horizon that briefly seared the night sky like bolts of lightning. No one uttered a word; just stood and stared. Ryder guessed that all, with the exception of one, would be experiencing some form of satisfaction, at least in part; the Americans: small consolation for missing out on the somewhat larger mission they had first set out to achieve; the Israelis: for their earlier failure; and the Iranians: for what the regime had done to them and their families. For Ryder it was the satisfaction of knowing that, at least in some small way, he had exacted revenge for what the Iranians had done to him in that godforsaken prison.

When the show ended, he checked his compass, turned and quickly headed up the valley, more buoyant now of finding a base. The rest followed.

Light snow began to fall as Ryder and his party moved out of the valley and negotiated the steeply rising ground covered in tussock and scrub. The wind was bitterly cold and there was hardly enough cover from its biting effect. They had trudged with only short stops throughout the night, and by mid-afternoon, under a clearing sky revealing high peaks, Ryder once again checked their position using GPS, establishing they were well into the western Zagros by some 350 miles from where they had started and around 400 miles from the objective. On that basis, he reckoned they should reach the mountain within twenty to thirty days at the present rate, but acknowledged they had yet to cross the highest and most difficult part of the range.

Not long after they had traversed a narrow plateau the group came upon human tracks in the thin, patchy snow.

“Hunters?” questioned Sicano.

“Another patrol, more like,” snapped Ryder.

“They look fresh… maybe two-three hours old,” said Shiron.

Brady bent down. “The sides are as hard as the bases. My guess: several hours,” he said.

Suddenly, Corporal Hellmann pointed urgently towards a shallow gully on their right and placed finger to lips. They all looked and saw a small deer grazing on tussock.

Hellmann quickly raised rifle and lined up the animal.

“Hold it, Corporal,” Brady snapped, placing his hand firmly on the barrel. “We can't risk it if these are fresh; another patrol could be close by.”

The Israeli looked at his sergeant then at Ryder. “We need food – fresh meat. We must risk it.”

The Israeli was right; the risk had to be taken. Ryder cast a look of disagreement at the American. “I'll make that call,” he shot, then to Hellmann, “Kill it.”

The corporal lined up again, squeezed the trigger, and dropped the unfortunate animal.

The report echoed loudly, accompanying Saad and Fehed as they ran to retrieve the carcass. Shortly after, with the animal slung on Saad's shoulders, the group moved as fast as they could away from the spot.

Twilight fell when they made camp in a small hollow surrounded by scrub, well concealed and protected from the wind. It had been a long day and now they desperately needed warmth, cooked food and a good rest. Despite the risk, a fire was lit and soon each gorged themselves on venison. They sat watching the flames dance merrily in the darkness, illuminating the hollow and the drawn, bearded faces. Bellies full, they began to relax in the cold stillness of the night.

Ryder sat silently watching the flames flicker and dance, occasionally eyeing each of the others in turn, finding it difficult to accept one of them as a traitor. He pieced together the events since the escape to pinpoint anything that might give a clue, but drew a blank. From his point of view the most disturbing factor – if the three remaining Iranians were to be excluded – was: what kind of bitterness would drive one of the Americans, or Israelis for that matter, to betray his country? What possible motive could they have to shift allegiance? He studied Fehed, Saad and Afari squatting quietly on the other side of the flames; had they known the true objective they would have been prime suspects. Whoever wrote that note knew the objective; and only the Americans and Israelis had that information. The note had been written in Farsi; the Israelis and the Americans were fluent. He decided to probe – see what happened.

“Funny how we've been tracked all this way. Take the lake; it was as if our position was known even then. Who do you think they were anyway – Iraqis, Iranians, terrorists?”

“Iraqi – Iranian border guards,” Brady replied. “Does it matter?”

“The two gunboats that gave chase were almost on us before we pulled away from the jetty. Someone warned them,” Ryder pressed.

“My money is on Iraqis,” said Sicano. “As far as them knowing where we were going, the firefight held them back long enough to radio out we were running for the boats.”

“Maybe, but I get the feeling our path is being anticipated; as if someone's… ” He stopped short.

The two Israelis shot a glance at each other.

“You saying, Frank, we have a traitor here?” Sicano asked.

“No. I'm saying: it seems a little strange – too much of a coincidence maybe,” he replied, trying to stay casual. He decided he'd probed enough for the time being, hoping a seed had been sown that might just deter the culprit from taking further chances and make the others more aware of what each were doing. He changed the subject, focusing on Shiron, “How long you been with Special Forces?”

“Four years.”

“Sayeret Mat'kal?”

He nodded, intense brown eyes fixing Ryder in the firelight; cheek scar still prominent through the growing beard.

“Tough outfit.”
The Israeli has done well to last that length of time,
Ryder thought.

“You're British Special Air Service; what you doing with American Green Berets?”

“Advisor,” he left it at that and moved on, “You orthodox or unorthodox?”

“Neither, I'm Christian – Catholic.” From the way he said that, sharp features seemingly softening, Ryder guessed Shiron might be devout, making him think about his own lack of faith, having lost it from a very early age in the mean streets of Brixton. “We may all need to believe to get through this one.”

“More likely lady luck,” murmured Brady.

“You religious, Frank?” asked Shiron.

