Free Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut by Eric Meyer

massively enhanced if he realized how much agony and suffering he’d caused her.
    But when I kill him, he’s just earned a ticket to even more agony, a thousand times more.
    She saw the repulsive Arab grinning at her.
    “I guess you would be a good fuck, whore. A pity I’m saving you for the Saudi, we could have had some fun. Then again, I guess you could suck me off. That wouldn’t make any difference to the deal. How about it? I’ll loosen your ropes and give you some water as payment. Maybe some food, if you're good."
    She didn’t reply.
    Who is this Saudi?
    She conjured up an image of some fat, bloated Arab, only able to become aroused by inflicting cruelty on defenseless females.
    Perhaps I’ll kill him, too.
    He glared at her for a few moments, impatient for an answer. When she was still silent, he jumped to his feet, his expression even more hostile.
    “Nothing to say, whore? You can stay as you are. Hey, what's that?" He'd caught a glimpse of her gold cross hanging around her neck; "I'll take that as a down payment."
    He snatched it greedily from her, breaking the chain. He examined it and nodded contentedly. He sneered. "It'll do for now, but you'll regret not being more friendly. The sun will be up shortly, and this truck will become an oven. Have fun, whore.”
    He exited the truck and slammed the door shut. She shouted a silent shout inside her mind, a terrifying, blood-chilling cry that welled up from deep inside her. A shout of terrible pain and rage. A searing scream that pronounced his death sentence, over and over, echoing across the invisible unknown.

    * * *

    Abruptly, a white-hot pain knifed through him, but it was inside his head, inside his mind, almost like someone had screamed into his ear. He put his hand up to check for a wound, but there was nothing. He knew there’d be nothing, at least on the outside. But deep down, someone had cried out to him, cried out in agony and despair. Not just anyone.
    You’re alive! I know you’re hurting, but hang in there. I’m coming.
    “You okay, Boss?" Guy looked concerned, "Someone just walk over your grave?”
    He shook his head. “I’m fine, just a slight headache. It’s nothing. I'm going into the city to locate one of these Hezbollah guys, someone who can point us toward the hostages.” He held up his hand as Guy began to object, “I’ll take one man with me. Any more would be too obvious. Stay here with the rest of the men. If I need you, I’ll call.”
    They argued, but Guy knew he was right. A unit of twenty men moving into the most heavily defended building in Beirut wasn’t an option. It was a job for stealth. In the end, he took Heinrich Buchmann; the big German was almost a one-man fireteam. After a great deal of soul-searching, Goldstein agreed to drive them to the lair of Hezbollah.
      Talley took a last look around before he left, to make sure his unit was in a good defensive position, but he needn't have worried. Guy had positioned snipers up on the top of the stadium, and Minimi machine guns to cover the approaches. Goldstein had an old vehicle, a Volkswagen minibus, and they piled into it for the short journey into the city.
    Dawn was breaking as they drove through the streets, and he noticed increasing numbers of armed men wandering around, guarding against any attack by rival factions. It was difficult to make out who belonged to which group. Hezbollah adherents, of course, sported beards, the so-called beard of the Prophet. In general, the Christians were clean-shaven, although not all, and the Druze fell somewhere in the middle. Then there were other groups with no religious affiliation, just local people trying to maintain some sanity in the midst of the bitter religious infighting.
    The VW rattled and bumped over the poorly maintained streets. Goldstein seemed to have an instinct for avoiding the roadblocks, and when Talley asked him about it, he looked amused.
    "Living here, it's something you need to learn if you want