The Minders (23 page)

On his way out, an analyst stopped him with yet another bulletin report. He looked at the printed page and saw a picture of Bobby sitting at a table. He read the details and knew immediately that it would be a long night. He sat back in his chair, calling in Ali Najafi, the project manager responsible for Bobby, ordering him and a dozen agents back to duty. There had been a photo-verified sighting of Bobby, with an unknown subject, near the Iraq border.

Rezadad called the Revolutionary Guards’ 5
th
Division, stationed in
Tabriz
, to send a patrol to
Piranshahr
ASAP, faxing them clear photos of Bobby and the photo sent to them on the tip line. Within the hour, the military patrol was on the road and four hours out. Rezadad then dispatched Najafi and the agents to be on the ground in
Piranshahr
immediately.

Najafi scheduled a flight putting them there before the military patrol, landing at the municipal airfield near
Piranshahr
. They called the
Piranshahr
police station, receiving no responses, very typical of outlier police stations, minimal service, lazy and corrupt. Rezadad knew that the fugitives were making a run for the border. Once at the airfield, the agents would have to wait for the military patrol to pick them up and escort them into town, strength in numbers and the best way to squash local politics and corruption.

*  *  *

It was dawn. You could hear calls to prayer all around
Piranshahr
. Bobby was just waking up. Jason was wide-awake, thinking, planning, keeping watch. He had a firm grip on his handgun, hidden under the blanket, pointed at the door. He only slept an hour, taking catnaps here and there. There was a quiet knock on the door. One of the innkeeper’s sons came in telling Jason, and the slowly awakening Bobby, that everyone was getting ready for prayers in the living room. It was a subtle invitation.

Bobby and Jason looked at each other. “Well.” Jason said kicking at Bobby’s feet. “Get up and go do your prayers.”

Bobby got up and started for the door. “I’m going to tell them you’re a Jew.” He whispered with a smile as he left the room.

In the living room, Bobby knelt down over a large water basin for
ābdast,
the ritual washing steps before prayer. They then invited him to stand by the host. Next to him were the elder’s two boys and, behind them, the wife and daughter. The Kurds began their prayers, reciting their
Surah’s
, with a slight gaze now and again checking on Bobby. Bobby performed flawlessly.

After prayers, the men went to the kitchen, sitting on the carpet around a table setting. The wife and daughter served them breakfast, rushing around serving tea, all the while eating their own food standing by the stove. Jason joined them halfway through breakfast.

“Please sit and join us,” the innkeeper asked.

“Thank you,” Jason said. He then apologized for missing prayers.

“I am very tired and have been traveling for days. I combined my prayers into two
rakaats
and did them in my room as to not disturb your family.”

“Very good!” the innkeeper said, patting Jason on the back.

“It’s good to know you have not forgotten your prayers, living in America.”

They all ate as planning and discussions ensued. Nearing the end of breakfast, several more men dropped by the house, all toting rifles, and side arms. They too sat to eat, and immediately the women started hovering, pouring tea, and bringing in more fresh bread, cheese and nuts. The young men brought news to the table, all of which affected the plans. Plans had to change, again.

The military had two patrol trucks with a dozen men in each at the police station. Another group of men landed at the airport early that morning. They were not military, but looked more official than the military, one young man mentioned. Taking a scrap of newspaper, they drew what looked like a sophisticated long-range drone, presumably to be their eye in the sky. These men from the airport were quite organized and a great deal more professional than the soldiers who accompanied them.

“Well, it seems we have to make other plans,” the innkeeper said.

They had originally intended to take the less travelled crossing several miles north. The local Kurds typically used that road due to their well-established relationship with the border guards, well bribed and in their pockets. Most likely, they would have closed that crossing. Moreover, the road had little room for a forced breakthrough, with terrible roads on the other side. The innkeeper suggested sending Jason’s car with two men in that direction, while two men, transporting Bobby and Jason would use the main border crossing. The plan, use Jason’s car as bait. Timing had to be just right.

Before they left the house, a new report came in. One truck filled with army men moved to the upper crossing, while the other one remained at the main crossing. The men from the airport had split evenly across the two, with Najafi at the main border crossing. The plan would still work, but would be more dangerous.

Jason’s stolen car, the bait car, started out first. Jason, Bobby and the other two, in the second car, would wait several kilometers away from the border. Jason and Bobby were in the back seat of the second car, when Jason tapped Bobby on the shoulder, having him pull the antenna out of the Breitling watch, starting the homing signal. 

