Street Justice (6 page)

              Ajmal was a slender and flexible man which allowed the rest of his body to follow his hind quarters. As his feet fell through the hole, they began to drop and act as a pendulum. His arms untwisted, shaking the ladder. Between the shaking, twist and jolt of weight from Ajmal’s swinging body, the ladder broke free from its rusted state. It dropped and would have landed on Ajmal if he’d been hanging straight down. But his body’s momentum carried him past the center and swung him up the other side.

              At nearly the apex of his swing, momentum forced him to lose his grip and Ajmal flew through the air. He drifted for a moment than landed on his back, letting out a small yelp of surprise and pain. The wind rushed from his lungs. The ladder made a huge racket as it hit its stops. The force of the ladder coming to a halt shook the entire fire escape structure, causing the entire apparatus to ring for a brief moment.

              “Allah, so much for being quiet,” Zemar said as he rushed over to Ajmal. He set down the back pack with the computers and grabbed Ajmal’s shoulder, “Are you OK?”

              Ajmal gasped for breath, his face was covered with the dust that had settled on and around him. He blinked his eyes, trying to bring moisture back to them. Still trying to get air to form words, he shook his head and motioned for Zemar to help him up. Zemar grabbed Ajmal and lifted him to his feet. Ajmal reached down and grabbed the backpack full of computers, Zemar retrieved his Browning from the ground and the two men ran for the far end of the alley, away from the Americans.

              Roger looked around the room. After waiting a minute he removed the heavy blanket from the table and scooped the charred remains into the nylon sack, he doubted they could do much with it but he’d seen the nerds do some amazing things with seemingly destroyed computers. Suddenly he heard the loud crash of metal hitting metal and the building seemed to shake just a bit. Roger sprinted out the door followed closely by Ryan, the driver of Doug’s Hummer and the man who’d stayed with him.

              Roger spotted the broken window and kicked himself for not checking it first, before they entered the apartment. He’d seen it, but figured it was simply neglect. That’s what he got for assuming. “They’re outside,” Roger shouted at Ryan and he took off at a run. Ryan fell in behind Roger, matching him step for step. At the window, Roger stopped. As much as he wanted to leap through the window and pursue, he knew they may in fact be waiting for this and take a shot as soon as he stepped through the sill.

              Urban combat was very different than other types of conflict. It required a disciplined combination of speed and caution. It was as much an art as a science but there were still rules to be listened to, including don’t just stroll through a bottleneck like a doorway or window sill.

              Since the space he was going to was outside, and there was a chance members of his own team could be out there, having heard the bang, he couldn’t just throw another concussion grenade through the window. Instead he slid right up next to the window, then holding his gun tight, quickly stuck his head through the window and pulled it back. No shot followed. He repeated this again, this time letting his eyes take a quick half-a-second glance. He replayed what his eyes saw once back inside and leaning against the wall. Nothing stood out.

              Finally, Roger stuck his head out of the window and took a long look. He glanced right, toward the end of the alley closest to the Hummers. He didn’t see any movement. Then he swung his eyes left, down to the far end of the alley just in time to see a shoe and the flutter of a robe disappear around the corner. Roger grabbed his walkie-talkie and shouted into it, “They are headed north on the road that borders the west side of the building.”

              “What road is that?” Mario’s voice asked over the tiny speaker taped into Roger’s right ear.

              “I don’t know,” Roger replied.

              “That’s Lahore Road,” Ryan chimed in.

              “Are you sure?” Mario asked.

              “If Ryan says it’s Lahore, it’s Lahore,” Roger responded. He looked back through the window and gave Ryan a small nod. Ryan nodded back.

              “If you say so, I’m headed to Lahore, let me know if you have updates,” Mario chattered back.

              “Will do,” Ryan said into his mic, then looking at Ryan he cocked his head indicating he should follow. As the two men made their way down the steps, they saw Doug on foot tearing down the alley.

              Doug leaned against the coping of his Hummer’s turret. “So, do you think they’ll be in there?” he asked Clayton.

              “I think so,” Clayton said off hand.

              “Twenty bucks?” Doug inquired.

              “What? No. I don’t bet on things when someone’s life is on the line. Those are our men up there,” Clayton shot back with disgust.

              “Why? Do you think the rag heads are up there, waiting to hear this conversation before planning their move? Do you think any of our team is going to be more or less careful based upon this bet? Do you think God’s in heaven doing nothing but waiting until you place a wager with me, so he can snuff out one of our guys just to teach you a lesson? Come on.”

              Clayton paused, “I’m not saying I’m betting but I’d think they had to be prepared for this contingency and if this is in fact a safe house they’d have been smart enough to fortify it to hold out on an attack with the light arms we brought, so they should be holed up.”

              “Nah, these guys talk a great game and many really are willing to blow themselves up for the cause, but they lack conviction. They lack the conviction to do the daily work that needs to be done. Fortifying a place like this takes time. It’s something that needs to be worked on. I bet they haven’t worked on it. They are relying on the fact that they know the area, they know the people and the blend in. It’s easier than doing heavy labor on any given Tuesday to set up the apartment the right way,” Doug concluded.

              “You think?” Clayton thought about Doug’s statement.

              “I think twenty dollars worth,” Doug looked over at Clayton in the other Hummer.

              “Fine, I could use the money.” As the word money drifted out of Doug’s mouth the two men heard a shocking crash and the banging of metal on metal. “What was that?”

              “That was me, winning the bet,” Clayton said. He braced both hands on the outside of the turret and vaulted himself over the edge of his Hummer. He landed on the ground in a crouch and took off sprinting for the alley.

Just then a noise emanated from the darkened doorway to the building. In a smooth flash Clayton was behind the butterfly triggers of his .50 caliber cannons with the barrels aimed at the doorway.

