LOST AND LETHAL Page 6

  “That was a tough break,” Molka said.

  “So, I became a private flight instructor. Opened my own flight school. Made a good living. But my true passion is training young pilots with aspirations to become fighter pilots. So far, I’ve trained seven.”

  “Very commendable, Uri,” Molka said. “Instead of being a single fighter pilot, you helped create seven. You should be very proud.”

  “That’s what everyone keeps telling me. And easy for you to say. Azzur told me you served with the Unit as a helicopter pilot. He also told me while you were serving with the Unit that you had an affair with a married American special forces officer. Azzur told me the IDF asked you to resign when they found out, you did, and then you became a veterinarian.”

  Molka frowned. “Azzur tells too much. But much of that is not true.”

  “Well, fill me in on the real story,” Uri grinned. “We still have over two hours until we land.”

  “I think we should end the get-to-know-each-other portion of the task and just concentrate on the completing-the-task portion of the task.”

  Uri’s face lit up with childlike excitement. “I can’t wait to meet this Zoran the Great. I wonder what a real warlord is like? I imagine he lives in a palatial palace. And when we get there, he will welcome us as honored guests with a great feast held in a huge dining hall proceeded by beautiful dancing girls and feats of skill and strength by his fighters.”

  Molka shot Uri a side glance. “You watch a lot of movies, eh?”

  Uri’s face fell serious. “Listen, I know you’re very nervous about being on your first task. But I don’t want you to worry. If anything goes wrong, I’ll think of something and handle it.”

  “Will you?”

  “Yes. And if you have a problem with your portion of the task, you can always come to me for guidance.”

  Molka mocked meekness. “I can?”

  “Yes. Don’t forget, I’m the team leader.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Southeastern Turkey

  7:41AM

  “And there it is,” Uri said. “Found it on the first try. My navigational skills are always perfectly on point.”

  Molka opened her eyes from a semi-doze to a bright, cloudless, blue-sky morning. They approached, at the descent, a smallish green grassy plateau surrounded by steep green hills climbing to a craggy rocked gray mountain.

  A narrow, straight, dirt road running north-south spanned the plateau’s length.

  Uri lined the Cessna’s nose on the dirt road’s near end, the south end, and prepared to land.

  Molka pointed at the dirt road. “Is that the airstrip?”

  “That would be it.”

  “Wow. It looks even shorter than it did in the briefing photos.”

  “Yes, it does,” Uri said.

  “But you got this, right?”

  Uri presented a self-assured sneer. “Just watch and be impressed.”

  “I appreciate your confidence.” Molka tightened her seat belt.

  Uri did have it, though. After one small bounce, he eased the Cessna onto the dirt surface and brought it to a stop two meters before the strip ended. Then he spun the aircraft around 180 degrees, pointed the nose back down the runway to the south, and cut the engine.

  Molka exhaled. “Ok. That was an impressive landing.”

  Uri’s self-assured sneer reappeared. “No, that wasn’t an impressive landing. That was a spectacular landing.” He unbuckled, lifted open the pilot’s door, climbed out on the wing, hopped down, and stretched.

  Molka did the same.

  The higher altitude air hit the skin much cooler and dryer than that from the warm, humid, close to sea level Cyprus. Molka pushed down her sleeves. Might regret not bringing a jacket later.

  The small plateau they landed on was attached to a broad, sparsely vegetated valley—strewn with boulders and large rock formations—spreading out for many kilometers to the south.

  Uri noted the hazardous to aircraft landing topography too. “Azzur was right. This is literally the only spot within 100 kilometers we could have landed.” He looked left and pointed to an orange conical tube attached to a pole stuck into the grass 10 meters away. “There’s the windsock. There’s supposed to be a little refueling truck parked here too.”

  Molka scanned the surroundings. “I don’t see one.”

  “I’ll ask Tariq about that. I’ll call him now.”

  Uri opened the baggage compartment hatch, removed the large white gear bag, placed it on the ground next to the left underwing landing gear, unzipped it, and removed the satellite phone.

  He walked a few paces away from the aircraft, raised the phone’s thick antenna, powered it up, and frowned. “Oh, crap.”

  “What’s wrong?” Molka said.

  “No signal.”

  “Oh, crap.”

  “It’s ok,” Uri said. “It happens with satphones. Just need to wait about 30-minutes or so for the next passing satellite to get closer.” He moved back to the bag and pulled out a box of protein bars. “Breakfast?”

  Molka’s face brightened. “Yes! I’m starving.”

  Back in her right-hand side seat, Molka powered down two protein bars and drank a full bottle of water while Uri, back in his pilot seat, nibbled on one bar, sipped water, and fiddled with the satphone.

  Breakfast finished, Molka exited the aircraft again, retrieved a box of wet wipes from the white gear bag, took them into some hip-high grass 20 meters away, squatted, relieved herself, and returned to the aircraft.

  Uri poked his head from the door and grinned at Molka. “I promise I didn’t look.”

  “Your semi-gentlemanly manners are noted. But I actually went way over there to be polite. Being on field maneuvers as the lone woman in a unit with over 30 men kind of tamped down my shy-girl modesty.”

