Sword of God(96)

Nowadays, Jeddah is the commercial center of Saudi Arabia, anchored by a sprawling seaport that sits on the Red Sea and handles the majority of the country’s shipping. Barges, tankers, and ships of all sizes filled the blue water, but on this day the U.S. military was more concerned with the buildings that surrounded the harbor.

While flying to Jeddah, Payne and Jones studied satellite images of the terrain, focusing on four warehouses owned and operated by Omar Abdul-Khaliq. An advance team that was already in the city on another mission had located the suspects from the photographs and secured the immediate area while they waited for Payne and Jones to arrive. Their chopper landed on one of the port’s helipads, less than a mile from the site, where a young soldier met them and briefed them en route.

“The suspects are in warehouse twenty-nine,” he said, pointing to a detailed map. “Multiple points of entry. Minimal security. Right now they’re loading cargo into a shipping vault.”

“Cargo?” Payne asked, hoping it was the artifact from Mecca.

“Can’t tell what it is, sir. It’s boxed up in a large crate. Must be important, though.”

“Why do you say that?”

“The old guy keeps yelling at them.”

“What old guy?”

“Sorry, sir. I should’ve mentioned him. There are five men in total. Four suspects and some old guy who’s bossing them around. We’ve been calling him the sheik.”

“The sheik?”

“Yes, sir. Because he looks like a sheik.”

“Creative name,” Jones said sarcastically.

“Thank you, sir.”

Payne glanced at Jones. “Would Omar would be dumb enough to be here himself?”

Jones shrugged. “According to Shari, the cargo would be invaluable to the Islamic world. So who knows? If Omar wanted to see it or doesn’t trust the guards, he might’ve made the trip.”

“Seems kind of stupid to me. Why would he risk it?”

“Hey,” Jones said, “the same could be said about us. We’re supposed to be retired.”

“Good point.” Payne smiled as he refocused on the soldier. “Do your men understand the parameters of this assault?”

“Yes, sir. The suspects are wanted for questioning. Nonlethal force unless necessary.”

“Be extra careful with the sheik. We want him alive.”

“Understood, sir. I’ll stress it to my men.” Payne nodded. “What do you have for transport?” The soldier pointed at the map. “Our boat is waiting in the harbor. On my signal, he’ll make his approach along this channel and stop at this dock. If all goes smoothly, we’ll load the boat in five minutes. After that, we’re off to international waters.”

“Can you handle some extra weight?”

“Why, sir? Are you thinking of joining us?”

Payne shook his head. “I was referring to the cargo. We want to take that as well.”



The assault started with a flashbang, a nonlethal grenade that was commonly used in hostage retrieval. No shrapnel. No toxic gas. Just a flash of light that was so bright it activated all of the photosensitive cells in the suspects’ retinas, blinding them for several seconds. Couple that with a blast that was so deafening it disrupted the fluid in their inner ears, and they had no chance to fight back. One moment they were standing; the next they were falling to the ground in agony.

Temporarily blind and completely disoriented.

Soldiers breached the warehouse from multiple angles, swarming the suspects before they had a chance to recover. Within seconds they were bound and gagged and ready for transport. Payne and Jones studied their faces, making sure they had everyone in their grasp. Four guards in total, including the one who had assaulted Shari.

“Let me break his nose,” said Jones, who was only half joking.

Payne shook his head, realizing that the guards would be roughed up worse than that once Harrington’s men started interrogating them. Early in his career, Payne had asked one of his commanders what would happen to a prisoner they had just captured, and his response was one that always stuck with him.

He’s going to be beaten until he starts leaking answers.

For some reason, that expression seemed to fit.

Next, Payne turned his attention to the old guy. It was, in fact, Omar Abdul-Khaliq.

He did not look very happy.

Like the soldiers had mentioned, he looked like a stereotypical sheik—though not nearly as dignified, since he was hog-tied on the floor. Payne wanted to ask him why he was there. Why he was dumb enough to give up the sanctuary of his oil business, which made him off-limits to some American politicians, to supervise the shipment of an artifact that had been stolen during a terrorist attack.