Read Online Thunderstrike in Syria by Nick Carter - Free Book Online
Authors: Nick Carter
Tags: det_espionage
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away the paint and the jeep was caked with reddish rust. Of World War II vintage, the wreck looked not only pathetic but ridiculous. It was something that was but shouldn't be.
Miriam pointed to the right. "Over there," she said. "We can climb to the top over there. That's the way Ahmed and I went. It was only a few months ago."
"I'll get the stuff," I said, putting on my shirt. I went to the rear, strapped on a Luger waist holster, shoved Wilhelmina into the oiled leather and closed the flap. I picked up the carry-all shoulder bag, containing the sextant, the celestial computer, the camera and other equipment, and slipped the strap over my shoulder. I next opened the gun locker and took out the AK-47, the Skorpion machine pistol and two shoulder bags of spare magazines for each weapon. On the other side of me, Miriam, who had opened another locker and had taken out two pairs of Zeiss binoculars, handed me one of the cases, a friendly smile on her sensuous mouth. I gave her the AK-47 assault rifle and the bag filled with spare clips.
She smiled again. "Let's not forget the canteens."
A few minutes later, we were outside the van and headed for the left-side face, Miriam leading the way to a very tiny gully in the slope that was almost perpendicular, a depression only slightly larger than a fifteen-foot wide ditch.
"We'll have to be very careful," Miriam said when we reached the face. "As you can see, there are numerous hand-holds, and the side is not all that steep. But if we grab a loose rock, or step on one, we could fall."
We looked up the face of the wall. To reach the top, we'd have to climb almost two hundred feet. The climb would indeed be dangerous, particularly since we had automatic weapons strapped to our backs and were weighed down with canvas shoulder bags.
The climb took us the better part of an hour, and by the time we pulled ourselves over the top edge, we were dripping sweat and Miriam was exhausted, although the climb had only been a good workout for me.
I saw at once that she had told the truth. The top of the cliff was nothing more than a small plateau filled with enormous granite and limestone boulders partially covered with chalky marl. Surprisingly there were stunted juniper trees growing among the boulders, amidst small bushes of
qat
, a narcotic plant that is chewed and has an effect similar to marijuana. But I didn't see any camp! To the south was the top of the other wadi wall and more hills. To the east, north and the west were hills and more hills of limestone and granite, many of which were crowned with bizarre shaped pinnacles of soft tufa stone. The openings of caves dotted the bases of many of the hills.
Miriam finished drinking from her canteen. "We've got to go six hundred feet or so to the northwest to see the base," she said. "I'll be ready in a minute."
She screwed the cap on the canteen, pushed back her wide-brimmed straw hat and wiped her forehead with a large silk handkerchief.
It didn't take us long, on the more-or-less level ground, to cover the distance to the edge of the plateau. Before we reached the end, Miriam, who was ten feet in front, motioned for me to get down. We crawled the rest of our way on our hands and knees, finally coming to the very edge and taking positions between two enormous boulders.
"There it is, Nick," Miriam said smugly, "the camp of Mohammed Bashir Karameh. I said I'd lead you to it and I have."
Through the binoculars I could see that the base was much larger than I had imagined, in spite of Miriam's having told me that there were usually three to four hundred men and women at the camp, ninety-nine percent of them terrorists.
I studied the layout, noting each feature. In the center of the camp were the remains of the Tower of Lions. But it wasn't a tower. It was an immense square building of stone, without any roof and with only three stories remaining, half of the south wall in ruins. To the northeast of the tower was a long, low building also
Miriam pointed to the right. "Over there," she said. "We can climb to the top over there. That's the way Ahmed and I went. It was only a few months ago."
"I'll get the stuff," I said, putting on my shirt. I went to the rear, strapped on a Luger waist holster, shoved Wilhelmina into the oiled leather and closed the flap. I picked up the carry-all shoulder bag, containing the sextant, the celestial computer, the camera and other equipment, and slipped the strap over my shoulder. I next opened the gun locker and took out the AK-47, the Skorpion machine pistol and two shoulder bags of spare magazines for each weapon. On the other side of me, Miriam, who had opened another locker and had taken out two pairs of Zeiss binoculars, handed me one of the cases, a friendly smile on her sensuous mouth. I gave her the AK-47 assault rifle and the bag filled with spare clips.
She smiled again. "Let's not forget the canteens."
A few minutes later, we were outside the van and headed for the left-side face, Miriam leading the way to a very tiny gully in the slope that was almost perpendicular, a depression only slightly larger than a fifteen-foot wide ditch.
"We'll have to be very careful," Miriam said when we reached the face. "As you can see, there are numerous hand-holds, and the side is not all that steep. But if we grab a loose rock, or step on one, we could fall."
We looked up the face of the wall. To reach the top, we'd have to climb almost two hundred feet. The climb would indeed be dangerous, particularly since we had automatic weapons strapped to our backs and were weighed down with canvas shoulder bags.
The climb took us the better part of an hour, and by the time we pulled ourselves over the top edge, we were dripping sweat and Miriam was exhausted, although the climb had only been a good workout for me.
I saw at once that she had told the truth. The top of the cliff was nothing more than a small plateau filled with enormous granite and limestone boulders partially covered with chalky marl. Surprisingly there were stunted juniper trees growing among the boulders, amidst small bushes of
qat
, a narcotic plant that is chewed and has an effect similar to marijuana. But I didn't see any camp! To the south was the top of the other wadi wall and more hills. To the east, north and the west were hills and more hills of limestone and granite, many of which were crowned with bizarre shaped pinnacles of soft tufa stone. The openings of caves dotted the bases of many of the hills.
Miriam finished drinking from her canteen. "We've got to go six hundred feet or so to the northwest to see the base," she said. "I'll be ready in a minute."
She screwed the cap on the canteen, pushed back her wide-brimmed straw hat and wiped her forehead with a large silk handkerchief.
It didn't take us long, on the more-or-less level ground, to cover the distance to the edge of the plateau. Before we reached the end, Miriam, who was ten feet in front, motioned for me to get down. We crawled the rest of our way on our hands and knees, finally coming to the very edge and taking positions between two enormous boulders.
"There it is, Nick," Miriam said smugly, "the camp of Mohammed Bashir Karameh. I said I'd lead you to it and I have."
Through the binoculars I could see that the base was much larger than I had imagined, in spite of Miriam's having told me that there were usually three to four hundred men and women at the camp, ninety-nine percent of them terrorists.
I studied the layout, noting each feature. In the center of the camp were the remains of the Tower of Lions. But it wasn't a tower. It was an immense square building of stone, without any roof and with only three stories remaining, half of the south wall in ruins. To the northeast of the tower was a long, low building also
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