  Uri chuckled. “Funny.”

  Molka tossed the wipes box back into the gear bag, grabbed the Steiner binoculars, and moved to the aircraft’s other side. She binocular scanned the hills due east below the rocky mountain less than a quarter kilometer away until she located the opening to the ravine where Azzur instructed her to conceal the money duffle bag.

  Might as well go bury it.

  She turned back to the aircraft.

  Uri stood on the wing, staring southward. “Can I see those binoculars?”

  Molka passed them up and moved to the baggage compartment hatch. She reached inside, and with some exertion, pulled the dark blue money duffle bag from the compartment and laid it on the dirt strip surface.

  She then removed the entrenching tool case from the white gear bag.

  “Here comes Tariq,” Uri said.

  Molka moved to Uri’s side and viewed where he pointed the binoculars at the lower valley.

  She saw movement.

  “Can I take a look?” Molka said.

  Uri handed the binoculars to Molka, and she focused in on it.

  Perhaps a kilometer away, three vehicles crawled around the boulders and large rock formations, taking the best route possible toward the plateau.

  Closer examination revealed a dark green SUV—with homemade black and brown camouflage applied—leading two small pickup trucks. The pickup trucks carried the SUV’s same paint scheme, and each featured a manned weapon mounted in the bed.

  “How do we know that’s Tariq?” Molka said.

  “Didn’t you read your supplemental briefing material? They’re all flying a green pennant with a gold lion emblem in the center. That’s Zoran the Great’s personal flag.”

  Molka confirmed the vehicle’s little flags matched the photos of Zoran the Great’s distinctive colors from her briefing tablet. “Ok. But how did he know we arrived?”

  “Again, I refer back to the briefing. Zoran the Great deploys mountain-based lookouts in his domain to watch for smugglers.”

  “I know. What about them?”

  Uri sighed. “They must have spotted us coming in and radioed him and he informed Tariq.”

  �
��We just got here, though,” Molka said.

  “Yes, but they could have seen us approaching a long way off with decent optics. It’s not like there’s a lot of other air traffic nearby. Better try to call Tariq again and let him know we see him.” Uri jumped off the wing, pulled the satphone from his jacket pocket, walked a few paces toward the coming vehicles, and tried again. “Still no signal.”

  Molka refocused on the two-armed pickup trucks. “Those technicals are mounting 12.7s behind armored shields.”

  “What’s a technical 12.7?” Uri said.

  “A technical is a civilian vehicle mounting a weapon. Twelve-point seven millimeters is the caliber of their heavy machine guns. That’s a lot of firepower for a friendly ride.”

  “Not for a friendly ride who thinks they’ll be carrying back four-million Turkish Lira.”

  “Good point,” Molka said. “Which reminds me.”

  Molka handed the binoculars back to Uri, removed her small gear bag from the baggage compartment, and laid it atop the left wing. She unzipped it, removed the holstered Beretta, and tucked it inside her waistband in the small of her back. She reached back into the bag and removed the Baby Glock and slipped it into her right front pocket. She then removed the three spare mags. The two Beretta mags slipped into her left front pocket, and the Glock’s spare mag slipped next to the weapon in her right. Lastly, she uncased her tactical sunglasses and put them on.

  Uri stood behind her, watching. “Why are you arming up?”

  “I’m going into the hills to conceal the money.”

  “Ok. But I ask again, why are you arming up?”

  “I don’t know what might be roaming around up there,” Molka said. “Could be a pack of big, terrifying Yetis, for all I know.”

  “But Yetis are said to live in the Himalayas, thousands of kilometers from here.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  Uri shot Molka a perplexed look. “Well…no.”

  “Then you can’t prove Yetis don’t live up here either, can you? Excuse me.”

  Uri moved aside. “Oh, you’re joking again. Right?”

  Molka slung the duffle bag over her right shoulder and grabbed the entrenching tool carrying case with her left hand. “It will probably take those vehicles about half an hour to get around that obstacle course down there and climb up here. It will take me longer than that to conceal this, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “Wait,” Uri said. “Tariq isn’t supposed to know about you concealing the money. What am I supposed to tell him?”

  Molka started to move away, glanced over her shoulder. “I don’t know. But you’ll think of something.” She smiled. “Don’t forget, you’re the team leader.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Some say being wealthy is a heavy burden to carry.

  Really?

  They should try carrying it a quarter kilometer up a 30-degree incline hill at altitude.

  Whew.

  Molka reached the ravine opening, dropped the duffle bag on the ground, and crouched beside it to recover her breath.

  Below her, the three vehicles still boulder and rock formation dodged in the valley as they continued to approach the plateau.

  Speaking of being wealthy.

  Molka’s eyes shifted to the duffle bag.

  That’s the closest I’ll ever get.

  Wonder what it looks like?

  She unzipped and opened the bag. Inside rested a black rectangular plastic hardcase. Two thick plastic clasps secured it. She released the clasps and needed to exert moderate pulling pressure to unstick the lid’s thick rubber watertight seal.

