Extraction (John Taylor #8) - Chapter 10

He drove back slowly keeping an eye on the terrain and trying to remember how things had looked when they’d gone north. The last thing he wanted to do was come driving back over the ridgeline and into plain view of the compound, especially in the stolen truck they were bound to have noticed, by now. He wanted to get close, since he was already exhausted and the idea of walking several miles didn’t appeal to him, but everything looked different than it had in the dark, with his adrenalin pumping and Lopez bleeding out in the back.

After a few miles, he felt he was getting close and saw a place he could hide the truck until he came back, since he didn’t know where things were going to go and having transportation could make a big difference for him over the next few days. He pulled over and backed into a small washout that led into a crevice not far off the side of the road. It would hide most of the truck and hopefully, anyone who came by would assume it was one more piece of abandoned junk someone had pushed out of the way and forgotten about. It was gravelly and a little steep, so there was also a chance he might not be able to get it back out once he backed it in, but Taylor figured that was a better chance than just having it stolen or stripped bare while he walked the rest of the way to the compound.

Instead of going back to the road, where he’d be in the open as soon as he crested over the next ridge, Taylor made his way down the ravine, moving equal parts south towards the compound and east, perpendicular to the compound, to hopefully out of the hills and into the flat area around it somewhere close to the rear, like they had before the botched assault.

It was still a good walk, but Taylor stopped every few minutes and listened intently. The closer he got to the building, the more concerning the silence got. Although it was hours since the attack, they should still be recovering from it, making repairs to the vehicles and their gear, and having men patrol for a follow-up attack. Nothing could mean they were already prepped and just waiting, not wanting to expose their positions, which would mean this whole thing was screwed and there was no recovering from it. The best he could do at that point would be to beg Wheeler for a ride out or take his stolen truck and try to drive along the coast as far as one of the country’s major cities still under the control of the national government, and work out a way to fly somewhere friendly.

That would also mean no way back for Wayne Nash.

Taylor pushed those thoughts aside. The army drilled into its NCOs, and especially units that operated independently, that at some point in every mission, things would go to shit. When that happened, the thing to do was to just work the problem. Take your mission on one task at a time, complete it, then move on to the next task until you succeeded or died.

Crawling on his belly to a small drop off in the rocky hillside he’d been working his way down, Taylor checked off task one, getting to the compound. What he saw made him curse silently while completely wiping out the rest of his tasks all at once.

He hadn’t moved as far laterally as he’d hoped, which meant he could see the area in front of the gate as well as some of the rear of the compound.

When he’d left, there had been a handful of bodies outside the compound right in front of the gate, along with eleven trucks and cars parked at odd angles waiting for their drivers to return. Now the area was empty. There were no bodies in front and all the vehicles had gone.

Taylor considered that maybe this was a ruse of some kind, and fighters inside were trying to get any possible second group of attackers to walk into a trap, but that just didn’t make sense.

First, he’d dealt with a lot of foreign militias, tribes, and freedom fighters over the years on various assignments, and they rarely thought of solutions that way. They could be tricky when they needed to be, but their gut instinct was always to go straight at the problem with as much force as they could muster.

Taylor watched for another few minutes, listening intently, but heard no more sounds and saw no movement from the compound or the area around it. When it was clear he’d get nothing by just observing the building, he decided it was time to make a move.

Scanning the area once more to confirm it looked clear, he hurried over the ridge and made a dash for the northern wall of the compound, pressing his body up against it and listening hard for any sign that he’d been spotted. Again, nothing. No movement, no shouts, and no indications of life at all.

Taylor crept to the edge of the building and peeked around, towards the gate. He could see the churned-up dirt from where the vehicles had gone; at least confirming that it hadn’t been some kind of massive hallucination. Still hearing no sound, he moved slowly, measuring each footstep, as he closed the distance to the gate.

Once he got close enough, he could tell there were still traces of blood mixed in with the sand and rock on the ground, but most of it was gone. Five men and died and bled here, and in his experience that left quite a mark even after the bodies were moved. For that much blood to be covered up or spread around, there had been a lot of movement in and out of the gate once the bodies had been moved out of the way. It would have had to be more than just footsteps. He could see tracts and furrows in the dirt along with the boot prints. A lot of equipment was moved through here, and not that long ago.

