A New World: Conspiracy (2 page)

It’s not long before he is rewarded by
visual images of pack members looking at a lone two-legged standing
on some stairs. He feels first one and then the second pack member
vanish abruptly from his mind, but not before they were able to
send out an alarm. Hundreds of pack members tense and begin running
toward where the one was spotted.

Images filter in of them finding and then
chasing a two-legged up the stairs. From what he can glean, they
are catching up with it fast, and this part of the attack will be
over quickly. Suddenly, his mind is filled with the agony of many
pack members. He can almost hear their screams of suffering – white
hot images of pain. Michael doesn’t know what happened, only that
the pack members giving chase blink out of existence.

These two-leggeds are more dangerous than
I thought
, he thinks as he receives images of Sandra’s pack
members searching the lair.

Images of Sandra enter as she calls others
to bring the two-legged female to her. Michael still can’t figure
out what she is thinking, as if this female can save her or her
pack in some way. The thought that Sandra is using this female as a
lure surfaces again, but that still doesn’t make any sense. She was
in the two-legged lair and could have killed all of them. To
withdraw only to set a trap when she was already there just doesn’t
seem right. A thought occurs that maybe she is just crazy.

Now, that makes more sense
, Michael
thinks as Sandra vanishes once again.

Time passes with only images of pack members
searching through the lair for more of the two-leggeds. Michael
wonders if this was their attempt and, having failed, they are now
giving up. Images surface; running down halls…chasing after sounds.
He can’t ascertain exactly what is going on, but catches fleeting
pictures of hallways and the mental equivalent of the sound of
glass breaking.

The next series of images has him stiffen
and rise abruptly from his sitting position. Sandra, filled with
pain and screaming, “Noooooo!” He feels anguish radiate from her
and catches a visual image of a two-legged one and the female,
hearing the two-legged say, “I warned you that I was coming.” He
senses the image from Sandra begin to fade, but not before he
‘sees’ Sandra answer, “You were mine.” Then…she vanishes.

Amidst the anger rising from the pack
members at her loss, Michael feels his own rage build. It’s not the
loss of Sandra that causes this – that is almost a relief – but it
is because of the loss of one of his own kind to a two-legged. The
very sight causes his rage to build; but so far, he has been able
to control it. It’s still there, and sometimes it threatens to
overwhelm all of his other senses, but he can manage it. Some of it
stems from fear. He has a hard time coming to grips that one of the
two-leggeds can infiltrate a lair like that and kill a pack
leader.

The red-infused images from the remaining
pack members echo in his mind, becoming a single voice of rage.
They may have entered and taken out Sandra, but they won’t escape
the wrath of the pack. Although Michael can’t believe that only one
or a scant few infiltrated a lair as large as Sandra’s, he has to
think this is so. If there were more, they would have been found,
and he would have witnessed the ensuing fight.

The anger coming from the pack blocks out
specific images, but he feels that the pack is close to getting in.
Once that happens, the two-leggeds will be torn apart. He feels his
mouth water at the prospect and wishes he were there to partake in
the rending of flesh, especially flesh and blood so sweet. His
surroundings fade as he slips into their bloodlust.

The rage he feels coming from the pack
changes to confusion. Images filter outward of an empty room with
the body of Sandra lying on the floor amidst overturned chairs.
Fear brings his surroundings back into focus.

Where could the two-leggeds have gone?

Just as quickly, another image forms of
two-leggeds racing down a corridor. How they were able to get out
of the room is beyond him, but they have been spotted, and he
follows the chase through the images sent from the pack. Corners
race by; he feels the eagerness of those nearing the two-leggeds as
the pack closes in. They may have escaped from the room, but they
won’t make it out of the lair.

Several members vanish as the chase
progresses, but, judging from the images, it will soon be over.
White hot agony from a pack member intrudes into his thoughts.
Then, the images of the two-leggeds are gone. Frustration and rage
emanate from the pack. Michael shuts them out. His own anger is
still strong, but beginning to recede. One of his problems, Sandra,
has been taken care of; but his other, the two-leggeds, has
escalated.

