Harder (The Unit #3) Read online

  The truck came to a complete stop, and the men in the back of the cargo area fell silent. They listened to Kerem and a man speak in Kurdish. Then the back flap of the tarp opened and every man pointed his Sig at the border guard standing there. The guard nodded to the other guards standing at the front of the truck and closed the flap. The men released a collective breath. They wanted to enter Iraq as quietly as possible. Tony heard a hand hit the hood twice, indicating for the truck to proceed into the country of Iraq.

  Once the truck started moving again, Tony mused, “Well, what the fuck do you know? Mussa actually came through for us.”

  “Of course he did. He knows we’re good for the money, and he’s all about the money,” Rob said, replacing his gun under his shirt, tucking it into his waistband.

  “I know. That’s what worries me,” Tony mumbled as he repositioned his gun into its resting position.

  About two hours into the drive, the truck began to speed up. “What the fuck?” Tony said as he peered out of the back flap. There were two vehicles rapidly approaching the truck. “We have company.” Tony removed his gun. The other men followed suit. “I knew he would turn on us.”

  “We don’t know it was Mussa. It could have been the border guard looking for more money than what we paid him,” Michael countered. Suddenly, the truck jerked forward from being hit from behind. Kerem did his best to keep away from the vehicles following, but they proved faster than the Toyota. Tony watched through a crack in the flap as two Hondas sped up and passed the Toyota.

  The men flew forward without warning as Kerem slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting the stopped Hondas in the middle of the road.

  “Here we go,” Tony declared. The men jumped out of the back of the truck and used it as cover. “Kerem, get down,” he yelled, prompting Kerem to lie down in the front seat. “Shit, that was close,” Tony whispered, flinching to the right as a bullet whizzed by his head. Tony opened fire. “How many mags you have?”

  “Three,” the men said in unison.

  “Let’s make them count,” Tony breathed as he squeezed the trigger, aiming in the direction of the Hondas.

  “I count six. We’re sitting ducks waiting for them to take us,” Rob declared. “Let’s get ahead of them.”

  “I’ll cover you. Go,” Tony commanded. As Michael and Tony squeezed their triggers, guns aimed at the men on the other side of the Hondas, Steve and Rob approached from the right side of the truck. Just as one of the men popped his head up to shoot back, Michael fired a kill shot, hitting the man right between the eyes.

  Michael sprayed bullets in quick succession as Steve belly crawled on the pavement over to the Hondas. Once there, he moved to the trunk end of the car. He peeked around the corner, took aim, and fired at the remaining men. He was able to kill two more.

  “Three to go,” Steve yelled back from his covered position.

  “Son of a bitch,” Tony griped as he ran out of bullets. He dropped his mag and popped in another one. Taking aim, he realized he had no one to shoot, but he kept his finger on the trigger, waiting.

  Steve had turned back to look at Tony while he reloaded. That was a mistake. While his attention was elsewhere, a man kicked the gun from his hand. Steve tumbled backwards and fell on the ground behind the Honda. The enemy quickly approached, gun at the ready and aimed directly at Steve’s head.

  That was just the chance Rob needed. He aimed and quickly pulled the trigger. The enemy went down on top of Steve.

  “Motherfucker,” Steve complained as he pushed the dead body from him.

  Michael belly crawled to Steve’s position while Tony held the enemy back with gunfire.

  “Let’s get to that boulder. From there, we’ll approach from behind,” Michael offered. Steve followed Michael to the boulder that sat slightly off the side of the road. The remaining two enemies were facing Tony and Rob and exchanging gunfire.

  Michael reached into his boot, pulled out his M9 Bayonet knife, and silently approached the enemy from behind. Swiftly, he sliced through the first man’s throat before the remaining man had time to register what was happening. Tony rushed the last man as Michael distracted him.

  “You’d be worth more alive,” the man said, smiling sadistically as he aimed his gun at Michael.

  From behind, Tony plunged his knife into the man’s back under his first rib, puncturing his heart. The man lost strength to hold himself up. Tony helped him die faster as he pushed in deeper and then twisted. He choked and sputtered, trying to speak. It sounded like a prayer. Tony lowered the man to the ground.

