Agent in Place
Robby nodded. “An FSA soldier . . . he’s our interpreter. You met him this morning, sort of. He’s one hundred percent reliable, the bravest and hardest-working kid I’ve ever met. Seriously, I’m going to adopt the Terp when I get out of here, and he’s only a couple of years younger than me.”
“If he knows Palmyra, then I’d really like to talk to this guy.”
* * *
? ? ?
The Special Forces team’s FSA translator was called in over the radio, and he entered the captain’s hooch with a very worried look on his face. Court saw that he was the young man who wore the black Adidas jacket with the white piping that he’d seen earlier in the day. He was in his midtwenties, with a scraggly beard.
Robby said, “Meet Slick. He’s American. That’s all you need to know.”
The young man nodded and shook Court’s hand. “Sorry I hit you on the head when you had the bag on. I thought you were Desert Hawks Brigade.”
“No hard feelings,” Court said. “Why is your English so good?”
“My father grew up in the UK, then moved back to Palmyra. When I turned seventeen I studied languages at the University of Homs. French and English. But only for two years. Then the war came.”
Robby said, “Slick needs to go somewhere in Palmyra, high up enough in a building to where he can see this area here.” He pointed on the photo to where he’d been told by the stranger that a Russian base had been erected. “You know a way to get there?”
The Terp furrowed his eyebrows. “It is very dangerous. Maybe if you sneak across the desert you can get there, but the SAA is all over Palmyra since they took it back from Daesh.”
Court said, “Sometime tomorrow Ahmed Azzam himself will be two klicks east of Palmyra. I want to be close enough to see him.”
An astonished look crossed the Syrian’s face. Thinking a moment, he said, “Maybe we can get into the hills to the north. You will be able to look down onto that land. It’s very flat.”
Court shook his head. “They will be ready for that. This base will have berms and structures built up to protect against that high ground to the north. There’s no way we can set up there and expect to get a look at Azzam.” He spun the map around and put his finger on a point to the west. “But if we can somehow get into the city of Palmyra . . . they won’t be expecting eyes on them from that direction.”
The Terp said, “Of course they won’t. Why would they? It’s full of SAA and pro-regime militia units. I have friends who live in Palmyra; I lived there for three years fighting for it myself, before we lost it to ISIS. Then SAA came and took it from ISIS. Trust me, nobody knows the place like I do. But the FSA can’t go into Palmyra.”
“Maybe not the FSA. But what about a couple of idiots with a long rifle?”
The Terp looked at the Green Berets as if he did not understand.
Cliff said, “I think he’s talking about you and him.”
The young Syrian looked back to Court like he couldn’t believe the American was serious.
Court looked down at the area on the photo, checked the scale, and then touched a building on the far eastern side of the city. It was the only building of any size in the area; the next group of large structures was three blocks west.
“This building here looks like it’s about a mile and a half from the center of the camp, assuming it’s where I think it is. Farther to the runway.” He looked up at the others in the room. “I want to go to this building.”
The Terp puffed his chest out a little. “I am a proud fighter of Usud al-Sharqiya.”
Court looked at Robby. “What’s that?”
Robby said, “Lions of the East Army. It’s the name of his militia.”
“I thought he was FSA.”
“Slick, there are thirty different groups that make up FSA that I know of.”
Court addressed the young man again. “Okay, you are Lions of the East. What’s your point?”
“My point is that I have no fear. I will go with you, Mr. Slick.”
Court nodded at the young man. “I appreciate it.”
Cliff spoke to Court now. “I can gear you up, unless you were looking for a cold beer or a bottle of scotch.”
Court shook his head. “You got an M107?” He was speaking of the Barrett M107 anti-matériel sniper rifle.
Cliff shook his head. “Negative. But we have a TAC-50. The FSA has one, as well.” The McMillan TAC-50 was another fifty-cal sniper rifle.
“How pissed will the FSA sniper be to give his up?”
