A Cold Day In Mosul (29 page)

"Switching cars again?" Ethan said.

"It's possible."

Ethan halted two kilometers outside the village.

Sam raised an expectant hand. "Binocs?" William handed over the Zeiss and she peered into the lenses. "Move the car forward just a tad."

Ethan complied. William shifted in the backseat, likely preparing the Hornet.

"Stop," Sam said.

Ethan braked, and placed the car into park once more. Then he waited.

"What do you see?" Doug said after several seconds.

"I've spotted him," Sam said. "He's walking toward the building—I think it's a mosque. There's no fence. I can see everything. There are a bunch of other vehicles, mostly SUVs, parked around it under the trees. But it's not even close to prayer time."

"Is the courier approaching any of the vehicles?" Doug said.

"No," Sam answered. "He's ignoring them. He's climbing the steps, heading straight inside the mosque."

"Relaying the message to another courier within?" William mused.

"It's possible," Sam said. "But if that were the case, why so many other vehicles at this hour? Wait... I just spotted two mujahadeen, guarding the entrance to the mosque." The excitement was obvious in her voice. "I think we have Afri."

"Should I send in the Hornet?" William asked.

"No. I've seen everything I need. I'm calling in the airstrike. Ethan, some distance would be nice."

Ethan turned the vehicle around while Sam made the call.

When he had driven a klick from his previous position he halted.

Four minutes later the village lit up in the rearview mirror. The ground rumbled and the road shook as multiple bombs wiped the place from the map.

Ethan truly hoped there hadn't been any innocents in that village; he couldn't help but think of the burning boy in that moment. Nothing had changed.

No
, Ethan told himself.
Things
are
different. Don't second guess yourself. There were no innocents in that village. We did good today. Struck down a bastion of evil.

We did good.

"So it's done," William said, gazing at the incredible plume of smoke rising from the site. He sounded extremely weary. "We took out the acting leader of IS."

"Should bomb Al-Maliki, too," Doug muttered.

Under the auspices of the US, Nouri Al-Maliki had been the president of Iraq from 2006 to 2014. In 2011, when his deputy prime minister complained on CNN that Maliki was a dictator and his entire government was the puppet of Iran, Al-Maliki, a Shia, had famously cracked down on Sunni politicians, issuing arrest warrants for Sunni members of his own cabinet, including the deputy prime minister. These actions fueled Sunni resentment against the government and arguably helped the Islamic State rise. Al-Maliki had been forced to step down in August 2014, though he was currently one of the three acting vice presidents of Iraq.

"Yes, well, it won't make much of a difference now will it?" Sam said. "The damage Al-Maliki has caused can't be undone." She glanced at the destroyed city. "Get the Hornet in the air, William. I want some video evidence from the ground."

"Won't be able to see much through all that smoke." William inserted a fresh battery into the drone.

"That's fine. I don't care so much about the visuals—I simply want proof that we were actually here."

"When will we have confirmation on Afri?" Ethan said.

"HQ will be monitoring the radio chatter over the next few days. If it picks up, we'll know we got him. The Shura council will be scrambling to choose someone to replace him."

"I thought the leadership elements don't like the radios," William said.

"In times of crisis they like them," Sam told him. "Believe me. In the meantime, the remote operators will keep the Predator overhead, monitoring the site over the next few days in case anyone tries to dig him out."

"And what happens if someone shows up?" Ethan said.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

William completed his pass and landed the Hornet outside Doug's door.

Doug retrieved it. "Still can't believe this thing costs north of a hundred grand. I can get a Ladybird V2 for a hundred bucks at Radio Shack. Fits in the palm of my hand. Records video. Flies great."

"And what's the range on it?" William said.

"Okay, you got me there."

"How about the noise profile? Can it fly in wind? And can the radio signal pass through walls?"

"Fine, fine. But still, that doesn't justify the Hornet's price tag. You know I'm right."

"Low sales volumes drive prices up," William said with a shrug. "Especially for custom-made crap."

"So you admit it's crap?" Doug said.