  “Let’s get these vehicles moved before we get any more company,” Michael ordered.

  Steve and Michael rushed to the vehicles and pulled them to the side of the road, and then the men hopped back into the truck’s cargo area. “Drive,” Michael demanded of Kerem.

  “I’m telling you, that was Mussa setting us up,” Tony grumbled.

  “Let’s find out before we jump to conclusions. After all, Mussa is the only connection to weapons we have over here,” Michael said calmly.

  Pulling his phone out, Tony dialed Mussa’s number.

  “Hello,” Mussa answered in Kurdish.

  “Tell me it wasn’t you, Mussa,” Tony demanded.

  “What are you talking about?” Mussa asked, confused.

  “We were hit. Two Hondas. Six men. Guess who won?”

  “I swear to you, it wasn’t me. I would never set you up. I am preparing to leave for the market.”

  “Well, this little stunt has put us back half an hour.”

  “I swear. It wasn’t me. It was probably the border guard. I thought I could trust him. Wasn’t I the one who got you out of trouble last time? Your money is good with me. I would not betray you,” Mussa pleaded with Tony.

  “I hear you, Mussa, but if I find out you had something to do with this little stunt, I will kill you myself. Are we clear?” Tony hung up without waiting for an answer. He just couldn’t shake his gut feeling.

  They had been in the back of the cargo area of the truck for a good five hours, being jostled around over broken roads. Long ago, they turned off the D430 highway and now were on a less-than-desirable Route 1 to Mosul. The ride was a bumpy one, weaving in and out of cities run by terrorists. Needing to remain undetected for as long as possible, there was only one restroom break in a town, deserted and burned down by terrorists.

  It now approached high noon and the market was in full swing. As the truck slowed, Tony heard voices growing louder and louder. Women haggled over the price of chicken, men argued over politics, and dishes clanked as teacups were placed against their plates.

  “Ready?” Tony asked the men. Michael was the leader, but it felt right for Tony to take point on this mission for some reason, and Michael wasn’t arguing. They had that kind of relationship. Any one of them could lead. Although, more often than not, the job fell to Michael. Tony just had a feeling about this mission, like his life hung in the balance, and as much as he trusted his brothers, he needed his thumb on this one.

  Kerem appeared at the back of the truck, lifting the flap. He had parked the truck in a deserted alleyway close to the market. They would not blend in here; in fact, they would stand out as much as they did in Turkey. The average height of the men in Iraq was five foot eight inches, and Tony stood at six foot two inches. They would definitely be noticed. They needed to find Mussa and fast.

  Tony pulled out his satellite phone and dialed Mussa’s cell phone number. Mussa answered on the second ring, and Tony told him their location.

  “I be there. Ten minutes,” Mussa said in broken English.

  The men, tired of sitting in a cramped cargo area of a Toyota truck, jumped out of the cargo bed and hid behind the truck. A passing woman, wearing a long black dress and a hijab, narrowed her eyes as she looked at them, prompting Tony to place his hand on his gun behind his back. All it would take was one word by this woman, and they would be in the middle of a gun fight with God only knew how many people
. They were definitely outnumbered and outgunned. Discretion and secrecy was so essential to this mission. Tony made eye contact with her and placed a finger over his lips, indicating for her to be quiet. The woman nodded and passed by without uttering a word. As she reached the front of the alley, she turned left into the market.

  Next, a little boy wearing a button-down shirt, shorts, and sandals walked up to the men. When he reached his small hand up and pulled on Tony’s shirt, Tony dug into his pocket and pulled out a roll of Sweet Tarts, offering them to the boy. After accepting the treat, the boy smiled kindly at Tony and went skipping on his way into the crowded market. Thankfully, those were the only people who seemed to notice them.

  Peering around the back of the truck, Tony spotted Mussa coming around the corner. “He’s here,” he informed the others.

  Mussa rounded the truck and wrapped his arms around a much bigger Tony. Tony bristled at the touch. “Friend, it’s good to see you,” Mussa said as he backed away from the one-sided embrace.

  Are you ready? Let’s get you out of here,” Mussa said.

  “Lead the way. And, Mussa, if you do anything to draw attention to us, you’re dead,” Rob warned.