While that could mean they’d brought stuff inside the building, the absence of the trucks made it pretty certain it had been the opposite. They had pulled a bunch of equipment, or something, out of here. Probably to load it on the missing trucks.

The area was still completely silent and still, except for what sounded like an animal a ways off in the distance. Taylor peeked in through the gate and pulled back. No bodies in the entrance or the courtyard. Lots of bullet holes and blood still splattered the wall he could see inside the small gate shack where Lopez had been hit.

He moved in, staying low, using the building as cover, moving around the courtyard, saving the main building for last, since getting trapped in there would be very bad. Unless this was the most weakly timed trap he’d ever seen, this place was deserted. It hadn’t been that long and they’d moved all the bodies somewhere, so they must have been hustling. Perhaps they thought the attack was sent by the warlord who controlled this area, although one look at the dead White Mountain guys would have disproven that theory. Maybe they were worried that more Americans would be on their way.

The real question was, did they kill the hostages and take off, or take hostages with them. There was no way to know until he went inside.

Taylor followed through the doorway Stone and O’Brien had disappeared through. There were a fair number of bullet holes and scoring in the walls, so there had been a firefight, but there wasn’t a lot of blood. Of course, who knew how far those two got in before being overwhelmed? It seemed unlikely either had gotten out of this building, let alone escaped the compound, but anything was possible.

It didn’t take Taylor long to get the answer of where all the bodies went. Inside what may have been a conference room at one point, considering the large and completely smashed table discarded off to one side, he found a pile of bodies.

It smelled to high hell and the flies were already thick, but he needed to know if this was the end of the line or if he had to keep going. Most of the bodies were locals and probably members of the militia, based on their clothing. After moving a couple of bodies he found the first members of the team. Dunn looked straight up at him, his face locked in surprise, as Taylor moved a body off of him. A massive bullet wound in his chest had ripped his heart apart, killing him instantly. From where the shooters had been, it was a lucky shot, or maybe unlucky if you looked at it from Dunn’s perspective. It didn’t take him long to find Ellis’s, Quinn’s, Hunter’s, and Patrick’s bodies. All of them ripped to shreds.

Notable was the missing Stone, O’Brien, and Webb, who’d been at the gate with them and had refused to run when Taylor had grabbed Lopez. Did that mean they’d been taken hostage? Were their bodies laid out somewhere else? It was impossible to tell, although the fact the guys who died on the gate and been dragged this far in suggested that if there had been other bodies, they wouldn’t have been left where they were lying. Taylor also noticed any jewelry he remembered the men wearing to be missing, including the rather nice watch that had been on Dunn’s wrist the last time he saw the man alive.

The other thing missing from the pile was any sign of dead hostages. There were a few bodies of men that looked particularly American and dressed in much nicer civilian gear than the militia guys had on, but they had already started to decompose and had probably been here since the first raid. He didn’t see Wayne Nash or any of the other hostages so, barring a second dumpsite, they’d taken the hostages with them, which might also mean they took Stone, O’Brien, and Webb with them as well.

Taylor continued to poke through rooms, going slowly. Once he was past the first bit of hallway, the bullet holes disappeared, which suggested Stone and O’Brien didn’t get very far. The building itself was very poorly built, like it was put together in a hurry. That wouldn’t be unusual for a small army forward operating base, or even some of the more permanent bases, since speed was often much more important than precision, but for a group like Northbridge, it was unusual.

Defense contractors, especially ones that operated private military contractors in addition to supplying the military itself, often had operations not far from military installations, since the Army found it easier, although not necessarily cheaper, to hand off some bureaucratic functions to private contractors rather than handling it themselves. The few times Taylor had been to one of their in-country offices, he’d always been impressed by how much better it was than an Army equivalent building. This place, however, looked like it was built by a reserve construction battalion after a week’s leave. It was unusual.

