Jennifer, Brett, Knuckles, and I exited the aircraft, went through customs and immigration, and were let loose in the city. I gave instructions for the team to get some rental cars and dialed my phone, waiting with a little trepidation.
Samir al-Atrash was a member of the Druze sect in Lebanon. I’d trained him and his men a long, long time ago as a member of the Lebanese Defense Force’s special operations component. Since then, he’d drifted a little bit, becoming bitter after the 2006 war with Israel, to the point that he’d become disillusioned with the LAF and had left the service.
A few years ago, I’d contacted him for some help tracking down a terrorist threat, and he’d helped out—but not before I’d been captured by Hezbollah and had one of my fingers cut off.
Jennifer had saved me from a much worse fate, using him and his men, and when I’d seen him, I was sure he’d set me up. I’d almost killed him then in a blind rage. At that moment in time, I wanted to beat him to death, but Jennifer had convinced me that it wasn’t a betrayal from Samir. I’d spared his life, but it hadn’t been pleasant. And now I was going to ask for his help.
The phone rang through and I heard his voice. I said, “Samir? It’s Pike Logan.”
He said, “The last time I heard from you, we almost had a civil war here in Lebanon. And now, it looks like we’re headed for the same thing, only this time it’s war with Israel.”
I chuckled and said, “The last time I was here, I prevented a civil war. I’m trying to do the same now. Did you get the information I asked for?”
“I did, but it’s not as easy as you think.”
“All I need to know is where that guy is. He’s got some killers with him who are about to turn your world upside down.”
“That’s what I mean. The man you’re after is one that the Hezbollah hierarchy cares about. He’s very valuable. They don’t want to turn him over to the Americans, even if it means what you say.”
I segued to my primary mission, one that he didn’t know about yet. “Do you have someone within the hierarchy with you? Because I have a message I want to pass.”
“A message from whom?”
“From the top of the United States. Look, Samir, this shit going on isn’t what it seems. We’re trying to unfold it, but right now we need to let Iran know that we know it isn’t them. We need them to back down.”
Knuckles came to me holding a couple of key fobs, saying, “We’ve got vehicles. Waiting on you.”
I nodded, then heard Samir say, “You want to talk to Iran?”
Off the phone, I said, “Bring them here. We’re leaving now.”
On the phone, I said, “Yes, that’s what I want. Do you have someone who can do that?”
I heard nothing for a moment, then, “I do, Pike, but this is very dangerous, both for me and for you.”
I said, “Yeah, I get that. The last time I saw you I lost my pinky finger to some pruning shears. We’re outside the airport. Where do we go?”
He gave me an address, and I said, “You’re shitting me. You want to meet there?”
He said, “I thought it appropriate.”
I turned to my group, saying, “Jennifer and I are going in. Brett and Knuckles separate short of the location. Anything goes wrong, kill all of them. I mean every single one.”
Chapter 62
Raphael and Leonardo loaded back into the Land Cruiser, now following a Toyota HiLux pickup truck out of the village. They reached a real two-lane highway and picked up speed, driving south.
Tariq said, “So I assume everything went well?”
Raphael said, “Yes, as far as I can tell.”
“You know all of this land is now owned by Hezbollah, right?”
“That’s what he said. Why?”
“Just that you’re now in a different world. This isn’t Lebanon. Or Rome. You cross these people, and you’re going to die.”
Raphael smiled and said, “I’ve been here before. Trust me, I get it.”
Tariq caught his eye in the rearview mirror, but said nothing else. After passing through several small villages, they reached the bombed-out outskirts of Daraa, Leonardo saying, “This looks like Sarajevo after the war.”
Tariq said, “The regime just pounds it with artillery. Like it’s target practice. Nobody wants to be anywhere near the city now.”
They continued south, leaving behind the devastation. After another forty minutes of driving, the HiLux left the paved road and headed out into the desert. Tariq followed. Raphael saw a small compound in the distance, nothing around except for the rocks and small scrub trees. No orchards or other agriculture. The buildings were clearly here for something other than farming.
The pickup truck circled the compound, then pulled up short next to an overhang built of tin. Underneath were four Samad 3 UAVs.
Built in Iran, and used to great effect in Yemen against Saudi Arabia, they were basically suicide drones. With a wingspan of nearly fifteen feet and a payload of forty pounds of explosives and ball bearings, it was like a small airplane. Not controlled by an operator using a tablet or other device, it was fire and forget, with a range of more than 1,500 kilometers. All that was needed was to load the coordinates to the attack point, release it, and it was on its way, like a slow-motion bullet fired from a gun. Developed and perfected in Iran, it was named after a leader of the Houthis, Saleh al-Sammad, who was assassinated by the United Arab Emirates in 2018.
It was used almost daily by the rebel movement in Yemen, the most famous being an attack on a Saudi refinery in 2019 that caused reverberations throughout the oil industry, and by extension, the world. It was a crude cruise missile that Raphael intended to use not as a signal of deterrence against a target with little meaning, like Hezbollah wanted, but as a spark against a lake of gasoline.
Tariq saw the HiLux doors open, and the two men exit. He said, “Okay, this is your show now.”
Raphael slowly nodded, and left the vehicle.
He went to the two men and said, “So you’ve got the Samad Three. Good drone.”
“Yes, but our problem is we can’t launch it from here. We don’t know how. It’s too big to simply toss in the air, and its push motor doesn’t work on the ground. You see four of them here, but there used to be six. We wrecked them trying to get them in the air.”
Raphael said, “I know. It requires a rack to launch from. Did you not get any instructions with them?”
Embarrassed, track suit said, “No. They just gave them to us. It’s why you’re here. We know how to put in the coordinates and the weapon payload, but don’t know how to get it off the ground.”
Raphael laughed and said, “I understand. It has to have speed to gain altitude, but once it does, it’ll fly. That’s the easy part.” He glanced around the stall, seeing several steel latticework frames against the wall, lined up one after the other. He counted six, then said, “Did those come with the drones?”
“Yes. It was the scaffolding surrounding the frames for protection.”
Raphael couldn’t believe what he was hearing. These men were as dumb as a box of rocks. He said, “That’s not for protection of the drone. That’s the launch platform. You mount it in the bed of a truck, fire up the engine, then begin driving. Once you’ve built speed over the wings, you launch it in the air.”