JET - Ops Files by Russell Blake Read Free Book Online

manicured, hair perfectly groomed, and countenances radiating good-natured prosperity.
    Two box vans turned the corner off of Middle Road and neared the synagogue at a moderate pace, their presence attracting no attention. Both rolled to a stop in front of the open gates, and the back doors swung open. The mayor looked up from his notes just as a dozen armed gunmen wearing balaclavas spilled onto the pavement, toting Kalashnikov assault rifles.
    The bodyguards reacted instantly, drawing pistols and opening fire as the dignitaries took shelter in the safety of the building. Three of the guards near the SUVs swung MTAR-21 bullpup automatic rifles from beneath their jackets and blasted volleys at the running attackers, cutting them down with high-velocity rounds as the terrorists mounted a confused offensive.
    One of the SUV drivers reversed down the drive, wedging the armor-plated vehicle squarely between the dignitaries and the shooters and providing cover for the defending guards, all battle-hardened veterans with combat experience. Their organized, methodical defense stopped the attackers cold, and within a minute, seven of the terrorists lay dying on the pavement and the rest were beating a retreat to the vans, already riddled with bullets, several of their tires flattened from defending fire.
    A masked gunman hurled a grenade in a last-ditch effort to cause some real damage, but it fell short and rolled beneath the armored SUV. When it exploded, the force of the blast rocked the vehicle and shattered the windows. More shooting pummeled the vans as the surviving attackers leapt into the backs. The vehicles tore off, trailing oil and sparks, strips of tire flying as they ran on their rims.
    The perspiring driver of the lead van cursed and placed a call on his cell phone as he aimed for the alley that was their escape route. Wira answered on the second ring.
    “Yes?”
    “It failed. They were heavily armed. Professional. The intelligence was wrong.”
    “How bad?”
    “We lost most of the men. We’ll be lucky if we make it out of here. I hear sirens.”
    “Damn.” Wira paused. “Do what you must. Go with Allah.”
    The driver disconnected, understanding that he had just been sentenced to death if he couldn’t get to the rendezvous point safely. It didn’t bother him. He’d long been prepared for the eventuality, although he hadn’t expected it to happen that morning. Still, everyone had to die sometime, and today was as good a day as any to go to his reward.
    A police cruiser swerved out of a side street and accelerated behind the vans. Its lights blinked and siren blared as it fishtailed and then regained control. An amplified voice boomed over the car’s public address system and ordered the vans to stop. The driver glanced at the pistol on the seat beside him and nodded. He would need to remember to count his shots so he could save the final bullet for himself.
    Another cruiser joined the pursuit, and the driver floored the accelerator as the men in the cargo area fired at the police through the open rear doors. He knew it was hopeless, but he would lead them on a merry chase and cause as much damage as possible if today was to be his final one. An officer leaned out of the passenger side of the police car and fired a 12-gauge riot gun with double-aught buckshot as a series of white starbursts dotted the squad car’s windshield. The policeman’s second shot blew out the remaining rear tire, and the van lost control as it tried to make the turn onto a larger boulevard, flipping over three times before coming to rest in a pool of fuel.
    The lead van driver accelerated now that he was on a larger street, and felt a brief glimmer of hope before another cruiser darted from a side street in front of him and blocked his way. He uttered a silent prayer and pointed the wheel squarely at the side of the car, and then he flew through the air as the hood crumpled on impact, ejected headfirst through the vaporized