LOST AND LETHAL Read online

  Tariq exhaled a nervous breath and translated.

  Zoran’s expression traveled the road from confusion to rage. He scowled at Molka and spoke.

  Tariq translated to Molka. “He says there is no greater insult than to be insulted in one’s own home. And he will not sit for it.”

  Zoran stood and moved to leave.

  Molka grabbed Tariq’s arm. “Now tell him I said this, word for word, quickly: A stranger too quick to offer you their trust can never be trusted.”

  Tariq translated to Zoran.

  Zoran stopped at the door and turned back. His face had softened from insult to a knowing smile, and he spoke.

  Tariq translated to Molka. “He says you not only have the bravery and fierceness of a true warrior, but you also possess the cleverness of a leader. And if he had five commanders like you, their problems in this land would be over very quickly.”

  Molka bowed her head once more.

  Zoran sat back down, assumed a serious face and spoke at length to Tariq. Tariq replied to him. And then a back-and-forth conversation ensued between the two for several minutes.

  Molka and the general exchanged a tense glance.

  Finally, Tariq addressed Molka again. “Zoran the Great proposes he send four of his most trusted fighters with us to escort the general to the airstrip. When we arrive, you will show his fighters where his money is buried, and they will recover it. At that moment, his fighters will release the general to your custody. Do you agree to these terms?”

  Molka’s face alit. “Yes. Perfect. I couldn’t ask for better terms. No. Tell him I said Zoran the Great’s proposal is more than fair and very generous. And I thank him for, and greatly appreciate his wisdom.”

  Tariq grinned at Molka. “That’s not bad.” He faced Zoran and translated.

  Zoran smiled at Molka and then spoke in Turkish to the general.

  The general and Zoran rose and shook hands.

  The general placed his cigar in his mouth and moved to the door. As he passed Molka, he spoke to her. “Inform me when we are ready to leave.”

  Molka nodded. “Yes, general.”

  Zoran moved from around his desk, approached Molka, and offered his hand for shaking.

  Molka rose and took his hand.

  As they shook, he spoke.

  Tariq translated. “Zoran the Great wishes the pretty warrior woman from Tel Aviv all the best of luck.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Tariq parked his white SUV on the narrow cobblestone street outside the Mucize clinic.

  Zoran’s four trusted fighters escorting the general drove in a black SUV and parked behind Tariq’s.

  Tariq addressed Molka in the passenger seat. “I’ll see you shortly.”

  “What? You’re not going in with me to honor Zilan with your irresistible presence?”

  Tariq smiled. “No. I’m going to stay out here and call the pilot on the satphone and make sure he’s still on schedule. So please tell Zilan she will not have the pleasure of my company anymore today.”

  “Lucky her.” Molka opened her door.

  “Oh, one quick thing before you go in. Zoran’s fighters back there were asking how far away from the airstrip you buried the money? They’re tired from the operation and all the celebration wine last night.”

  “It’s only about a quarter kilometer due east from the aircraft.”

  “Straight up into those steep hills?” Tariq said.

  “Not all the way. It’s back in a ravine less than halfway up.”

  Tariq smiled again. “They’ll be relieved to hear that.”

  After Molka received a quick redressing and a kind goodbye from Zilan, the two-SUV convoy exited Mucize and cruised at high-speed toward the east-west dirt road running through the boulder and large rock formation strewn valley and the little green grassy plateau at the base of the rocky mountain containing the airstrip.

  During the ride, Molka watched for any suspicious vehicles that might be on their tail. She saw none.

  The drive east to the plateau’s location took 30 minutes. The maze-like drive from the dirt road around all the rocky obstacles and up and onto the plateau and airstrip took another 30.

  Tariq parked next to the Cessna, and Zoran’s fighters parked behind Tariq. The aircraft’s doors were still closed, and it seemed untouched from when Molka left it the previous morning.

