Read Online Thunderstrike in Syria by Nick Carter - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nick Carter
Tags: det_espionage
Ads: Link
built of stone, all of it underneath camouflaged netting. Miriam told me that it was used as a storehouse.
To the southwest were scores of small, mud-built and windowless huts, each with a small opening to permit smoke to escape. Scattered in between and around the huts were tents made of woven black goat fleece, each tent supported by poles that varied in length so that both the top and the side walls sloped. I could see people moving around the tents and the houses, but the distance was too great to see their faces clearly.
What surprised me the most were the vehicles parked side by side underneath a tremendous scattered-leaf pattern netting supported by high poles. Two jeeplike command cars, six L-59 Gronshiv armored cars, a dozen personnel carriers, three of which were half-tracks and also Russian, and two T-54 tanks with 140-millimeter cannons!
I didn't lower the binoculars as I asked Miriam why she hadn't mentioned the armor.
"You didn't ask me!" she said indignantly. "What's the difference? There they are."
"I'm not blind," I snapped. "I'm only wondering why all that heavy stuff is down there."
"I don't know," Miriam shrugged. "You'll have to ask
al-Huriya,
or one of his aides. Khalil Marras for example."
Suspecting that she was mocking me, I shoved the binoculars into their case, gave her a dirty look and crawled to the rear of the boulder, to the side that could not be seen from the SLA camp below. Miriam crawled to the back of the opposite boulder, a smile on her face. Or was it a smirk?
Down on one knee, I took off the two shoulder bags, opened one and removed the camera and the collapsible tripod. Thirty feet across from me, Miriam took off her sunglasses, lit a cigarette and lazily blew smoke in my direction.
I was about to take the tripod and camera and return to the edge when I caught a brief glimpse of a man, who had reared up from behind a boulder twenty feet to my rear, but had not ducked down fast enough. In that split second, I realized that it was too much of a coincidence for one of the SLA to have just
happened
along. I'd been had in spades. Miriam Kamel had led me into a trap.
I dropped the camera and tripod, pulled Wilhelmina from her holster and thumbed off the safety. The man I had spotted, realizing I had seen him, jumped up from behind the boulder, a fierce look on his face and a Russian PPsH submachine gun in his hands. I snap-aimed, pulled Wilhelmina's trigger and the Luger cracked, the terrorist jerking from the slug that thudded into his forehead. His eyes open and staring into eternity, he dropped the machine gun and crumpled to the ground.
As if Wilhelmina's sharp crack had been a signal, the other SLA terrorists jumped up from their hiding places behind boulders. I saw in that instant that what they had done was to creep up behind me and Miriam and form a semicircle to our rear. Not having time to count them, I saw only that they were dressed in khaki pants and shirts, wore combat boots and had their heads covered with
kaffiyehs.
Their weapons were sidearms and automatic weapons.
"Don't kill him!" Miriam yelled.
"Al-Huriya
wants him alive!"
I didn't have one chance in a million of escaping, but I was determined to put up a hell of a fight before they chopped me apart.
The terrorists, the white neck cloths of their
kaffiyehs
flying, charged toward me. I rushed toward the nearest SLA killer and cut him down with a flying doubled-legged piston kick. At the last moment, I straightened out my legs so that my thigh muscles had a chance to get into the act. My feet crashed into the man's midsection and he screamed.
While the man went flying backward, I spun my body around and dropped facedown, breaking my fall with my feet and left hand. My surprised move had disorganized the terrorists, their momentary confusion giving me the opportunity to jump to my feet and make Wilhelmina snarl. She did, twice, and two more men cried out in pain. One went down with a bullet through the groin,
To the southwest were scores of small, mud-built and windowless huts, each with a small opening to permit smoke to escape. Scattered in between and around the huts were tents made of woven black goat fleece, each tent supported by poles that varied in length so that both the top and the side walls sloped. I could see people moving around the tents and the houses, but the distance was too great to see their faces clearly.
What surprised me the most were the vehicles parked side by side underneath a tremendous scattered-leaf pattern netting supported by high poles. Two jeeplike command cars, six L-59 Gronshiv armored cars, a dozen personnel carriers, three of which were half-tracks and also Russian, and two T-54 tanks with 140-millimeter cannons!
I didn't lower the binoculars as I asked Miriam why she hadn't mentioned the armor.
"You didn't ask me!" she said indignantly. "What's the difference? There they are."
"I'm not blind," I snapped. "I'm only wondering why all that heavy stuff is down there."
"I don't know," Miriam shrugged. "You'll have to ask
al-Huriya,
or one of his aides. Khalil Marras for example."
Suspecting that she was mocking me, I shoved the binoculars into their case, gave her a dirty look and crawled to the rear of the boulder, to the side that could not be seen from the SLA camp below. Miriam crawled to the back of the opposite boulder, a smile on her face. Or was it a smirk?
Down on one knee, I took off the two shoulder bags, opened one and removed the camera and the collapsible tripod. Thirty feet across from me, Miriam took off her sunglasses, lit a cigarette and lazily blew smoke in my direction.
I was about to take the tripod and camera and return to the edge when I caught a brief glimpse of a man, who had reared up from behind a boulder twenty feet to my rear, but had not ducked down fast enough. In that split second, I realized that it was too much of a coincidence for one of the SLA to have just
happened
along. I'd been had in spades. Miriam Kamel had led me into a trap.
I dropped the camera and tripod, pulled Wilhelmina from her holster and thumbed off the safety. The man I had spotted, realizing I had seen him, jumped up from behind the boulder, a fierce look on his face and a Russian PPsH submachine gun in his hands. I snap-aimed, pulled Wilhelmina's trigger and the Luger cracked, the terrorist jerking from the slug that thudded into his forehead. His eyes open and staring into eternity, he dropped the machine gun and crumpled to the ground.
As if Wilhelmina's sharp crack had been a signal, the other SLA terrorists jumped up from their hiding places behind boulders. I saw in that instant that what they had done was to creep up behind me and Miriam and form a semicircle to our rear. Not having time to count them, I saw only that they were dressed in khaki pants and shirts, wore combat boots and had their heads covered with
kaffiyehs.
Their weapons were sidearms and automatic weapons.
"Don't kill him!" Miriam yelled.
"Al-Huriya
wants him alive!"
I didn't have one chance in a million of escaping, but I was determined to put up a hell of a fight before they chopped me apart.
The terrorists, the white neck cloths of their
kaffiyehs
flying, charged toward me. I rushed toward the nearest SLA killer and cut him down with a flying doubled-legged piston kick. At the last moment, I straightened out my legs so that my thigh muscles had a chance to get into the act. My feet crashed into the man's midsection and he screamed.
While the man went flying backward, I spun my body around and dropped facedown, breaking my fall with my feet and left hand. My surprised move had disorganized the terrorists, their momentary confusion giving me the opportunity to jump to my feet and make Wilhelmina snarl. She did, twice, and two more men cried out in pain. One went down with a bullet through the groin,
Similar Books