If they are capable of this, then they are
much more dangerous than he gave them credit. They must go or he
must move his pack. Both cannot exist in the same place. He feels
deep down that his pack is in more danger than ever. Their very
survival is in question. Now…whether to attack or pull back? As he
stalks back to his place, he ponders what the right answer is.
He’ll need to think about it more. For now, they’ll hunt as they
always have.

As he lays down in an attempt to get some
rest, he opens up and sends out a message to the remaining members
of Sandra’s pack to join him the next night.

Gav, code name Nahmer, crouches next to a
pile of rubble near an intersection. The debris from a partially
fallen wall spills across the sidewalk and out into the street –
most likely caused from a mortar blast or RPG. Looking to her left
and right down the cross streets, she sees nothing moving in the
green glow of her NVGs. More rubble and the burned out husks of
cars sit silently along the edges of a road littered with the
debris of battle; the pockmarked walls attesting to the ferocity
and volume of fire that has been exchanged at this intersection
over time.

This particular location has changed hands
many times and no one is sure who owns it now. But, whoever has it,
it is a sure that it will change hands again. For the time being,
though, it is quiet, which is exactly the way she wants it.
Sporadic gunfire in the distance says that’s not the case
everywhere, some other intersection is being contested. The jagged
shapes of the surrounding buildings are outlined when the night sky
occasionally flashes from a mortar round or RPG striking a target,
the dull roar echoing down the streets seconds later.

Looking behind her, she barely spots the
five others that comprise her team – only visible because she knows
exactly where to look. They are crouched behind vehicles, other
rubble, or peeking around corners of blown out building fronts. All
six members, including her, of her Mossad team were inserted two
days ago near the outskirts of the embattled town. Since then, they
slowly snaked their way to their present location, holing up in
abandoned factories and housing complexes during the day and
skirting observed strongholds at night.

Their mission is the elimination of a group
responsible for the daytime bombing of an outdoor café in
Jerusalem. Intel had placed them deep within a portion of
Hezbollah-controlled territory. Normally, they would verify the
presence of the group and call in a strike, but the higher ups
wanted photo verification that those responsible were dead. Her
thought was that they wanted to cast fear in those who would dare
strike against their small state…that nowhere was safe…that they
would be found and eliminated.

Regardless of the reasons, she has her
mission, and she will carry it out as she has all of her previous
ones: with extreme prejudice. She had earned her moniker while
serving in the Sayeret, and it followed her when she was recruited
into Mossad. It meant ‘panther’ and it resulted from the fact that
she could infiltrate with stealth, complete her mission, and
disappear.

To her, that capability didn’t come from
luck or some form of magic, it was due to her meticulous planning
and training. She thought about every angle and had a counter to
each one prior to stepping onto her transportation. Her team
trained extensively, but not so much where their edge was worn
down. She didn’t want them to lock in to a set series of actions.
Her experience has taught her to be flexible and flow with each
situation. It only looked like a flow from the outside, but it was
running scenarios through her mind time and time again, looking at
every factor, which made the action become instinct. Still,
anything can happen at any time.

A distant flash is followed by rolling
thunder, resounding down the war-torn streets. Adjusting her
silenced Micro Galil, she glances down the streets once more,
concentrating on the irregular outlines of the building’s windows.
Seeing nothing, she rises and darts across the intersection,
settling next to one of the burnt out vehicles. Nothing erupts from
the night that would signal that she has been seen – no shout of
discovery or sudden volley of gunfire.

Gav issues a single command into her radio.
The others of her team rise like ghosts, dash across the street –
their soft-soled boots making almost no noise at all – and fold
into concealed positions. After two days of tense movements,
they’ve crossed the boundary into what is now mostly
Hezbollah-controlled territory. If all goes well, they should make
it to their target’s location and be able to slip out before the
sun rises over this battle-scarred land.

