Azarov continued forward as the diver descended to a hidden container attached to the hull.
Once fully loaded, the dhow would take him and his men into the Persian Gulf, where they would unload their smuggled cargo on a remote Saudi beach. It was an uncomfortable and slow mode of transportation, but one unlikely to attract attention.
Azarov arrived at the boat and two men climbed down a cargo net to take the remaining crate off his tube. Once they had it, he swam back toward shore to get another load.
In a few days it would all be over. He would return to Costa Rica and in the worldwide chaos that ensued, he would finally be forgotten.
CHAPTER 41
AL-SHIRQAT
IRAQ
RAPP slithered up the dirt slope in almost complete darkness. Gaffar and Mohammed were to his left and the two eggheads were on his right. He’d left Mohammed’s brother with the car. The man still hadn’t completely recovered from the punch to the back of the head, but otherwise he seemed solid.
The moon was full, but the dust in the air had turned it into little more than a smear in the eastern sky. Still, it was enough to see one of the geeks start to rise onto all fours. Rapp shoved his ass down for the fourth time and for the fourth time received a mumbled apology.
Not exactly the team he was used to working with. He’d give a couple fingers in exchange for a few of Coleman’s boys, but that wasn’t going to happen. What was it Rummy liked to say? “You go to war with the army you have, not the army you might want.” And in this case, the army he had consisted of two computer nerds, a man with no combat experience, and a former Iraqi soldier who might put a bullet in Rapp’s back the second he turned it.
They crested the slope and went still, looking down on the building a hundred yards away. Detail was hard to see, but Rapp could make out that it consisted of two stories, as reported. Most of the construction did indeed look to be concrete and there was a discernible glint from a chain-link fence. It was probably only seven feet high and had no razor wire-probably built more to keep kids corralled during recess than to fend off an armed assault. A little light was filtering around a poorly arranged blackout shade on the first floor, but that was it. No sign of activity from either the children or the men barracked there. It was 2 a.m. and most everyone would be asleep.
A brief flash near the open gate caught his eye, and he searched using his peripheral vision to maximize light sensitivity. A dim outline became visible through the dust and darkness, a lone guard leaning casually against a sandbag barrier. He would have been invisible if it hadn’t been for the reddish glow of his cigarette.
“So you’re saying twenty-three men inside, give or take,” Rapp said. “Do we have any idea how many kids are upstairs?”
“Perhaps forty?” Mohammed responded. “It’s difficult to know. Mustafa’s men constantly bring new ones in and auction off others. Most aren’t even from this area anymore.”
“Ages?”
“As young as six. Maybe a few in their late teens.”
That was going to create a complete clusterfuck. The better part of fifty children panicking and all moving at different speeds, with some of the teens trying to help the younger ones while others just stampeded over them. Not something he wanted to deal with.
“What’s our plan?” Mohammed asked.
Rapp scooted back, bringing them all in close so they could hear.
“Mo and I will go in-”
“No,” Gaffar said immediately. “I will go with you.”
Clearly the big man still didn’t trust him.
“I have to have you here,” Rapp said. “It’s likely we’re going to need cover fire when we come out and you’re our only experienced shooter.”
Gaffar grumbled a bit but seemed to understand that it was the most effective use of their limited manpower.
“What about us?” one of the geeks asked.
“Your job is to protect Gaffar and this position. If anyone comes up behind or to the sides of him, they’re your responsibility. I want to be perfectly clear, though. Under no circumstances are you to fire a gun in my direction.”
Gaffar let out a quiet laugh.
“What about the two of us?” Mohammed said. “What are we going to do?”
“Just follow my lead. Once we get in, we’re going to go straight to the back of the building as quietly as possible. Priority one is keeping those kids contained upstairs. That’s your only responsibility.”
“And you?”
“Once you make sure no kids are going to get in my way, I’m going to start killing people.”
“Alone?” Gaffar said. “With only my pistol?”
“Yes. And if everyone stays calm and does their job, we should be in and out in just a few minutes.”
Rapp slapped Gaffar on the back. “When Mustafa’s men start coming out of the building, let them. Kill shots at this distance are going to be hard and if you start shooting too soon, you’ll just drive them back under cover. Oh, and if the kids manage to get out of the building, remember-they’re the short ones.”
With that, he pulled Mohammed to his feet and they started strolling casually toward the gate.
• • •
The guard turned out to be dangerously inattentive. Rapp and Mohammed approached to within thirty feet and he still hadn’t noticed them. Startling the man wasn’t ideal, but seemed inevitable in the open terrain. The best they could hope for was to be close when it happened.
Twenty feet came and went. Then fifteen. The man remained focused on getting every last bit of smoke out of his cigarette. Maybe they were going to get lucky. Maybe this would go quiet and easy.
Then again, maybe not. At ten feet, the man picked them up in his peripheral vision and spun, clawing for the weapon on his shoulder.
“Brother!” Rapp called, continuing to approach with empty hands spread wide. Mohammed was a pace back, wearing desert garb and a headdress that revealed only his eyes. Rapp was similarly outfitted but had left his face uncovered so as not to obscure his battered face. He seemed to be at the height of his fifteen minutes of fame. Why not use it?
“Jesem?” the guard said before he could line up the rifle. The pronunciation was completely Arabic, suggesting that he spoke no English. Rapp waved Mohammed forward and put an arm warmly around his shoulders. “Translate for me, brother.”
“Of course.”
“General Mustafa has given me back my place on the team. I should have waited until morning to come, but I was anxious to rejoin my comrades.”
Mohammed translated his words and then the man’s response.
“Welcome back, brother.”
Rapp reached into his pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes-something he’d learned never to be without when traveling in Muslim nations. At the same time, he slid a knife from his waistband and held the blade flat against his forearm. It was probably more stealth than necessary in light of the fact that the guard was completely hypnotized by the pristine pack of Marlboros. As he leaned in to reach for one, Rapp flicked the knife out and ran it across his throat. The motion was so subtle and the blade so sharp that the man didn’t immediately seem to notice.
Rapp guided him to the ground facedown. A foot between his shoulder blades kept him from splattering them as he bled out.
“Are you all right?” Rapp asked Mohammed.
“Yes. Of course.”