Thunderstrike in Syria (18 page)

I dove to the side of a slab of granite resembling a tombstone that had sunk to one side, aware that Mohammed Karameh and the two Kamels were only twenty-five feet ahead of me. I reasoned that if I knew they were there, they had to know that I was here. Quickly I shoved Hugo into my belt, reloaded Wilhelmina and forced myself to wait. To be on the safe side, I glanced around me and made another dive a few seconds before the chain of UZI projectiles cut into the side of the tombstone-rock. Slugs zinged off and chips flew. The man who had fired had reared up from behind a chunk of sandstone to my right, almost parallel to my own position. I had seen the man's face only very briefly and now felt pure hatred flooding up within me. That jet black beard! Those deep-set eyes! That long, crooked nose. The gunman was Khalil Marras, one of Karameh's top aides.

Hurriedly, I crawled for my life, inching between two long slabs of granite just as Marras reared up again to fire. No doubt he thought he had me cold. It was a fatal mistake on his part.

Marras' slugs hit only bare rock. From my new position, I pulled Wilhelmina's trigger in unison with Elovitz who, having somehow gotten hold of an enemy's Soviet-made PPS43, cut loose with a long burst. My two 9mm bullets hit Marras high in the chest and knocked him back while Elovitz's stream of slugs stitched Marras in the left side.

I'll never know whether it was Mohammed Karameh or one of the Kamels who killed Elovitz. All I know is that there was a roaring to the front of me, and to my right, a long burst of slugs that ripped into the Israeli from neck to navel and knocked him backward. He must have died with twenty tunnels bored through his body.

There was a second burst of firing, this blast at Risenberg, who ducked down and let out a yell, a howl of pain. Was he dead or only wounded? I didn't know. I didn't dare call out to him.

I was certain that Karameh and Miriam and Ahmed Kamel were ahead of me, hidden down somewhere in the rocks. I strained my eyes in the bright moonlight. Could there by any SLAs hiding behind me? If there were, I didn't see them. If there were, they didn't see me, or else they would have fired. Could it be that there were only four of us left alive — just me and Karameh and the two Kamels?

With only Wilhelmina and Hugo left, I began to crawl, following the route along the slab of granite which gradually curved in the general direction of my prey.

Slowly and carefully, so as not to disturb loose gravel, I continued forward another twenty feet, wondering if the other three were moving in the opposite direction. I stopped and listened. I couldn't be sure, but thought I heard loose rock falling to my right. I glanced behind me. Nothing.

I reared up slightly and looked to the right. Fifteen feet away were Mohammed Karameh, Ahmed Kamel and Miriam Kamel… their backs toward me, all three crawling forward on their hands and knees.

I could have fired from behind the tiny wall of granite. But I didn't want to take the chance that, during those few seconds, one of them might crawl behind a rock and away from my line of fire. Wilhelmina was very efficient, but she wasn't a match for the automatic weapons they had.

I jumped up and around the end of the ridge and raised Wilhelmina. Hearing me, the three swung around, alarm flashing all over their faces. I snapped off two shots, aiming at Karameh, who reacted with amazing speed, as did Ahmed Kamel. I knew how their minds were working because, under similar conditions, I would have used the same stay-alive logic. Knowing that they didn't have time to fire within that slight shave of a second, they jerked to one side. Only Miriam tried to swing around.

Stupidly, she jumped to her feet and tried to level the AK-47 assault rifle at me. I didn't take time to move Wilhelmina's muzzle toward her. Instead, I used Hugo in a snap-throw, tossing him by his handle. Miriam screamed, dropped the AK-47, stared at me for a moment, and her two hands fluttered to Hugo's handle protruding just above her belt buckle. She sank to her knees, then fell backward, her body jerking slightly.

I knew that I couldn't risk shooting it out with Mohammed Karameh and Ahmed Kamel; not with their having submachine guns. Reacting from pure instinct, I made a long dive for the two men as they jumped up and tried to zero in on me.

Having a slight edge, I used a roundhouse kick against a snarling Ahmed Kamel. My foot connected with the underneath side of his PPS-46 sub-gun and sent it flying backward over his head. With the same quick motion, I pulled Wilhelmina's trigger, put a 9mm hollow point into Kamel's chest, and grabbed the long barrel of Karameh's Soviet PPS-44 submachine gun. Knowing I couldn't do the job with one hand, I let Wilhelmina fall to the ground and attempted to knee him in the groin.

Very fast for a big man, he arched himself back, evading my knee, and tried to trip me and jerk the barrel of the machine gun from my hand. I put my left hand on the weapon, my fingers closing over the top rib of the steel-frame stock, and kicked him hard.

He let out a half-cry of rage and pain, and for a brief moment we stared at each other. Karameh was no longer the well-groomed leader of the Syrian Liberation Army. His mustache and long sideburns were grimy; his oily black hair looked like a bird's nest and his cheeks were caked with dried blood from where rock chips had hit. His eyes, very much alive, glowed with the hatred of hell itself.

I was damned worried. He was stronger than I and didn't seem to be weakening. If anything, his desperation and his hatred of me were giving him extra strength. I didn't even dream of having the power to literally twist the submachine gun from his hands. My only chance was to use superior know-how — or die.

Karameh gave me the opportunity when he moved his left foot forward slightly.

