Bill tugged on the black canister stuck to the back of his car.  Whatever adhesive it used was powerful stuff, as even a physical specimen like him had a hard time yanking the tracker off the car.  Locking the canister in a vice grip, it wasn’t the glue that gave way but rather the canister itself when it shattered in Bill’s hands.  The exposed guts of the device were left in Bill’s hands.  At just a glance, it was clear that it was a GPS device.  His car had a tag, track, and locate device stuck to it, probably since Homs.


The former SEAL Team Six operator smiled.  So much the better.  It would save him the trouble of tracking the traitor down.  Instead, Deckard would come to him.

With Tiger’s help, they lifted the chemical weapon out of the back of his car.

It was morning by the time Deckard rolled into central Damascus.

He had killed way too much time skirting around several city checkpoints, and now the blue dot on his map had been stationary for half an hour.  They would be preparing the weapon for deployment.  At least now he knew the target area.  The vehicle had stopped smack dab in the middle of the city.  That told Deckard that Bill was still on track for hitting their original target, Umayyad mosque.

The Al-Hamidiyeh market was also nearby, and the deployment of a chemical weapon was likely to kill people in the nearby market as well.  Both targets were central features of life in Damascus with high visibility.  Either target would ensure a high body count, but Deckard was putting his money on Umayyad Mosque since it also carried the religious significance of being the holiest site in Syria and perhaps the fourth holiest site in all of Islam.  Destroying the great mosque of Damascus would almost certainly drag the entire Middle East into a conflagration of death and destruction.

Deckard parked his car several blocks away from where the tracker stopped and moved out on foot.  The streets were already growing busy with people setting out for work in the morning.  While the war raged outside and even within Damascus, the people of the city still had to get up everyday and find a way to earn a living.  He blended in with many of the morning workers as he was still wearing his native garb, even if the clothes were now dirty and torn.  The AK-47, on the other hand had to be concealed.  He folded the buttstock and wrapped the weapon in a towel he found in the backseat.  Extra magazines went into his pockets.