SAS: Duty Calls

Chapter 6

Qatar,  Persian Gulf
09:22

Bravo team sat around in an office building just off the runway at Abu Nakhlah airport in Qatar waiting for intel from the British intelligence department.  Captain Pierce sent in the info from the cargo ships manifest.  The seller was still a mystery.  Who ever it was is covering up their paper trail effectively, but the buyer was one Sarif Al-Salib, a known terrorist operating in the Middle East.
MacDaniels sat at the rooms only table writing in a small journal from his pack.  He shoved the journal in his pack and fixed his eyes on the small flat-screen TV hanging from a swivel wall mount from the ceiling.  Baker and Thompson were playing cards in a corner of the room, while the others were lightly napping on the cushy arm chairs.  Not much else to do except hurry up and wait.  A typical special forces operators down time.
Suddenly the soccer game wich had been playing switched to a foreign news channel.  MacDaniels noticed that his other team members had turned their attention to the TV. 
"What the bloody hell!?"  Baker said, attempting to change the channel, but it was no use.  The same feed was on every channel, so they were forced to watch it.
An Arabic man wearing aviator style sunglasses was speaking.  There was no translator, so nobody in the room understood what he was saying.  The man had a large audience gathered around him, and were cheering something in Arabic.  As he continued his speech he wore a smirk on his face as he spoke.
"Shit... that's Al-Salib.  Thompson said, laying down his cards and giving the TV his full attention.  "I wonder what he's saying?"
"How do you guys know him?  I've never heard of him."  Asked MacDaniels, as he kept watching the man.
"The Bogytr"  Edwards answered from the doorway behind them.  "They have been trying to become the dominant world power, aiming to take the Western Worlds control.  And he's just one of four the UN has been trying to disban for over ten years now."  He told MacDaniels, as he moved the rest of the way into the room and sitting down at the table next to him.
From behind Al-Asad, two more Arabic men were dragging a third who was bound at the wrists and wearing a blind fold.
Edwards stood up.  "Bloody hell, thats the Iranian President!  Cap... get in here mate!"  He hollered into the next room.  "Your gonna want to see this!"
Captain Pierce stuck his head around the doorway.
The bound man's face was beaten up and he was dragged toward a stake that was driven in the ground in the middle of the town square.  Roughly Al-Salib's men tied the President to the stake.  The fear in the man's face was clearly visible.  The crown cheering around him loudly.  In the corner of the screen Al-Salib pulled a Desert Eagle .45 from the back of his waistband.  He looked directly into the camera.  "This is only the beginning."
What happened next was the most brutal thing any of them had ever witnessed on TV.  Al-Salib pointed the gun point blank at the Presidents head.  The bound man began visibly shaking from head to foot, mumbling rapidly in Arabic.  More than likely praying.  Al-Salib pulled the trigger, spraying blood behind him in an arc.  Al-Salib then turned back to the camera and smirked again, then it went to static as the feed was cut off.
No one moved or said a word after what they had just witnessed.
From the news-feed the team was able to identify not only Al-Salib, but the man executed for the entire world to see was Iranian President Al-Fulani.  Which made their location just outside the Capitol building in Tehran. 
After getting in touch with General Dunham and British Intelligence, Pierce found out that the US had stepped up, sending a Marine Force Recon team into the Capitol from Baghdad.  There was nothing that could be done for President Al-Fulani anymore, but their mission was a go to take out Al-Salib.
"Ok gentlemen... We can not do anything for the Iranian president, the US has a Marine unit inroute to Tehran.  But I have just been notified by Intel that our informant Christov has been discovered and captured by none other than Iman Petrov.  Ex-Russian Army General turned black-arms dealer.  Christov had gotten off one last message to the intel department before he was taken prisoner.  Petrov has supplied Al-Salib with an ICBM (intercontinental ballistic missile)."
Lieutenant Edwards cursed from his spot at the table.  "Al-Salib has a range of 5,500 kilometers with that bloody thing!  And I thought Petrov was dead.  By your hands, is the story, Sir!"
Pierce nodded, looking grave.  "Yes... Myself and former commander had a mission to Pripyat back in '96.  We had a chance not only to get Petrov, which I did.  But... the round only hit the man in the left shoulder, causing Al-Salib to escape.  And now we discover that Petrov some how made it out alive.  We truely thought we had got him, at least putting him out of commission.  Damn!!"
"What about Christov Captain?"  Edwards asked.
"Christov was discovered and taken prisoner at one of Petrov's camps in a remote part of Russia.  Intel is working on it."  Pierce told them as he moved over to the small window looking out over the airport tarmac.  Then continued, "Christov has been feedidng us intel for the past three years.  He was the one who was responsible for feeding us the intel on the Sevmorput and uncovering that Petrov is behind all of it.  The bastard has been suppling these damn terrorist groups with all their fun toys.  We knew, or at least had an idea that Al-Salib was part of a group Petrov called the Bogytr, or 'The Russian Knights' as he liked to call them."
"What does all this mean?  What are his long term plans?  Do we know Captain?"  MacDaniels asked.
It was Edwards who answered.  "He plans on taking over Russia.  He has this crazy vision of becoming like a King of a 'New Soviet Empire."
"Exactly... And gentlemen.  I can speak for the world when I say we will stop at nothing to stop it.  And we're gonna start by rescuing Christov."  Pierce said, still looking out the window.  "And... we will walk him right out the front door.  Intel shows him being held at a camp in the Causcasus mountains in Russia.  Let's move gentlemen."
With that the team all stood up, slinging their load-outs over their shoulders and filing out of the room.