I had him! Still hanging onto the PPS-44 with both hands, I pivoted slightly until my left side was facing Karameh's front. I released my hold on the PPS-44, grabbed his right arm and jerked it forward and out, causing him to lean to the right of his line of gravity. Caught unaware, he didn't have time to jerk his arm back, to try to swing the machine gun toward me.

I lifted my right foot, placed it against his right knee as a fulcrum and again grabbed the submachine gun and pushed it upward to my right, knowing that he wouldn't dare let go. As he made one last desperate effort to turn the muzzle in my direction, I grabbed his right arm with both hands and completed the throw. With a wild cry of rage and surprise, Karameh went spinning, landing with a thud on his back.

I was behind him as he started to sit up and tried to raise the Russian submachine gun. I was faster. With all my might. I chopped down on both sides of his neck with two sword-hand
Shuto
cuts. Karameh cried out in excruciating agony and dropped the machine gun, his collar bone broken.

Karameh was as helpless as a brand new baby! I dropped to my knees behind him, threw my left around his throat, placed my right arm on the back of his neck, locked the fingers of my left hand on my right elbow and the fingers of my right hand on the upper muscle of my left arm and began to apply a
Chibku
strangling clutch. Karameh struggled violently but only for a moment.

Suddenly he went as limp as a piece of wet tissue paper. I released my hold, pushed him forward on his face and stood up. I took one last look at the body, went over to where I had dropped Wilhelmina, picked her up and walked leisurely to where Miriam Karameh was lying on her back, Hugo still sticking out of her stomach. She was conscious.

I got down on one knee, Wilhelmina dangling loosely in my right hand. Miriam's eyes, shiny mirrors of pain and fear, moved up to me. Her mouth worked but no words came out.

"Your brother's dead," I said. "Karameh, too."

She managed to speak, her words weak, "Nick… I d-don't want to d-die like this. Help me… I'll tell you anything you want to know about us."

"I don't need to know anything about the SLA. You're all dead."

"I… I don't want to d-die like this, Nick…"

"You're not going to." I said and raised Wilhelmina.

Miriam didn't have time to speak. I pulled the trigger. Wilhelmina roared, and a hole appeared suddenly in the middle of her forehead. Her mouth went slack.

I pulled Hugo from Miriam's stomach, wiped the sides of the blade carefully on her shirt and shoved him into the sheath on my right arm, then reloaded Wilhelmina.

I looked for Risenberg and found him leaning against a rock, sitting butt-flat on the ground.

"How bad is it?" I asked.

"Did we get them?" he countered.

"They're all dead, including Karameh. I got him, and Miriam and her brother. What about your wound?"

Risenberg struggled to his feet, his right arm hanging limp. "One slug," he said, gritting his teeth in pain. "My right shoulder. I think the bone's broken, but the bleeding has stopped."

I put out a hand to help him but he shook his head.

"We have to climb down the slope," I said. "Think you can do it?"

"Watch me!"

Together we moved in the direction of the slope. He and I and the two other Israelis had a date with a helicopter.

We'd be in Jordan within an hour…

I had been wrong about Hawk. He had not remained in Tel Aviv. He had returned to the United States that day after I had been smuggled into Syria. Nine days after the three Israelis and I had escaped into Jordan by helicopter, I was in the hidden complex of rooms within the Amalgamated Press and Wire Services building on Dupont Circle in Washington, D. C., sitting in Hawk's private office, giving my personal report.

"The SLA is finished," I concluded my report. "The splinter groups in various Mid-East cities will try to form another central organization, but they'll not succeed. There'll be some shoot-outs, but that's all it will amount to."

I leaned back in the deep armchair and crossed my legs, my eyes wandering to Hawk's collection of miniature porcelain eagles in a glass case on one side of the room.

"Yes, I agree, Carter." He leaned forward and picked up the half-smoked cigar from the ashtray on his desk and studied it for a moment. "They're still dangers. You know what they are." He looked sternly at me, his shaggy eyebrows forming a big V. "The people involved in the LNG operation might try to pull it off to get even with us for killing Karameh. Why didn't you try to capture him?"

"Sir," I said stiffly, "at the time I was having some difficulty just staying alive."

"I guess it was rough." Hawk's voice softened somewhat and his attitude became more friendly. "But you got out in one piece. That's all that really matters."

I said, "I assume that AXE has set up the necessary machinery to inspect all incoming supertankers from Libya before they're allowed to enter any American port — and more that you can't tell me about?"

Hawk moved his lips back over his teeth in his version of a smile.

"I'll tell you this, Carter. The possibility of any exploding gas cloud is now zero," he growled. "Do you have any more to add?"

"No sir. The operation was a total success," I said. "The Syrian Liberation Army has been totally neutralized."

Stupid me! I waited for a
Well done, Carter.
It didn't come.

"I have work to do, Carter," Hawk said gruffly.

I took that as my cue to go, stood up and walked to his desk.

"We'll be in touch," he said. Then, puffing out a cloud of poison gas, he looked down at the papers on his desk. He pressed a button on his desk and three doors swung open silently. I walked into the supply closet and the doors again closed.

Ten minutes later, walking down the hallway, I thought once more of Leah Weizmann, with whom I had spent my last night in Tel Aviv before flying back to the U. S. She had driven me to Lod Airport, but hadn't waited at the gate to watch me board the plane. She was too practical for any kind of sentimental goodbye.
Shalom
was all she had said.

Hawk? He'd always be around.

Smiling to myself, I left the building and walked out into the sunshine…