Robby said, “My command says to get you whatever you want, but no U.S. forces are to accompany you when you leave my base. I’ll get you that rifle, and I’ll straighten it out with the FSA.”
“Good. Other than the sniper rifle, I need an AK with a folding stock, a pistol, a technical, and some water. Fuel to get me fifty klicks.”
The Terp shook his head. “Others will want to come.”
“We have to keep this small-scale. If we’re detected, either we’ll be killed before Azzam comes, or they’ll cancel his visit.”
“If we are bringing a truck anyway, it doesn’t matter if we are two men or six men.”
“You have anyone in mind who might tag along?”
The Terp looked to Robby. “Yusuf and Khadir. Plus a driver and a man to protect the driver.”
Robby said, “Yusuf and Khadir are the Carl Gustaf team.”
Court knew a little about the Carl Gustaf recoil-less rifle, but not much. He did know that it was an 84-millimeter weapon that fired an array of standard and rocket-boosted munitions. “Trained by you guys?”
“Yep. U.S. Army ordnance, given to the FSA along with training. Those two guys are as accurate as you’ll get in all the FSA. They’ve been together for years as an RPG team. We outfitted them with the Carl and now they are rock stars around here. If you need a piece of armor hit at up to four hundred yards, Yusuf and Khadir are the ones to do it for you.”
“Sure,” Court said. “That might just come in handy.”
CHAPTER 67
Two Mercedes Viano vans, each carrying a driver and six passengers, arrived in Athens, Greece, in midafternoon. They parked in a lot near the Port of Piraeus, and then Malik, Drexler, Sauvage, Medina, and three of Malik’s men walked along Kastoros Street, while the rest of the GIS men did their best to melt into the neighborhood without being noticed.
Soon Drexler and his entourage turned into the doorway of an office building by the water, and they climbed three sets of stairs to a large office space overlooking the yachts in the marina.
The sign on the door read “Hellenic Carriers of Ocean Freight, Inc.”
It appeared to be a working office, but a key had been left under a mat for Malik, and when they all entered through the door, the lights were off and no one was inside.
Malik turned to Bianca after flipping on the lights. “Mademoiselle Medina, there are a few cubicles in the corners with some privacy, and there is a large corner office that is at your disposal if you would like to rest. I am sorry this is not more comfortable for you, but this office is owned by my department, and it is the closest and safest place near the marina. We will stay here until the boat from Syria arrives, early tomorrow morning.”
“It is fine, of course. Shukran,” she said.
Bianca sat down in an office chair and idly looked over some brochures, reading about the services of the freight forwarding company written in French. Malik saw her interest and said, “This is a front of ours. We use this place to help get weapons and supplies into Syria past the embargos. I don’t think the war would be going nearly so well for us without this office, and others like it in Italy and Croatia.”
Drexler had been standing by the window looking down on the neighborhood below. Soon he asked Malik to join him there.
The Swiss operative said, “You can’t keep all your men here. They will stick out like sore thumbs.”
“It is my job to protect Medina until she gets on that boat tomorrow.”
“And you will have failed if someone calls the local police to tell them ten Arab men wearing jackets are standing on the hot streets at a port in southern Greece. Think, Malik. Medina can only be hidden here for the next twelve hours if we remain low profile.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting you send all your men home. Between you, me, and Sauvage we can watch her. When the skiff from the ship lands tomorrow there will be more GIS men to protect her all the way to Syria.”
Malik looked down at the port, then shook his head. “Not all of them. I’ll send some home, but I’ll keep my top three men here with me.”
Drexler nodded. “Thank you.”
Malik turned to him. “The policeman. You haven’t armed him, have you?”
“Armed him? If I armed him, the first person he’d shoot would be me.” Drexler smiled now. “Don’t worry about him. He’s my problem, and I’ll take care of him.”
And this was true. Drexler was not worried about Sauvage. Now he was only worried about the four men between himself and Medina. Malik and his three men. He’d managed to thin the herd by talking the Syrian operative into releasing most of his force here, but the four who were staying, Malik included, would be the best of the best.