They slink farther into enemy-controlled
territory (of course it became that the moment they crossed the
border), keeping to the darkened entryways and other cover as much
as possible. There isn’t a light that shows in this particular part
of the city. The power lines had been decimated long ago…along with
the water and sewer lines. The sound of a vehicle has each member
folding into cover, merging even more with the darkness. The noise
increases until a pickup truck loaded with figures passes by an
intersection ahead of them. With the sound of the vehicle receding,
they ease out of their positions and continue making their slow way
farther behind lines.

Over time, they advance into the heart of
the city. Some lights glow from windows, and the walls show less
bullet strikes than those near the much fought over edges of
territory. Several times, Gav had to direct them around roving
patrols and intersections guarded by militia carrying AK-47s and
RPGs. At one point, they had to scramble in and hole up in an
abandoned store as one patrol decided to dismount at their
location. The voices and occasional laughter from the patrol
drifted across the street over the sound of distant gunfire. The
wait was so long that Gav thought the patrol was actually barracked
here and her team would have to hole up in the building for another
day. Eventually, the patrol loaded up again and moved on, their
reason for stopping unknown.

Gliding through partially destroyed
buildings, through alleyways, and cautiously yet quickly along main
avenues, Gav and the rest of her team find themselves in what used
to be a shop of some kind after having gained entrance through the
rear. Across the street, at the location given by intelligence, two
people holding AKs stand next to a wooden door leading into a
multi-story building. On the third floor, light shows from several
windows, each covered on the inside by thin cloth. As Gav looks
over the establishment, a silhouette of someone walking by the
windows shows a couple of times.

To her, the guards are an indication that
something or someone important is inside and lends evidence that
their intel is good. She assumes that any back way in would be
equally guarded, but it’s better than going in the front where they
can be more easily spotted.

The roar of a low-flying jet streaking
through the night sounds directly over her. The startled guards
across from her crouch and turn their heads upward, searching and
tense with the possibility that bombs might fall on them. A few
blocks away, two penetrating flashes light up the night sky,
followed by ground-shaking explosions that rock the nearby
buildings. A scattering of dust falls from the ceiling onto the
watching team.

Thirty seconds later, as the noise from the
pair of bombs fades, another jet roars over the roof tops, adding
yet another set of shattering blasts to the area. The lights on the
third floor go out. While still crouching, one of the guards holds
a radio to his ear. A second later, they both turn and rush into
the interior.

“Now’s the time. Across the street and in.
VOX and cameras on. Clear the sides as we go, but we make haste to
the third floor. Everyone is considered a threat and eliminated
immediately. No noise. Let’s go,” Gav says, rising.

Gav and her team emerge from the shop on the
run, widening the gap between them as they go. The chatter of the
distant gunfire has fallen off, but not silenced altogether, as the
night has progressed. Perhaps the munitions, more than likely
delivered by the IAF, has caused everyone to go underground. Or
maybe it’s just quitting time.

She and another of her team quietly rush
across the street, their suppressed barrels focused on the doorway,
two others spread out to the sides concentrating on the windows
overlooking the road, while the remaining two keep their eyes out
down the narrow, debris-covered avenue and behind them. Approaching
the door, they stack against the wall, listening for any
sounds.

A loud voice sounds from the floors above,
but it fades just as quickly. The most important thing is that she
doesn’t hear anything coming from the other side of the thin door
beside her. Her teammate reaches out and, with a nod from her,
pulls the door open. Gav streaks inside, weapon at the ready.

A long, narrow hallway extends the length of
the building with closed doors spaced at intervals along its
length. Wallpaper, torn and peeling, adorns the dirty walls, which
show green through her goggles. Cheap light fixtures are set along
the length, some hanging loosely by wires that barely hold the
lamps up. Most have had their bulbs broken, but a few still seem
functional. More importantly, the hall is clear.