"Ethan," Sam interrupted. She was typing away. "Let's move. I'm arranging an extract. The four of us will be out of Iraq by nightfall."

"Do we have a location yet?" Ethan said, unable to hide the relief from his voice.

"I'll let you know the details once I have confirmation. For now, simply head back the way we came."

Ethan eagerly drove down the compacted-sand road.

It truly felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

The mission was done.

All that was left was to get out alive.

thirty-one

E
than drove eastward on the sand road, making his way back toward the distant highway. He passed the tiny mud brick villages along the way, however the camel train and its grizzled Iraqi driver were nowhere to be found. The dreary moonscape showed no signs of letting up.

"Just got confirmation on the extract," Sam said.

William leaned forward, eagerly squeezing his head between the two front seats. "Do tell."

"Get your rear out of my face," Doug said from the backseat.

William shifted, probably after receiving a few solid punches in the backside from Doug, but otherwise remained in place.

"Helos won't get clearance to land anywhere inside Islamic State territory, so we have to travel past the Eastern Front into Kurdistan." Sam showed the planned route on her laptop. "The closest IS village to the Eastern Front, yet not part of the battle, is here." She pointed out the location. "We'll hole up near there until nightfall, then proceed on foot through the hilly countryside. Members of the extract team will rendezvous with us halfway. They'll be riding ATVs."

"How are they going to get past the Eastern Front?" William asked. His head still poked between the two front seats.

"It's a long, porous front," Sam said. "The Islamic State can't be everywhere at once. If trouble arises, they'll simply call in an airstrike."

"Ah, the time-honored airstrike," William said sarcastically. "The panacea for all our problems."

"Hate to throw a wrench in the machine..." Ethan said.

Sam turned toward him. "What's the problem now?"

"It's not a big problem. Not yet anyway. We have a quarter of a tank left. Probably should refuel the next chance we get."

"What?" William pressed against the side of Ethan's seat, probably repositioning himself for a better view of the fuel gauge. "We were three-quarters full earlier. These Accents are supposed to give some serious mileage on the gallon."

"The new ones, maybe," Ethan said. "The twenty-year-old clunkers, not so much. And driving at twice the speed limit like we've been doing hasn't helped the fuel situation much."

"We should be able to refuel at the next big village," Sam said. "If I recall, there was an Iraqi seated by the road with a red jerrycan."

"I didn't see him," Ethan said.

"He was there," Sam insisted. "You didn't see him because you took a side road a block away."

"All right. Let's hope he hasn't gone for lunch, then."

"You're talking about the village where the courier stopped earlier?" Doug said. "The place with the fake palm tree estate?"

"That's the one."

Ethan reached the larger village shortly and the other operatives lowered their veils. Sam guided him to the side street where she'd seen the gas vendor. Sure enough an Iraqi was sitting there with a red jerrycan.

The man stood as Ethan pulled the Accent in front of him.

"
Banzeen?
" The Iraqi spoke the word for petrol. He had such a deep tan that his wrinkled skin appeared nearly black.

"
Li
, banzeen," Ethan said.

"How much?"

"Full," Ethan answered.

"Fifty dollars," the man proclaimed.

"
US
dollars?" Ethan said in disbelief.

"Yes."

He glanced at Sam. She shook her head imperceptibly. "Twenty," she said softly. "It's all we have."

"Twenty," Ethan told the vendor.

"Then I will fill you up with twenty dollars worth," the man said matter-of-factly.

Sam gave Ethan the money and he paid the man. Ethan popped the fuel cover and waited.

While the Iraqi poured fuel into the vehicle, Ethan regarded the surrounding mud brick homes suspiciously. He didn't see anyone in the darkened windows, but he activated his Hytera radio anyway, worried that there might be Islamic State spotters out there. He turned up the volume and hit the scan button. No hits. He left the radio in scan mode.

He heard the thud as the Accent's fuel flap closed and a moment later the man rapped his knuckles on the rear window.

Ethan started the vehicle and glanced at the fuel gauge. Three-quarters full.