Most of the rooms looked to have been offices at some point, although they’d all been ransacked and thoroughly trashed. The one exception was the center of the building, which was a large room with raised floors for cooling underneath. There were some tall box-like machines along one wall which could be computer banks or networking equipment. Taylor really wasn’t sure, since this wasn’t his area of expertise. They were well smashed up, so whatever they had been, they were scrap now. The notable thing was what was in the center of the room, or more precisely what wasn’t in the center of the room.

Something large had been there, more or less square-shaped and about four feet on a side, judging from the bolts and brackets that would have been used to secure it to the ground. There was also a lack of scuff marks and other wear in the area where the whatever had been sitting that made it stand out from the open area that would have been between it and the machinery along the sides of the wall. It was possible this had been removed before Barsane’s men got here, but Taylor doubted it. Wheeler had said they had something here and had suggested that the raid was really intended to get to whatever Northbridge had been hiding out here, and the odds were this was it.

Whatever had prompted them to pull out, they’d taken the item with them, along with the hostages. If this was the real target though, why keep the hostages at all? Maybe they hoped to use them as a shield to prevent anyone from trying to retrieve the missing equipment, but that clearly hadn’t worked, so why not execute them all and leave their bodies here. Considering the destroyed equipment, it was a safe bet it was technological, which meant a fair number of the staff here would have been technical. Maybe Barsane needed them to learn how to operate it, or confirm it was working.

Although Northbridge was a military contractor, they did a lot more than just weapons systems. This was clearly something that fit into that ‘other than weapons’ category, which meant it was a good bet that Barsane wasn’t looking to use it directly. Following that chain of logic, Taylor thought the most likely goal for Barsane was to sell it, which could mean he needed people who knew enough about it to both prove its functionality to the buyer and maybe even train the buyer. Nash was some kind of IT or tech specialist, which meant he might still be alive since Barsane would still need him.

Of course, this could all be wishful thinking, but it followed the facts as Taylor could see them now. It explained why there hadn’t just been a ransom for hostages. It explained what Stone and his friends had been up to. Most importantly, it explained why Barsane’s men had pulled out so quickly after the failed raid. They knew this was Northbridge’s attempt to retrieve the equipment and not just a rescue attempt. If it was important enough for that, they must have reasoned it was worth taking the chance of unhooking it and taking it somewhere easier to secure.

That was bad for Taylor, because Nash and the other hostages would have been taken to the same place. He could care less about whatever cloak and dagger business Northbridge was up to, but he still wanted to get the hostages back and that was now significantly harder because Stone had been incompetent.

Taylor checked the last few rooms, but he was no longer surprised to see no one around. They’d all pulled out and abandoned the place; that was pretty clear.

Of course, with all the gunfire and movement around here, it wouldn’t be long until the warlord who controlled this area started to look around and see who was playing in his backyard, and Taylor didn’t particularly want to be here when he did.

Once he confirmed that the coast was clear, Taylor quickly retraced his steps back to the truck that was still, thankfully, where he’d left it. For now, he’d head back to check on Lopez and figure out his next move somewhere he wasn’t just sitting in the open.

Taylor didn’t drive right up to the village like he did earlier. That had been a risk and it was well into the morning; now it would be deadly. Villagers would be up and about by this point and wouldn’t fail to notice a white guy driving around the back of the town.

Instead, he drove well around the town, trying to find an overhang or somewhere more or less hidden from view to leave it, since he knew he’d need it at some point. He also needed to figure out how to get some fuel, since there weren’t just going to be gas stations every block to stop and get a quick fill-up.

Taylor finally found a good place about a quarter-mile to the west of the village with a pretty good overhang that he could just get the truck in. It would block the view of it from everything but someone looking directly at the truck, which was good enough. He found some dry shrub and kind of arranged it in front of the truck to help hide it a little more. Anyone getting near wouldn’t be fooled at all, but it was good enough for now.

Taylor made his way back to the village, trying to make sure he came up right behind the kid’s house. He had to stop several times when a local ventured too close, squeezing himself into crevices and outcroppings to hide himself from view. Finally, he made it to the house and, after waiting until the coast was clear, dashed to the back door. He didn’t have time for pleasantries like knocking and waiting outside, since someone could come by at any moment, which meant the entire family jumped when he came sliding through the curtain at a run.