  Molka and Tariq exited into the noticeable cooler air. Molka pushed down her pushed up sleeves again. Tariq unwrapped the keffiyeh from his head, tossed it back into the SUV, and used the side view mirror to give his hair a finger restyling. Satisfied, he popped the collar on his black leather jacket and waited.

  Zoran’s four fighters vacated their vehicle. All carried AK-47s and wore web gear holding spare magazine pouches. One also brought along a shovel.

  The general then stepped out from the passenger door, and two Zoran fighters moved behind him, and the other two took a position in front of him.

  Molka addressed Tariq. “Are we ready?”

  “Almost,” Tariq said. “First, give me the rough direction we’re heading in so I can tell them.”

  Molka pointed due east up the steep hills. “You see the gap between the two hills?”

  Tariq shaded his eyes and scanned where Molka pointed. “Yes.”

  “That’s actually an opening to a good-sized ravine.”

  “And it's buried in that ravine, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Got it.” Tariq walked back to the Zoran fighters, spoke to them, and then returned to Molka holding the satphone. “One quick thing before we head up there, I want to make one more call to the pilot and confirm he’s still on schedule to get out here by this afternoon.”

  Molka checked her watch: 11:48AM. “Alright.”

  Tariq dialed and then frowned at the phone. “Signal interference. These damn things.” He pointed the phone’s antenna at the Cessna. “That big hunk of aluminum might be the problem.” He walked away from the aircraft and down the airstrip about 20 meters and stopped. Then he turned to face Molka with the phone to his ear and gave her thumbs up.

  Call finished; Tariq pocketed the phone and returned to Molka.

  “Everything ok?” Molka said.

  “Everything is right on schedule.” Tariq smiled and swept his hand toward the hills. “Lead the way, security specialist.”

  Molka took the lead.

  Tariq walked behind her.

  Two Zoran fighters followed Tariq.

  The general followed them.

  And the other two Zoran fighters followed the general.

  Molka’s superior cardiovascular fitness caused her to outpace the city-soft Tariq, the more heavily laden Zoran fighters, and the out of shape late-middle-aged general.

  About three quarters the way up, she turned back to see her followers all paused about halfway and standing around the general who assumed a hands-on-knees position.

  Tariq looked up to Molka, cupped his hands around his mouth, and called to her. “The general asked for a minute to catch his breath.”

  Molka waved acknowledgment, continued to the ravine’s opening, and waited.

  Ten minutes later, the contingent arrived with the general grumbling in Turkish at Tariq. Even in the chillier mountain elevation, the general’s brow had become soaked along with his green shirt’s front.

  Molka addressed Tariq. “What’s wrong?”

  “The general is complaining he should have been allowed to remain in the SUV with two men while the other two came up here to retrieve the money.”

  Molka shrugged. “Would have been fine with me too.”

  “Well, we’re all here now. Lead the way.”

  Molka moved into the ravine, and the same alignment as the climb trailed her. She again outpaced her cohorts and arrived a full minute ahead at the little outcrop in the wall forming the letter J laying on its side—J for her little Janetta—under which she buried the money duffle bag.

  Molka pointed to the spot. “
Zoran the Great’s money.”

  The fighter with the shovel stepped forward, and Molka stepped aside and stood between the general and Tariq to observe. The other three fighters stood behind the trio.

  The fighter with the shovel made quick work and had the bag uncovered and out of the hole in less than five minutes. He set the shovel aside, knelt next to the bag, unzipped it, released the latches on the watertight plastic case inside, opened the lid, and exposed the shrink-wrapped bricks of lavender colored, 200 Lira notes.

  Tariq’s face enraptured at the sight. “The price of freedom.”

  BANG!

  BANG!

  BANG!

  BANG!

  Rapid shots sounded from the ravine opening behind them.

  Zoran’s fighters fell in sequence.

  Head strikes.

  All dead.

  Molka yelled: “GET DOWN!”

  She dropped flat.

  The general dropped flat on Molka’s left.

  Tariq remained standing on Molka’s right.

  Molka reached for her weapon.