"Shukran," Ethan told the man before driving off.

He couldn't have known that the Iraqi made a quick transmission shortly afterward, a broadcast that the scanning function of Ethan's radio missed.

* * *

The break Dmitri had been waiting for had finally come. He was on the Baghdad-Mosul highway, about one hundred fifty kilometers south of Mosul, when his satphone rang. He extended the thick antenna and clicked the receive button.

It was Victor.

"A spotter just reported three women and a man riding in a beat-up Accent," his boss reported. That matched the description given to them by the carjacked Iraqi. "In a tiny Al Hadar village three hours southwest of Mosul. They were headed northeast. He also says there was a plume of smoke in the distance behind them, as if some great conflagration raged."

"Send me the GPS coordinates," Dmitri said.

Victor did so, and Dmitri compared the location to his own. It wasn't all that far. Roughly fifty kilometers behind them. It seemed that Dmitri had overshot his prey.

"Turn around," he commanded his driver, Pyotr.

The lieutenant obeyed without question, doing a U-turn and crossing over the median into the northbound lanes. The rest of the small convoy did the same as the order was passed down the line.

He examined the map. She was headed northeast, Victor said. Did she intend to cross the Tigris and flee toward Kurdistan? The closest pair of bridges to her location were at Shirqat; the next nearest bridge was in Qayara City, some distance north.

"I want the Qayara and Shirqat Bridges shut down," Dmitri said.

"I've already sent messages for the spotters to relay. If she tries to cross any of the bridges, your Widow will find herself in Islamic State custody."

Dmitri smiled grimly. Somehow he doubted the Widow would be so easily captured.

"Keep me apprised," he told Victor.

Dmitri hung up the satphone. He ordered his driver Pyotr to increase the speed of the Ural. The Humvees that made up his escort did likewise. When he glanced in the right side mirror he could see them strung out behind him, spaced roughly two hundred meters apart. The vehicles traveled like that to avoid the wrath of any passing bombers.

He missed the days when he could merely call up the view from a Russian spy satellite on his laptop and track his target directly. Having to rely upon crude, rustic spotters irritated him. But there was nothing for it.

He thought about something the spotter had reported: the plume of smoke in the distance behind the Accent. It was the Widow's doing, of course. Had she succeeded in her objective?

A half hour later Victor called again. "I have news."

"What?" Dmitri said impatiently.

"A vehicle containing a man and three women was just seen by one of our spotters in a village east of the Tigris, heading toward Kurdistan. They were driving a beige Sonata. Of course, the guards at the bridges did not see this Sonata, or the Accent."

"It's her," Dmitri said. He was expecting the Widow to switch vehicles again. "Coordinates?"

Victor sent the GPS location.

Dmitri checked the map on his laptop. Yes, it looked like the Black Widow was definitely headed toward Kurdistan and out of Islamic State territory. She wouldn't be leaving unless she had completed her mission. That was her way.

She
had
assassinated Abu Afri, then. Or she believed she had. If it was true, then a shake-up was coming. Over the next week, as members of the Shura council assumed new positions in the senior leadership hierarchy, priorities would be shifted. Dmitri's days contracting to the Islamic State were likely numbered, especially considering his failure to stop the threat to the regime in time.

It didn't matter. There was only one more task he cared to complete in the region.

He calculated the distance from his current location to the new GPS coordinates. Down to forty kilometers.

"Are you still there?" Victor said over the line.

"Are there any Islamic State barracks along their route?" Dmitri said into the satphone.

"Yes," Victor returned. "A village fifty kilometers east of their position. Here." Victor sent the coordinates.

"Have the barracks muster and order them to intercept the vehicle. Preferably at another village closer to the target."

"I can arrange this, yes," Victor returned. "There is another village twenty kilometers west of the barracks. It should prove suitable for a blockade."

Dmitri saw it on the map. "Good."

Grinning fiercely, he hung up the phone.

"Faster," he told Pyotr, though he knew his lieutenant already had the accelerator floored.