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“ETA?”
Rapp looked down at the rain-soaked ground and then up at the rising terrain. What would normally be a forty-minute hike on dry ground might easily now turn into a three-hour jaunt. Rapp tried to remain optimistic. “If we don’t run into anybody, I’m guessing two hours, maybe a little less.”
“We’ll be here.”
“What’s your sit rep?”
“Same as last time. No one’s moving.”
Rapp was tempted to ask him how he and his men were doing, but decided not to waste their time. Coleman would say they were fine regardless of how miserable they were.
Jackson appeared at Rapp’s side. “My point man has already found a path and everyone else is ready to go.”
Rapp nodded and covered his lip mike. “Let’s move out.” Taking his hand off the mike he said, “Strider, we’re on our way. I’ll give you an update in thirty minutes.”
The first squad of eight SEALs started up the narrow footpath into the thickening jungle with the men spaced a little closer than security would normally dictate. Jackson and the second squad, along with Rapp, came next and then the third squad brought up the rear. All twenty-five heavily armed men quietly disappeared into the jungle and the pouring rain.
36
Something wasn’t right. David’s eyes fluttered open for a second and then snapped shut. The air was thick with dust and his ears were ringing. Having no idea where he was or what he’d been doing, David tried to sit up, but couldn’t. Again he blinked his eyes open, this time only to a thin squint. All of his senses seemed to be off with the exception of his sight, and even that was a little blurry.
David rolled his head to his left and saw nothing, and then to his right, where through the clouds of dust and smoke he saw fire. The flames jogged his memory. He was in Hebron at the meeting. The attaché cases were filled with the Iraqi counterfeit money. He had stepped outside and climbed into the armored car with Mohammed Atwa and then detonated the cases. A smile crept onto his lips as he remembered the look on Atwa’s face when he’d stabbed him in the neck. David remembered the blood spraying from the man’s throat. What a joy it was to see genuine horror on the face of a man who had brutalized thousands.
His eyes fluttered. The haze lifted a bit. He tried to move his left arm but it didn’t budge. He struggled with his right arm and after a moment it broke free. David lifted his head and realized that his lower body was covered in rubble. His thoughts again returned to the attaché cases and the explosives. The technicians at Mossad must have packed even more C-4 than he’d expected into the cases. The entire house where the meeting had taken place appeared to be leveled.
David held his head up and looked up and down the street. The destruction was massive. Half the block appeared to be destroyed. The attaché cases could not have done all this, he thought to himself. Then he remembered the noise. A noise he had only heard once before, but a noise that was impossible to forget.
With one of his arms free, David propped himself up and looked around. His head was awash with pain and either his ears were ringing very loudly or there were sirens blaring not so far away. From his new vantage point he took in the devastation and was shocked to see the utter destruction. At least three homes in addition to the one where the meeting had taken place were completely demolished;
piles of rubble, with pockets of smoke and flames.
The reality of what had happened hit David like a building had fallen on him. He did not mean for all of these innocent people to be harmed. The attaché cases would have been more than enough to handle the job, but that bastard Ben Freidman wanted to make absolutely sure that he killed everyone.
He’d tracked him to the meeting. This was not a surprise to David. The fact that Freidman would try to follow him was a foregone conclusion, but David felt the man would not press too hard for fear of blowing what already amounted to the best gift he had ever been given. Somehow he’d managed to follow him, and then to make sure no one made it out alive, including David, he’d launched missiles into the neighborhood. That was the noise he’d heard right before everything went black. The horrible shrieking noise of a missile, a harbinger of death and destruction.
David cleared several smaller stones from his legs and then a few larger ones. Where his black dress pants were torn he could see blood mixing in with the dust from the stones that had covered him. Slowly and carefully he pulled himself out from under the remaining rubble and took an inventory of the various pains that were shooting through his body.
The ringing was still in his ears. David looked around in search of an emergency vehicle but saw none. He came to the conclusion that the explosion had probably damaged his hearing. Carefully, he tried to stand, but quickly found that all was not well with his right leg. David placed only a fraction of his weight on it and hobbled over to what was left of a parked car.
The destruction was horrendous. Half of the block was leveled and of the homes that were still standing, most were either burning or in danger of catching fire. The number of innocent people killed would be enormous. It was time to flee. He did not want to be around to answer the questions of whoever it was who showed up, whether it was the Palestinian Authority or the Israelis. As David limped gingerly down the sidewalk, skirting rubble and leaning on whatever he could find for assistance, he saw an opportunity. Ben Freidman un-doubtedly thought he was dead. Maybe there was a way to use that to his advantage.
David picked up the pace, wincing in pain as he put more pressure on his bad leg. Through the smoke and the dust he spotted a woman wandering toward him with a blank expression. As he neared her he noticed she had something in her arms. The look on her face told him she was in shock. Resisting the urge to approach her, he pressed on. When they were within a few feet of each other he glanced at what was in her arms and instantly wished he didn’t. He wanted to believe the tiny frail body was that of a doll, but he knew better. It was a baby and David knew the poor infant would be visiting him in his dreams for years to come.
Peace did not come without a price, he told himself. He continued saying this over and over as he hobbled away from the scene of devastation. Ben Freidman would someday answer for his callous brutality. It didn’t have to happen this way. The children did not have to die. David knew the perfect way to hurt such a man. All he had to do was get to America. Once there he would put into motion a series of events that would bring about the birth of a Palestinian state and the end of Ben Freidman.
37
Coleman was one of those steady types: never too up and never too down. He had an air of quiet authority about him that commanded a respect among his men. He was never overbearing or brusque, just calculating and decisive. But right now, more than anything, he was wet. The poncho that was draped over him had long ago become useless against the torrent of rain that was coming down by the bucket. The ground was so soaked, it was as if he was sitting on a plump sponge.
With the onset of nightfall and the deluge of rain, visibility had been reduced to the point where they could no longer see the enemy camp. Coleman had moved Stroble and Hackett to a forward position an hour ago to keep an eye on things. They’d reported back exactly what the former SEAL team commander had expected; that nothing had changed. With their report in mind, Coleman dispatched Wicker on a mission to circumnavigate the camp so he could get a better feel for the entire area.
As a general rule, when the weather was inclement people stayed put. It didn’t matter if it was the South Pacific or the South Bronx. It was human nature to seek shelter and try to stay either warm or dry or cool depending on the conditions.
SEALs were the exception to this rule. Knowing that they could and would be called on to perform an operation at a moment’s notice, regardless of the weather, they took it upon themselves to train in the worst of conditions. It was also why they had to endure hell week during their selection process.
Candidates were deprived of sleep for days on end and marched continually into the cold surf of the Pacific at all hours, in soiled sandy uniforms. Most of them could handle the physical torment, the academic rigors were challenging, but not overtaxing, and the verbal assaults from the instructors were for the most part ignored. It was the cumulative effect of all of these, however, that got to the SEAL candidates.
By the time hell week arrived they were already in a weakened state. Their bodies were sore, their nerves were frayed and then the very bedrock of mental stability was jerked from underneath them. They were robbed of sleep and warmth, and when the human body is deprived of those two basic necessities individuals began to do strange and unpredictable things.