  Tariq pulled a Glock from his leather jacket’s pocket and pointed it at the back of Molka’s head. “Please don’t move, Molka. You can still live through this. Put your hands out in front of you.”

  Molka complied and twisted her head to glare up at him in disgust. “What are you doing?”

  Tariq’s eyes focused on the ravine opening, and he called out. “It’s ok! I have her covered!”

  Two trotting figures emerged clad in combat ghillie suits camouflaged to match the surrounding terrain.

  They also wore full-face camouflage tactical hoods, and each carried a Heckler & Koch G36 assault rifle with a red dot sight on a tactical sling.

  The armed figures arrived.

  One kept their weapon pointed at Molka and the general.

  The other moved behind Molka, removed her Beretta from the SOB holster, bound her wrists with flex-cuffs, sidestepped, bound the general’s wrists, and moved back beside the other armed figure.

  The armed figures removed their tactical hoods:

  Jäger and Fuchs.

  Tariq addressed Jäger in English. “You said you weren’t going to kill them.”

  Jäger answered in English. “I did not kill them. Unfortunately, Ernst deviated from my instructions.”

  Fuchs spoke in English. “I’m sorry, captain, but your plan was flawed. Now when Zoran the Great sends a patrol to find these men, they will not be able to tell him about the involvement of the two Germans. So he will spend all his resources hunting down the two traitors he will believe stole his money.”

  Molka spoke up. “There’s only one non-traitor left here.”

  Tariq moved into Fuchs's personal space and glowered up at him. “Those were all good men. All who had children.”

  Fuchs smiled down on him. “Pretty man, you would be well-advised to step back.” His smile faded, and his muscular body bowed up. “NOW!”

  Jäger moved between the men, pushed Fuchs away, and addressed Tariq. “What has happened cannot be changed. Is it not best if we finished our business?”

  Tariq sighed angrily. “I suppose.”

  Jäger lowered his weapon and smiled at the general. “Nice to see you again, General Shamieh.”

  The general answered. “I wish I could say the same of you.”

  Jäger’s smile moved to Molka. “And nice to see you again too, lost Israeli tourist woman.”

  Molka turned her face toward the general. “General, I have a theory. I don’t believe those two men came here as surveyors for a new natural gas pipeline. I believe they came here for you. And I believe Tariq gave you to them in exchange for your four-million Lira courtesy fee.”

  Tariq picked up the duffle bag and moved next to Jäger. “I told you she was very smart.”

  Jäger viewed Molka with a soft expression. “Perhaps. But perhaps not, when one considers the depressing fate awaiting her.” His face hardened to all-business, and he raised his weapon again. “Get them on their feet. Time to end this.”

  CHAPTER 25

  With the duffle bag slung over his right shoulder, Tariq led the way out of the ravine and down the hill.

  Molka trod angrily behind him, the general shuffled resigned behind her, and behind him Jäger and Fuchs marched elated, keeping the prisoners at HK point.

  Molka spoke to the back of Tariq’s head. “Let me guess, you didn’t talk to Azzur last night, and no replacement pilot is coming to fly me out of here.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And I assume the Germans are ex-special forces, current mercenaries?”

  “A good assumption,” Tariq said.

  “Ok. I know where the general’s going; what’s the depressing fate awaiting me?”

  “You’ll find out when you get to ‘The Red Lion’s Den.’”

  “What’s ‘The Red Lion’s Den?’” Molka said.

  “Rivin’s fortress.”

  “Can’t wait. So when exactly did you choose to go over to the other side?”

  “I’ve only been on one side my whole life: My side.”

  “You think your new friends across the border are rough on traitors? Wait until you see what we’ll do.”

  “I already know,” Tariq said. “I would be given a prison sentence and then let out early. Your country is very forgiving and doesn’t use the death penalty anymore.”

  Molka scowled at him. “But exceptions are sometimes made. Azzur will insist.”