Ryder shrugged, “Never tuned in to the bigotry and hypocrisy. Millions starve, the Pope preaches but never do we see any of that vast wealth he controls to ease the pain and suffering. All those different religions squabbling amongst themselves believing their way is the right way, turns me off.”

“Humanity needs to believe in something,” the Israeli countered, “otherwise there's no point to all this. Believing is hoping!”

“I'll go with that,” Brady added. “Believing, though, has to be above all that bible fable crap.”

“I take it you're the same as Frank, Sergeant?” said Shiron, turning to Kellar.

“No… I'm Catholic like you, only I leave the practising to the priests.”

The Israeli then looked at Sicano, “What about you?”

“Agnostic… it's all bullshit to me. More wars and killing are carried out in the name of religion than anything else as far as I'm concerned.”

“Never a believer?” pressed Shiron.

“Never gave a shit one way or the other; too busy making a life.”

It looked to Ryder that maybe he'd opened a religious can of worms by giving the Israeli a platform.

Shiron then turned and looked over the fire at the Iranians. “What about you three – Muslim?”

Afari said nothing, just nodded, hands spread to the flames. She looked worn out.

Saad, small frame hunched forward towards the fire replied quietly, “Buddhist.”

“Buddhism – unusual for an Iranian.”

He nodded. “Reason I was first imprisoned; my beliefs were not understood. They saw me as a danger to the regime. I became a so-called terrorist soon after. I am of the Mahayana sect. It teaches that salvation is possible for everyone and that suffering is inseparable from existence.” He paused and stared into the flames. “The cause of suffering is desire, and suppression of desire can be obtained through discipline. Perfect peace and bliss is our reward.”

“Suppression of desire where I hail from would be regarded as suffering to the extreme,” said Kellar, grinning.

“And where would that be, Sergeant?” asked Hellmann, speaking for the first time, brooding features glistening in the flames.

“Baltimore, Virginia.”

“Hey, small world,” the Israeli shot back, smiling broadly at the American. “I've a niece in Highlandtown, married name, Laid. You know her?”

“Can't say I do, but with a name like that though, who'd forget?” Kellar replied, still with a grin on his face.

“For a pacifist, you've handled yourself well,” Shiron said to Saad.

“Don't be misled. I have spent months in the hills, and even more in the stinking prisons. I'm hardened to pain and degradation; my beliefs make suffering a pleasure.”

The Israeli turned to Fehed, “Why were you in that hell-hole?”

The Iranian poked at the flames with a stick. “I was a pilot in the armed forces, flew helicopters for SF until falsely accused of associating with the MEK,” he looked away into the darkness. Moments later, he spoke with vehemence, “I was arrested; government henchmen killed my wife and child. I want revenge.” Fehed slammed the stick into the fire, sparks rose and he spat into the flames.

“How long were you in?” Sicano asked.

“I don't know, maybe three or four weeks. Before that I was in a military prison for several months. They got nothing from me; probably why I was transferred to that shit-hole.”

“And in there?” pressed Sicano.

“Tried to break me, but the methods they used… ” he trailed off and put head into his hands. “It was only a matter of time before I would tell them anything they wanted to hear just to stop the pain.”

Ryder winced at the thought of what he had probably suffered.

“Why did you stay with us, instead of making for Turkey?” Shiron asked.

“The Turks would have handed me back for the sake of good relations. You are our best chance of obtaining asylum in the west when we reach the Gulf States.”

Shiron glanced at Ryder, murmured something about if they ever got there, and turned to Afari, but she was fast asleep.

Ryder decided to up the ante, looking at the Americans, he didn't mince his words. “It bothers me how that psycho knew about the dams; he would've only known from one of us. I didn't break. Did any of you?”

The three glanced incredulously at each other. Kellar gave him an angry look. “What the fuck you saying, Ryder: that one of us is a traitor?”

“We wouldn't do that? You must be crazy,” shot Sicano.

Then Brady, “Even if it did happen, how the fuck does it affect what we're doing now – unless you reckon one of us has been turned and is getting messages out somehow.”

The two Israelis threw each other a troubled glance; the Iranian men looked on, bewildered.

He wanted to tell them about the note but something urged him to hold back, at least for now. “Might explain why we seem to be constantly tracked; that it's not just coincidence.”

“Frank, they found us – the plane, remember?” said Sicano. “So they know we're heading south somewhere. Don't need to be a genius to figure out possible routes through these mountains and send patrols out accordingly.”

Kellar, now a little calmer said, “Well, for what it's worth, I didn't.”

“Me neither,” Sicano followed.

Both then looked at Brady.

“Don't the fuck look at me,” he shot back angrily, “no way did I tell'em.”

One of you did, so that puts each of you in the frame,
Ryder thought, but he could not exclude the Israelis or the others, although the Iranians would be the last on his list. He needed tangible evidence before he could place blame.

The mood now was pretty sombre, and silence descended. Ryder's probing had left him no nearer to discovering who the traitor might be. If he was to find out, he would need to hit on another way, and soon.

After a short while staring into the flames they eventually agreed the watch and turned in. The fire was doused as Ryder and Brady positioned themselves on the edge of the hollow taking the first watch, knowing they must remain alert for at least the next two hours. Both men stared silently through the light, swirling snow into the darkness, immersed in their own thoughts, hoping the night would pass without event. It kept bothering Ryder how many more notes might have been left for pursuers to find. He was still pondering this question, and more, when eventually Shiron and Hellmann took over the watch.