  “We friends,” Mussa assured him. “Don’t worry, I have what you asked for.”

  Getting their hands on some much-needed weapons would make the men feel more at ease.

  In a large market bag, Mussa had brought clothing for the men to wear. Each man donned a long gown and wrapped his head in a keffiyeh to cover his hair and somewhat hide his face. Once they were dressed like Iraqis, Mussa led them through the streets of the market. After walking four market blocks, Mussa turned left down an alleyway with the men close on his heels. The alleyway stretched from one side of the town to the other. Mussa suddenly stopped. “This is it.” He motioned to a wooden door locked with a deadbolt. “This is the address you wanted.”

  “This is the safe house?” Tony asked, unconvinced. He grabbed hold of the padlock. “I don’t suppose anyone has the key.” He grinned wickedly. A light sparkled in his pale blue eyes as he produced the “key” from his pocket. “God, I love my job.”

  Tony quickly removed the hot padlock and the door creaked opened.

  The men quickly cleared the house, room by room, until they were satisfied that all was clear. In the living room sat a couch and a milk crate, their only seats. The kitchen was sparsely furnished as well, with only an old metal table and four chairs. The cabinet doors hung from their hinges.

  “Jesus, I hope this place has running water,” Steve grumbled, assessing his surroundings.

  “Let’s make this happen. The sooner I have the weapons, the better I’ll feel,” Tony said, pacing back and forth in front of a heavily draped window. Peeking outside, he scanned the heavily traveled road in front of him. “Where is your guy, Mussa?”

  “He is meeting us here at one o’clock.”

  Tony glanced at his watch. “I guess we’ll just catch the game until he shows,” Tony quipped.

  Rob caught Tony’s eyes, giving him a questioning look. Tony was not his usual calm self. His gaze darted back and forth between the back door and the front.

  “Was that gunfire?” Tony asked, quickly looking to Michael.

  “Relax, man, that was a car backfiring, or if it was gunfire, it was a fair distance from us,” Michael said reassuringly.

  Tony approached Michael and whispered into his ear, “Do you agree that Mussa can’t be trusted?”

  “No, man, I think we’re fine. What’s got your panties in a bunch?”

  “I have a really bad feeling,” Tony admitted as he fiddled with his watch.

  “About what? This has been all quiet, except for one incident. It could have gone a lot worse. We’ve been lucky,” Michael said in a hushed tone.

  “That’s the problem. Things have been going too smoothly. Mussa said his guy would be here five minutes ago. Why isn’t he here yet?”

  “Would you relax.” Michael squeezed Tony’s shoulder. “You’ll feel better once we get our weapons.”

  “That’s probably . . .” Tony stopped midsentence, hearing someone at the door. Readying his gun, he grabbed the door handle. He looked to the others. “Ready?”

  They raised their guns and took aim at the door. Tony flung open the door and had his gun under the man’s ribs before Mussa’s man could exhale.

  Mussa closed the distance to Tony in three strides and placed his hand over Tony’s gun hand, gently pushing it down. “This is the man. He’s with me,” he said, trying to get Tony to lower his weapon.

  “Why were you late? Were you followed? Answer me?” Tony rattled off before the man had a chance to respond to the first question.

  “No. Not followed. My wife kept me back a minute. She didn’t want me to get myself into trouble,” the man responded in broken English.

  Michael reached Tony’s side and placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Lower your weapon, soldier.”

  Tony reluctantly lowered his gun and backed away from the man, but kept his gaze toward the outside, waiting and watching for anything or anyone that didn’t belong.

  “We have to unload the truck quickly,” Michael said.

  The man had really brought an arsenal with him—AK-47s, RPG7s, and a few other specialties the men had requested and the truck to transport them in.

  “You have money for me,” Mussa’s friend inquired.

  Tony reached into his duffle and removed a wad of cash, counting out fifty-five thousand dollars before extending it to him. “If anyone finds out about our deal, you’re dead. Clear?” Tony met both men’s eyes.

  “Clear,” the man said, reaching greedily for the cash.

  “Mussa, you will take him back to his village,” Tony instructed.

  “Okay.”

  Once Mussa and his man were gone, the Unit secured the premises and inspected the weapons. Sure, they were old, but they would serve their purposes just fine.

