Breezy looked down from his perch, aware that Kara’s men were hosing full-auto rounds to the north and east. The noise would have been deafening under other conditions, but audio exclusion had kicked in. The lead Citroen was within fifty meters of Kara’s Mercedes. The Druze driver was attempting a two-point reverse but there was little room owing to other vehicles parked on the street. The bodyguards in the BMW had bailed out, racing to provide close support until the limo could evade.
A bright flash erupted to Breezy’s left, scaring him out of his wits. He turned to see a sentry lowering an RPG launcher, immediately beginning to reload. The projectile seared downward into the concrete canyon, impacting near the Citroen’s right rear bumper.
Seconds from impact, the Citroen was taken under automatic fire by three guards on the street. One of them was Walid, the youngest son, gamely but ineffectually firing his 9mm submachine gun.
Glass erupted from the gray hatchback, but it barely swerved in response to the gunfire. Breezy watched in frozen fascination as the suicide vehicle smashed almost head-on into the Mercedes.
Seconds ticked off, each with a beginning, middle, and end.
One person tumbled from the limo, then another.
Then the Citroen exploded.
Most of the sentries expected the Peugeot to double up on Kara’s limousine or to collide with the BMW. It did neither. Abreast of the grilled entry, it veered abruptly right and crashed through the wrought-iron gate. From there it accelerated across the courtyard, drawing sporadic fire from the roof.
The French machine slewed to a stop at the entrance to the main building and disgorged four men. Each carried an AK and one or two satchels. They sprinted inside, fanning out left and right.
Frank Leopole, Phil Green, and Jack Jacobs were the first armed responders to arrive at the lobby. They saw Jeff Malten rolling on the floor, clasping his side as dark liquid seeped through his fingers. Jacobs glimpsed two men dashing down the halls on either side, saw the satchels, and knew what was coming. He dived on Malten, expecting an explosion.
In the lighted hallway Leopole had a clear shot at the man on the left. The former Marine raised his M-1A, placed the front sight between the shoulder blades, and pressed the trigger. Once, twice. Twenty meters away, the assailant stumbled, caught himself, staggered drunkenly, and collapsed against the wall.
Something rolled from the corpse’s right hand.
Leopole shouted “Grenade!” and hit the deck, covering his head with his hands.
The explosion was smaller than Leopole expected but the concussion left his ears ringing. He rolled over, looking for Green.
Leopole sat up, bringing his rifle to low ready.
The former Green Beret hefted his folding-stock AK and pointed to the corridor on the right. “Down here, Colonel.” He ran in that direction.
Before Leopole could get up, he heard semi and full-auto fire from the hall. The noise was painful, ringing off the walls and ceiling.
Moments later Green reappeared, exchanging magazines and smiling broadly. “There’s more, Colonel. Let’s find ‘em!”
Ahmad Esmaili turned to Mohammad Azizi. “That is all? A car bomb and four men to attack the compound?”
“If we killed Kara it is well worth the cost. The attack on the building is a bonus, especially if some Americans are killed. In any case, it will disrupt the Druze operations for a while. That is our larger goal for the greater cause.”
A chill descended upon Esmaili. He could only infer that the greater cause had something to do with the planned missile sites, and precious little to do with his own survival. He stored that thought in the ready- ammunition locker of his mental arsenal and backed out of the observation position.
“Where are you going?” Azizi asked.
“To collect my men or to retrieve their bodies.”
The situation was well beyond confusion; it bordered on chaos.
While the Druze fighters were drawn to the street where their leader’s limousine had exploded, the SSI team and a few of Kara’s men searched the main building. Sporadic gunfire erupted in both wings, which Leopole took as evidence of twitchy trigger fingers. “Re-con by fire,” he surmised to Wallender. The search expanded for the other two intruders.
In the dining hall, two Druze and Bob Ashcroft had remained with the dancing sisters. The doors had no lock, so Ashcroft and a Druze had pushed a long table across the entrance to prevent the doors from opening inward.
Moments later an explosion rocked the facility, knocking down one door and leaving the other askew. Almost immediately two gunmen leapt the ruined table, hosing searching bursts from their Kalashnikovs.
Ashcroft had been nearest the door when it imploded. Knocked from a kneeling position onto his back, he was temporarily stunned. Meanwhile, at dining-hall distance, two Druze and two Sunnis began shooting at each other.
The invaders had the advantage of shock from the explosion, shooting down one of Kara’s men before he could get a decent sight picture. One of the attackers then saw the prostrate American and swung on him.
In the far corner, Bahiya took a round through her left arm and spun away, shrieking in pain. In response, Jasmine leapt to her feet, panic-stricken.
The first assailant was seriously devout. Where others saw a fetching costume of gossamer and jewels, he saw whorish attire and responded religiously. He shouldered his rifle, pressed the trigger, and held it down.
Fueled by a massive adrenaline dump, Bob Ashcroft scooped up his Galil, thumbing the selector to full auto. Despite a poor cheek weld, he started at the assailant’s belt and rode the recoil almost to the chin. The man went down in a scarlet spray.
Abruptly it was quiet.
Ashcroft looked around and gawked at what he saw. The other Sunni and the remaining Druze held AKs with the bolts locked back.
Ashcroft raised unsteadily to his feet and watched wide-eyed as the Druze reversed his rifle, raised it over his head, and used the butt to cave in the Sunni’s cranium.
Bahiya’s contralto voice split the silence. In a high, penetrating keening, she wept over her sister’s body. The American approached her, placed a hand on her shoulder, then knelt beside her. She stopped wailing in preference to deep, throaty sobs. As the dancer leaned into him, Ashcroft touched Jasmine’s bare feet. “She saved my life and she didn’t even know it.”
19
“Tell me.” Leopole spoke to Major Ayash in a flat tone devoid of warmth.
The IDF Druze inhaled, held his breath, then blew it out. “Kara is alive. He’s suffering from concussion and some burns but he should survive.” Ayash shook his head in amazement. “That man has more lives than a litter of kittens.”