“Sorry,” he said, backing up to stand just in front of the curtain, trying to alleviate their fear a little bit. “I didn’t mean to startle you; I just didn’t want to be seen.”

The husband didn’t seem mollified, still very clearly uncomfortable with Taylor being there at all, but at least the wife had seemed to accept their presence, giving him a slight nod of acceptance before turning back to Lopez, who she was seated next to, dabbing at his forehead with a cloth.

“Fever has begun to set in. His leg needs to be looked at soon.”

“I know. I am trying to get what I need to get him picked up and taken somewhere he can get help.”

“Can’t you just call your military and have them send a helicopter,” the husband asked, finally breaking his silence.

“No. I’m not working with the military. They will send a helicopter, but not until I have the information they need, which is what I was trying to get.”

“And did you?” he asked.

“No. The Muharibi Allah at the old British fort left while I was still here earlier, and took the hostages I was sent to retrieve with them,” Taylor said, leaving out the information about the stolen equipment, since that would be very valuable information to the right person. “I need to find out where they went and work out a plan for getting our people back. Then, maybe, I can get someone to come and get my friend.”

Taylor closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing his temples. The adrenaline from the raid had faded and he’d been up for a while, most of that spent walking across rocky terrain or fighting for his life. He was exhausted.

“You need rest,” the wife said.

“I can’t until I get the information I need. If Lopez is already running a fever, then infection could have set in. With an open break like that, it will turn poison before long.”

Taylor had meant septic, but that was one of those words he hadn’t had to use before and didn’t know it in Arabic.

“If you find out where the men from the British fort went, you’ll take your friend and leave?” The husband asked.

“Yes. I know this is dangerous for you and your family, and I’m sorry I had to put this on you.”

“You said if you talk to your friends, the ones coming to get you, that you can pay us?”

“I think so. I’m not promising it, but I think they’ll agree.”

The husband set down whatever he’d been working on and stood up, taking a thin vest or jacket off a hook by the other door to the hut and sliding it on.

“Get some rest. I know where I can get the information you need.”

“What are you …?” Taylor said, his hand going to his sidearm.

The guy clearly didn’t want Taylor there, and there was a good chance he’d sell Taylor out if he got a chance. Taylor had worried he might have already turned Lopez over to the local warlord in the time it had taken him to go back to the fort. He hadn’t, or at least Lopez hadn’t been taken away, but having two Americans he could sell out might be one temptation too far. The husband froze when he saw Taylor’s hand move, but before he could say anything more, though, the wife interrupted him.

“It will be fine. Abdulla may not be friendly to strangers but he’s a good man. He won’t endanger you or your friend, and if he says he can help, he will.”

Taylor realized what he’d done putting his hand on his weapon and pulled it away. He’d had enough training in working with less than willing locals as part of Army Special Forces that he knew escalation was always a bad idea, but he was tired and not thinking clearly.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to hurt him. I’m just worried someone will work out what’s happening here and put us all in danger.”

“I don’t want you here, but you are safe under my roof. I give you my word.”

Despite making no attempt to hide his hostility, or maybe because of it, the man seemed to be sincere. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t accidentally give away their presence, but Taylor didn’t have a plan for tracking down Barsane’s men.

“Thank you.”

“Rest now. I’ll return with what you need,” he said, pushing through the curtain that closed off what would be the front door.

The wife pointed to the mattress where she and her husband slept when Taylor first came through.

“Please, get sleep. We will wake you when Abdulla returns.”

The paranoid part of Taylor wanted him to stay awake and vigilant, but getting the information was just one step. Once he had it and was able to talk to Wheeler and negotiate a pickup for Lopez, he’d almost certainly need to find a new plan to get Nash out, along with the stolen equipment, most likely. There was still a lot to do before he could go home, and he’d need his wits around him to do it.

“Thank you,” Taylor said.

He put his rifle and rucksack between him and the wall and lay down. He was out the moment he closed his eyes.