Chapter 47
Ziad grabbed a rifle from a pile of weapons and supplies near the door and slung it over his back. He walked to the cave entrance and climbed on the aforementioned motorcycle. He kicked up the stand and turned it.
He revved the engine.
"Let's do this shit."
Ziad gunned it out of the cave and down the bumpy gravel road down the mountain.
In the distance he could see a large cloud of dust indicating the position of Osama bin Laden's truck.
Ziad sped after them.
Colonel Venter peered through his night-vision goggles at the cave entrance. Nothing was moving.
"Looks clear." he whispered to his second in command.
Shlomi approached the group.
"Colonel, I think the Chinese are moving up the valley! We should get out of here, unless you want to spark a pretty serious international incident."
"No Chinese commander would ever believe they killed South Africans. We're safe." said Venter.
"Not worth the risk, Venter." said Shlomi forcefully.
Colonel Venter flipped up his NVGs and turned on Shlomi.
"Oy bru... Why don't you shut your fokken mouth, eh? This is my operation, not yours."
Venter gestured for his commandos to follow him up the path to the cave, rifles held ready. They silently approached the entrance. One commando tossed a flashbang grenade through the entrance.
BANG
The commandos expertly rushed into the cave, rifles aimed at all possible vectors of attack.
Shlomi carefully entered after them.
Colonel Venter stood at the center.
"Oh, shit..." he muttered.
The cave was empty save for a few boxes of ammunition and food and a handful of rifles.
"Search the cave. I want every rock and piece of dirt turned over!" shouted Venter. "Find the nukes or we're right screwed!"
Ziad weaved in and out of the traffic that sped down the highway into Ürümqi. The terrorist's truck was several cars ahead and speeding past the civilian cars that crowded the highway. Night had fallen during the chase, and the lights of the highway vehicles created eerie splashes of color.
Ziad was gaining on the terrorists, finally. The traffic was thickening as the city got closer, which meant the truck was beginning to be boxed in. Ziad now had the advantage.
He weaved between the slowing cars and pulled up behind the truck, which had a green canvas cover that prevented Ziad from seeing the occupants or contents.
No matter.
He slung the rifle around to his front and rested the barrel on the handlebars, pointing to the side.
Ziad gunned the motor and sped into the precariously narrow space between the truck's cab and the car to its left.
He angled the rifle up towards the door of the truck. Osama bin Laden was sitting at the wheel, squinting out into the darkness. He heard the roar of the motorcycle next to him, glanced down.
Ziad saw him mouth the words, "Oh, son of a -"
Ziad squeezed the trigger. The night lit up with the muzzle-flash, and the door window shattered. The truck's cab was splattered with blood and flesh.
He emptied the rifle into the door before hitting the breaks and slowing down as the truck swerved across several lanes of traffic, blasting through civilian cars and finally careening off into the ditch beside the highway.
"There's nothing here, Venter. We need to leave now." Shlomi insisted.
Venter angrily turned on Shlomi.
"Look, you little piece of shit! You speak up one more fokken time and I swear I will blow your little head-"
What Colonel Venter was going to do to Shlomi was rudely interrupted by a heavily accented voice from the cave entrance.
"Drop your weapons! Hands in the air, now!"
Shlomi dropped his rifle and put his hands in the air.
"Told you," he muttered to Venter.
"Oh, shut it."
Shlomi turned around and faced the entrance, where he was temporarily blinded by the light coming from a dozen or so flashlights.
When his eyes adjusted to the glare he saw clearly that the flashlights were mounted on assault rifles.
More specifically, QBZ-95 assault rifles, the standard issue rifle for the People's Liberation Army.
"Fuck, it's the Chinese," he muttered. "This won't end well."
Ziad pulled the motorcycle over to the side of the highway and put down the kickstand. Most of the cars on the highway had stopped and scared civilians were climbing out of their vehicles and trying to figure out what the hell was going down.
Ziad reloaded his rifle and approached the wrecked truck.
A bearded man, blood dripping down his face crawled out of the back. He glanced up and saw Ziad approaching. Ziad shot him once in the head.
The gunshot caused screams and panic to erupt in the gathering crowd of Chinese civilians.
Ziad through back the canvas cover to the cargo area and stared inside. All the terrorists were jumbled up with the heavy boxes carrying the nukes. Blood was smeared and dripping everywhere. Several groans escaped from the dying terrorists.
Ziad turned away and approached the cab. It was completely crushed and destroyed. Blood and liquified flesh leaked out and joined the motor oil and gasoline that was slowly turning the dust at the bottom of the ditch into mud.
Shlomi and the commandos where rounded up and cuffed, then stuffed into the back of several large military trucks.