  “Azzur is the reason I did this. Your country’s military intelligence was almost done with me. I’ve been overexposed in Turkey, and it’s just a matter of time before I’m burned there. They were going to cut me loose with their thanks and blessing. But then Azzur made a trade with them to acquire my services.”

  “And when you say Azzur made a trade to acquire your services, you mean he also acquired the blackmail information military intelligence has on you.”

  “That’s right,” Tariq said. “And he can hold that over my head and send me on missions all around the world for the rest of my life if he chooses.” He glanced over his shoulder with an anguished face. “And I’m sorry you got caught up in this, but I can’t live like that. I just can’t do it, Molka.”

  “Well, four-million Turkish Lira is a lot of money to a poor, broke veterinarian like me but isn’t nearly enough for you to stay on the run for a lifetime. Not from us.”

  “True.” Tariq turned his face away from Molka. “But at least it’s a start.”

  The group reached the hill’s bottom, stepped onto the grassy plateau, and moved toward the Cessna.

  Jäger removed a two-way radio from his pocket and spoke into it in Turkish. A moment later, a dark green SUV with black and brown camouflage—driven by a red keffiyeh wearing Rivin man—moved from total concealment behind a huge rock formation just short of the plateau’s edge, crawled up and onto the airstrip, and parked aside Tariq’s and Zoran’s dead fighters’ vehicles.

  Upon its arrival, Jäger took the general by the elbow, and Fuchs took Molka by the elbow and led them to it.

  Jäger searched the general, only finding six cigars in his jacket’s pockets and a lighter in his pants pocket. He didn’t take them.

  Fuchs searched Molka and removed her SOB holster, Baby Glock, and the two spare mags.

  Molka and the general were then put into the SUV’s backseat, and Jäger and Fuchs shed their ghillie suits, exposing their khaki surveyor outfits underneath. They tossed the suits into the SUV’s rear cargo space and retrieved and put on their hats.

  Tariq watched and waited beside his SUV.

  Jäger and Fuchs approached him.

  Tariq ignored Fuchs, smiled at Jäger, and put out his hand for shaking. “Best of luck, captain.”

  Jäger pointed his weapon at Tariq. “Drop the bag and raise your hands, please.”

  Tariq’s smile disintegrated. “Really?”

  Jäger’s stone face gave him his answer.

 
Tariq let the bag slip from his shoulder and raised his hands.

  Fuchs moved forward and searched Tariq and removed the Glock, the satphone, and Tariq’s regular phone from his jacket pocket. He kept the Glock and satphone, returned Tariq’s useless regular phone back to his pocket, picked up the duffle bag, and carried it to the Rivin SUV.

  Tariq frowned. “You’re going to double-cross me, captain? I thought you to be an honorable man.”

  “I am not double-crossing you,” Jäger said. “Our agreement has not yet been fulfilled.”

  Tariq’s face broke into confusion. “What do you mean? I brought you the general.”

  “We still have to verify the man you brought me is indeed Major General Ahmad Shamieh.”

  “Verify? You said you knew him personally.”

  “You may put your hands down,” Jäger said.

  Tariq complied.

  Jäger continued. “It looks like him. But his country is renowned for the use of very good doubles. Perhaps the general sent this man here for us to chase while he smokes cigars somewhere in freedom.”

  “How are you going to verify it’s really him then?” Tariq said.

  “We will take a DNA sample and send it across the border to his people, and if it is a match, we will give you the bag back, as per our agreement.”

  Tariq frowned again. “I don’t believe you will.”

  “Why not?” Jäger said.

  “Because I don’t trust you.”

  “Why do you not trust me?”

  “Because we only met yesterday,” Tariq said.

  “I understand your apprehension. How about if we allow a disinterested third party that you do know to hold the bag until the general’s identity is verified?”

  “Like who?”

  “The man who brokered our arrangement,” Jäger said. “Your friend Rivin.”

  Tariq smirked. “Rivin is not my friend, and if you give him that bag, he’s not going to give it up to anyone.”