              The radio crackled, “It’s just us, we’re coming out, they aren’t up there.” Clayton cursed slightly under his breath as Doug disappeared around the corner.

Ajmal and Zemar ran down the dusty alleyway out onto the packed dirt of Lahore. The popular street had steady car traffic and was moderately populated with foot traffic on the sidewalk. Zemar grabbed Ajmal’s arm and slowed the man, “Let’s blend in.” The two men dropped to a walking pace, threw their respective backpacks over their backs and strolled into the crowd.

Doug rounded the corner onto Lahore and nearly ran over two women in full black burkas. The ladies let out a muffled scream from under the dark hoods. Doug caught them both to prevent them from falling. “Sorry ladies,” he said but he was already scanning the street. A smattering of old cars trailed up and down the road but none looked in a hurry. People wandered the street, talking, looking in store windows or just trying to get somewhere, but no one stood out as being too much in a hurry.

“Damn, I think I lost them,” Doug said into the mic.

“Don’t tell us that,” came Russ’ voice.

Doug continued to scan the street, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary. He concentrated at those headed away from him. Even if trying to blend in, he didn’t expect the two men would head back toward them. Doug saw the backs of a group of students. They laughed and talked. He noticed an older couple, holding hands. Him in his traditional robes and her draped in the customary burqa. He saw two men in backpacks. Something didn’t seem quite right. He couldn’t put his finger on it until he noticed the slighter of the two men breathing heavily. As if he was having trouble getting his breath, like from a combination of effort and adrenaline.

              “Got ‘em,” Doug whispered into his mic. He headed off after them, using a brisk pace but not trying spook them. Doug fell in a few steps behind the duo. One man was staring straight ahead, while the other did his best to check behind them using the reflection in store windows. Doug walked a little closer to the store windows than natural but not too close. Too close and he’d be spotted out of the man’s peripheral vision. But walking the natural line meant he’d show up in the reflections in the windows. Basically it was like a car’s blind spot and the key was to stay at the correct angle.

              The game of cat and mouse played out for two blocks until the man who hadn’t been checking for a tail did something unexpected. He turned around. In games such as these, there were rules, best practices to follow. Simply turning around to look behind you wasn’t in them. Doug tried to act casual but he was more than a little conspicuous in his fatigues, combat vest and helmet. When the young man made eye contact, Doug was not sure what to do, so he gave a little nod and kept his pace.

              Ajmal turned back around. For three more paces Doug thought he might have gotten away with it. Then the two men took off. “Crap, they made me,” Doug fired into his mic, no longer trying to or needing to be quiet, “They are headed up Lahore. Wait, they are headed across the street, west side of the street. Wait, they are stopping a car, they are carjacking the driver.” Doug stopped giving updates and took off running. This was his last good chance to catch them.

              “There is an American soldier behind us,” Ajmal told Zemar once he’d turned back around.

              “How did I not see him,” Zemar asked, “Never mind. We will have to make a run for it.” Pausing for a moment Zemar looked around. Obviously trying to blend in wasn’t working. Force was a list ditch--and most likely suicidal--option. Say what you will about the Americans, they were usually well trained and well equipped. So they needed to flee. Outrunning the American hadn’t worked. Just then Zemar saw an early ‘80s Peugeot 505 being driven slowly north by an older man. “Follow me,” Zemar said and he ran into the road.

              Ajmal followed him without knowing where they were going. Zemar jogged in front of the 505, making sure it had to come to a stop to avoid him. Once it was stopped he darted to the driver’s door. The old man at the wheel looked confused as Zemar opened the door.

              “What can I help you with?” the old man offered while instinctively raising his hands in a submissive manner.

              “You can get out of the car,” Zemar said, brandishing the weapon he’d been holding. With his free hand, Zemar jerked the door open, grabbed the old driver and pulled him roughly to the ground. Without even looking back he stepped over him and got into the still running car. Ajmal looked confused but followed suit on the passenger side. “Now let’s see these guys follow us,” Zemar said as he took the engine up to 5,000 RPM and dumped the clutch. The thin, nearly bald tires spun on the dust covered streets for just a moment before biting. The car surged forward.

              “They just took off in an old car of some sort, I think it used to be red and white, though it’s now more yellow and pink,” Doug said into his mic, as he pulled up from running in the middle of the street. He heard a lot of familiar noise behind him and turned to see his and Clayton’s Hummers behind him, blocking the roadway.

              “Need a lift sailor?” Clayton joked.

              “I…am…not…a…sailor,” Doug emphasized each word with pride, “Infantry, feet on the street.” Doug launched himself up the front of his Hummer, stepping on the bumper, hood, roof then dropping neatly into the turret. “Let’s go get ‘em.”

              “Aye, aye, Captain,” Clayton said with a laugh. Doug shot him a dirty look that Clayton either didn’t see because of the combat goggles or ignored. The big V8s growled and the heavy machines lumbered ahead, building speed methodically more than swiftly. Clayton’s Hummer took lead and soon enough the Hummers were hurtling through the streets at speeds that matched the smaller car’s speed. The Peugeot was smaller and lighter, the Hummers were wider and had professional drivers behind the wheel.

              “We’re headed north on Zekira, we’re headed east on Tamilin,” Clayton chattered into the radio, keeping Mario informed of where they were going. Clayton added to Doug, “Head over a block, but let him see you. We don’t want him taking a right and heading back into town. Let’s keep him heading North-East.”

              “You got this?” Russ asked Mario over the wind, screeching tires and the howl of the engine. At one point Russ heard the rub of the tire on the inside of the wheel well as Mario was able to get the Hummer’s long suspension to bottom out in a sharp corner Russ didn’t think they’d make, but they did.