"Why aren't they asking us any questions?" muttered Colonel Venter to Shlomi.
"That's not their job. The Chinese soldiers aren't who scare me," Shlomi replied, "It's the Nice Men who await us at their base that scare me. Those are the guys like me. We're not really nice people."
Venter glanced questioningly at Shlomi.
"People like you? Washed up soldiers turned diplomats?"
Shlomi chuckled.
"You think I'm just a diplomat? Ha. Please. I may be younger than you, Colonel, but I've spent every waking hour of my life since I was seventeen fighting the enemies of Israel. Enemies, I might add, who are perpetually creative and fanatic and always well funded, trained, and equipped by the Saudis, Iranians, or Pakistanis. I moved on from the army to fight not with weapons but with information, pointed questions, and the proper application of pain to those who require it."
"And who required it?"
"Quite a lot of people, actually. Mostly Hezbollah operatives, the occasional PLO guy, and more Iranian Revolutionary Guards officers than I'm allowed to say."
"Oh."
"Yeah."
Venter still looked curious.
"Well, were you good at your job?" he asked.
The truck came to a sudden stop.
"Well, I guess we're there." said Venter.
Shlomi watched the two guards at the back of the truck. They looked worried and talked quietly to each other in cautious tones.
"No, I don't think so." he said. "And to answer your question: yes, I am good at what I do."
Shlomi held up his hands, which were no longer cuffed.
"How did you..." Venter asked wonderingly.
"I told you- I'm good at my job."
The two Chinese soldiers at the back suddenly noticed that Shlomi was free. One raised his rifle, but too late, as Shlomi grabbed the barrel and wrenched it from the soldier's grip. He quickly spun it around and put two bullets into the man's chest before turning around and killing the other guard.
Suddenly a hail of gunshots split the night outside the truck, and Shlomi heard screams, shouts, and return fire.
"Interesting..." he muttered.
The shooting stopped suddenly. The sound of brass bullet casings hitting concrete echoed in the eerie silence.
Shlomi gripped the rifle tightly and aimed it at the back entrance of the truck.
The sound of boots tapping on concrete slowly approached the door.
The handle slowly turned.
Shlomi tensed-
The door swung open-
Shlomi let loose a burst of fire.
There was nothing outside.
"You bastard! You could have killed me you daft fool!" a voice shouted in Arabic.
"Son of a bitch! We thought you were dead!" Shlomi shouted back in English.
"Yeah, well, no thanks to you! You pushed me out of the damn airplane!" the voice shouted back.
"I thought it was pretty funny!"
"Well, I didn't," responded the voice.
Shlomi stepped outside and was greeted by the grinning face of Ziad. Ziad's face was streaked with dirt and generally filthy, and his camouflage uniform was absolutely covered in dirt and dust.
"Looks like you had fun," commented Shlomi.
"Oh, loads of it. I killed my dad, Osama bin Laden, and all their terrorists. And the nukes are in that truck over there."
"Cool."
Ziad waited.
"That's it?" he asked.
"What do you mean?" said Shlomi.
"I tell you I killed my dad and Osama bin Laden and recovered the stolen nuclear bombs you reply with 'cool?'"
"Yeah."
Ziad stared at Shlomi for a minute.
"Fair enough," he shrugged.
An angry voice interrupted their reunion.
"Hey assholes! We're still handcuffed in here!"
"Oh, right."
Colonel Venter stared at the nuclear bombs arranged in front of him.
Thirty large cylinders with South African flags stenciled on the sides of their casings.
"This isn't good..." muttered Venter.
"What isn't good?" asked Shlomi, "When you say that, in this context? Yeah, that's not comforting."
"The bombs are on a time detonator. See, here on the top of their casing? A little timer has been attached on all of them."
Indeed, a small timer had been screwed on to each and every bomb, with small red numbers slowly counting down.
"Five hours left, eh?" said Shlomi.
"Yup."
"Fuck."
"You said it."
Ziad was sitting down on a large rock, thinking.
"It isn't enough time to get an airplane and fly them back to South Africa to be defused, and none of us have the expertise to defuse a timer of this level of sophistication." said Colonel Venter, panic slowly creeping into his usually stony voice.
Ziad sat up suddenly.
"I have a plan!"
Shlomi closed his eyes and let out a forceful sigh of regret.
"Yeah. I suppose we have to." he said quietly.
"It's the only way, after all." said Ziad.
"Ok. Do it."
Colonel Venter looked incredibly confused, as did the rest of the commandos.
"What in God's name are you two talking about?"
Ziad sighed and fished around in his pockets before pulling out a small stick.
"I'm gonna need a piece of rope..."