  “Let’s eat, rest, and get ready for tomorrow,” Michael suggested as he rested an AK-47 against his knee, his hand on the barrel of the weapon.

  “Michael, check the whereabouts of Martin. Steve, you take position at the back door and wait for one of us to relieve you. I got the front. Rob, you cook us some dinner,” Tony said matter-of-factly.

  Rob looked to Steve then Michael. “What crawled up his ass?”

  “His gut is off. He has a really bad feeling,” Michael explained.

  Tony stood guard at the front window. The light of the day was starting to fade and gray clouds began to cover the blue sky. They had to eat and get ready because their mission would begin at 0100 hours.

  Rob plated the food and brought it into the living room. Mussa had supplied them with what looked to be kebabs, a traditional meat sandwich wrapped in eggplant.

  “Tony, you have to eat everything. You don’t know when you’re going to get to eat again. You know that,” Michael commented as he eyed Tony’s half-eaten kebab.

  “I would rather keep watch. I’m telling you, something is going to happen. I don’t know what or when, but it’s coming,” Tony predicted as he once again peered around the heavy drapes.

  Michael, Mussa, and Tony were in front of the small truck while Rob and Steve, dressed in traditional Iraqi garb, rode in the back with the weapons. They took care to conceal their fully automatic AK-47s near their bodies. The truck bounced and bobbed up and down over the roads that took the Unit from Mosul to where the microchip indicated Martin was being held, a mountainous area outside the larger city of Hajiawa. Under the cover of a moonless night, they made their way into the village town of the mountain of Pir Omar Gudrun, which lay to the southeast of the nearest city. The village’s population was under one hundred, but all one hundred were expected to be loyal to the ATG, otherwise known as the very dangerous Azadi Terrorist Group.

  The Unit’s Intel indicated that Martin was being held in a building in the heart of the village, a likely location for such an important hostage. T
he satellite images they retrieved from their laptop confirmed a strong signal coming from the largest building. The men would use the darkness of night and their disguises to get as close to the building as they could before engaging in gunfire. If they could make it quietly into the building, then they would only have to fight their way out.

  Tony parked the truck at the bottom of a small hill near the village. From the looks of it, no one was guarding the perimeter. The men unloaded their weapons and hoisted them over their shoulders. Mussa was there to translate, and help in any way he could. The insurance company had provided enough to pay for Mussa’s help.

  As they approached the top of the hill, Tony balled his hand in a fist and raised it. The rest of the men took a knee on the dirt path. Tony indicated two men at the top of the hill with his first two fingers pointing in their direction.

  Tony grabbed Mussa and pulled him closer. “You will tell them your truck broke down and you’re looking for help. You will not indicate our positions. Clear?” Tony looked Mussa directly in the eyes. Mussa nodded. With one arm on Mussa’s shoulder, Tony pointed two fingers of his other hand to the left, brought his hand down then back up, and this time pointed two fingers to the right. Rob and Steve moved quietly to the left to take cover behind a mud hut. Tony and Michael moved to the right and took cover behind a tree that was standing in the middle of the barren land. Mussa walked straight to the two men.

  Under the cover of the night, Rob moved silently, his AK-47 held to the back of the two men who were standing on some kind of raised platform. Tony approached from the other side and met Rob at the back of the platform. The wood creaked as Tony stepped onto the first step.

  The two men spun around to investigate the noise, but it was too late. Tony kicked the gun from one of the men’s hand, and it skidded across the platform, stopping some three feet away from where they were now fighting. Tony took a punch square to the nose. Lucky shot. That was the only one the man would get. Tony brought his arms up to guard his face while the man attempted another punch. This time he was ready and darted out of the way. Tony swung and made contact with the man’s stomach. As he hunched over in pain, Tony took advantage of the situation with a roundhouse kick, knocking him off the platform. Not letting up, Tony jumped on top of him, knocking his body to the ground, and repeatedly punched him in the face. The man grunted with each hit. This was making too much noise, so Tony reached into his boot and pulled out his knife. With one swift movement, he slit the man’s throat. As the man gurgled on his own blood, Tony watched the light leave his eyes.