  And waiting in the case: shrink-wrapped bricks of lavender colored paper currency bearing the number 200 as their denomination.

  Wow.

  I could buy my own office and my own house with that.

  No more lease payments.

  No more rent.

  And still have plenty left to start an animal rescue.

  And then really do some good in the world.

  My dream come true.

  Molka closed and resealed the hardcase and rezipped the duffle bag.

  Fantasy is over.

  Go up this ravine a few meters and find a good place to dig a hole.

  Molka rose, re-slung the duffle bag, and entered the ravine.

  The crevice measured about three Molka’s shoulder-to-shoulder wide and a Molka standing on another Molka’s shoulders high with walls comprised of the same craggy rock that formed the mountain above.

  A few steps in, the ravine curved to the left, and when she turned the curve, the ravine curved back to the right to form an elongated S. Then it straightened.

  She needed to find a distinctive feature to bury the bag next to for ease in recovery. But nothing stood out. Just more jagged rock walls and a gravel and dirt mixed floor.

  Keep looking.

  She moved another 20 meters on.

  Wait.

  That’s it.

  Ahead on the right, a little outcrop in the wall formed a rough letter J laying on its side.

  J for her little Janetta.

  She could never forget that.

  Molka dropped the bag again. She removed the entrenching tool from its case, folded down the spade portion and locked it into place, extended the telescopic handle and locked it into place, and then speared it into the crunchy soil.

  Within 15 minutes, she carved out a duffle bag wide hole about a meter deep. She placed the bag inside, covered it with the dugout dirt, and used the edge of her boot sole to smooth the surface gravel over the filled hole.

  She took a few steps back and observed the concealment spot.

  Not bad.

  Unless you knew where to look, you wouldn’t know the ground had been disturbed.

  Ok. The treasure is well buried.

  Ha. I would make a good pirate.

  Molka folded the entrenching tool into its case and headed back toward the ravine’s entrance.

  On the way, she time checked her watch; she had been gone about 40-minutes. Tariq and his convoy should have reached the aircraft by then. Hopefully, the excuse Uri gave him for her temporary absence wasn’t too convoluted.

  Simple lies are the best lies, as Azzur liked to say.

  Uri could have told Tariq that she’d gone up into the hills to conceal herself during relief because of her shy-girl modesty.

  Darn.

  Should have suggested that before I left.

  Molka moved through the S curve, reached the ravine’s opening, exited, and looked down on the little plateau’s airstrip.

  Tariq’s convoy did not wait next to the Cessna. And if it had ever arrived there, it had turned around and left because it motored back in the direction from which it came in the valley below.

  That’s odd.

  And where’s Uri?

  I don’t see him near the aircraft.

  Is he hiding inside?

  Did he leave with them?

  No.

  He wouldn’t do that without telling me.

  Would he?

  Molka descended the steep hill as fast as possible using a controlled short step jogging technique to keep from falling head over boot heels.

  She made it down safely and ran across the plateau’s grass.

  She reached the aircraft.

  She circled the aircraft.

  She searched inside the aircraft.

  She answered her own question.

  The answer is, yes.

  Uri’s gone.

  CHAPTER 13

  Molka cupped her hands over her sunglasses to shade them for a better view.

  She observed the dark green SUV with black and brown camouflage—about a half-kilometer away—leading the two, dark green with black and brown camouflage, technicals until they all disappeared behind a large rock formation.

  Seriously?

  Uri just left me here?

  That is not the plan.

  Their instructions were to meet with their cont
act Tariq together. And then both be taken by Tariq to Mucize to meet Zoran the Great with Tariq acting as their translator.

  So why had Uri deviated?

  To grab the glory?

  Maybe his insecure ego told him that as the team leader, he should handle the negotiations alone. And since Molka was just the security specialist, the security specialist should be left behind to secure the money until the team leader summoned her.

  Well, team leader or not, she would only answer to and be judged by, Azzur for her performance on each task. He’d made that unquestionably clear. And failure to carry out his instructions—he also made unquestionably clear—would be grounds for immediate dismissal from the program.

  And that would mean no justice for her little Janetta.

  And that could never be allowed to happen.

  So her task would be carried out as instructed. Which meant even though Mucize lay 40 kilometers away, she would proceed there on foot to meet with Zoran the Great and confirm Ibis’ presence and intentions.

  She checked her watch again: 8:34AM.

  It had been a while, but in the IDF, she’d made forced marches of over 40 kilometers and longer. A decent pace could get her to Mucize well before sundown.

  Uri had taken all the gear bags, which meant he took all their drinking water. Not good. Because she was already thirsty from her climb and digging activities.

  Why didn’t he at least leave me a few bottles?

  Probably to discourage me from what I’m about to do.

  The bastard!

  He earned himself another hard backhand to the face.

  She would have to gut it out.

  The other liability would be having no map to take along.

  But from her map study on her briefing tablet, she knew Mucize lay, more or less, due west. She also noted a narrow dirt road running east-west in the broad valley below, presumably leading to Mucize because of the fact there wasn’t anywhere else for it to go.