The bait car, with two men dressed in city clothes, drove by the police station several times until they got the attention of one lazy policeman, who was sitting in his patrol jeep smoking. A chase ensued, followed by a call to the main station. Within five minutes, the drone was above, following the chase. The bait car took the chase towards the upper border crossing. The driver in Jason’s car made his move upon receiving a cell call, the trigger. Both crossings became very active. The military truck at the main crossing left the border to approach the bait car from the rear, closing off any reversals. The upper border crossing had its military truck move down to head off the bait car. The drone, from above, was covering the bait car. Najafi and a handful of agents at the main border crossing were watching everything on a portable monitor. Jason’s car was on the move to the main border crossing, with slightly better odds.

*  *  *

The
Erbil
U.S. embassy compound was chaotic as usual. It supported thousands of embassy personnel, of which many hundred were CIA employees. Life there was a combination of daily chores and complex military and policy planning and execution. In one office, Warren Spencer had been waiting for news of Jason. His people updated him on the disposal of the minders, and the arrival of the father and daughter at the
Ankara
U.S. embassy. He was well into his fourth cup of coffee when a soldier ran in, with a report.

“Sir, it’s Jason’s locator signal. It’s on.”

“Where is he?” Spencer demanded.

“He’s on the move, two kilometers away from the Iraq border, and about to cross.”

“Dispatch the search and rescue crew, ASAP, along with a support helicopter.” Spencer ordered.

Jason, Bobby, and the Kurds drove the car closer to the border. During fall and winter nights, the border patrol would randomly close the border and then randomly open it again the next morning. Most people did not show up until noon. Border crossers waited until they had some news about the weather, snow cover, and accidents, all of which would delay them, or worse, force them to turn around, except for buses. Buses usually ran on schedule. Only under terrible weather did they stop.

Jason’s car was waiting by the side of the road, near a gas station. The first morning bus drove by, on time. They moved behind the bus and began tailing it, as if being towed. The bus neared the border crossing, honking its horn fifty feet out. The gate did not open as usual. The bus stopped, with the car bumper-to-bumper right behind. The Kurds, in Jason’s car, were fully armed and ready to shoot, the driver with a handgun and the other with an AK-47. They could hear some talking and banter in the distance. The Kurd, on the passenger side, peeked out of his window, leaning out. He saw an Iranian border guard getting on the bus with a clipboard.

“They never stop buses, unless they’re looking for someone,” the Kurd said.

The border guard barely got on the bus. The search was fast, probably because there were very few on the bus and clearly none looked like any person of interest. After getting off, the guard lifted the gates, on both sides. The bus started to move, with the car close behind.

“O.K. This is it,” the driver said, “Get ready!”

The bus made it past the gates, with the car moving in sync. The Iranian border guard was still standing by the edge of the road, writing something on the clipboard, checking off boxes, writing down the time, and the bus number. Jason’s car passed right in front of him. The guard glanced up slightly, seeing something different, but not reacting immediately. The car passed the second gate, the Iraqi gate. Realizing what he saw, the Iranian border guard jerked forward and towards the alarm by the gate. He pressed it, setting off a super loud siren. The car downshifted and peeled around the bus.

The alarm was loud, blasting on both sides of the border. Najafi and the other agents jumped out of their seats and ran outside the guardhouse. They ran out yelling, asking what happened. The Iranian border guard pointed at the dust floating behind the stopped bus. A car was tailing the bus, and as we opened the gate for the bus, it maneuvered around the bus and took off. The car had four people in it, all Kurds, from what he could see. On the other side, an Iraqi border guard started his jeep, others jumped in, and a pursuit began. Najafi grabbed the keys, from the border guard, and along with his agents, they too drove into Iraq.

The chase was on.

*  *  *

It had been thirty minutes since Bobby pulled the antenna out of the Breitling watch, triggering the location signal. Jason’s car was ahead by nearly a kilometer, with the Iraqi car and The Center agents closing in. The chase took them through a small, yet busy and populated village. This section was the safest section. After that, it would become open season on them. The roads became mountainous, curvy, slower, and more dangerous, forcing the Kurds to slow down. The Iraqi and Center cars cut their gap in half. The Iraqis’ started shooting every chance they got. At the base of every curve, Jason’s car seemed adjacent to the Iraqis, inviting machine gun fire from the Iraqi soldiers. Najafi and his agents were shaking their heads each time the soldiers fired their machine guns.  

“We want them alive, you dumb shits!” Najafi was yelling.

The Iraqis were getting closer, shooting every chance they got. Najafi was right behind, not wanting to pass. He did not want a friendly fire incident. He just stayed on the Iraqi jeep’s tail. Ten minutes of sheer terror later, one of the stray bullets hit Jason’s car, puncturing the front tire, pulling the car towards the edge. The driver over-compensated. The maneuver pulled the car in the opposite direction, hitting the side of the mountain and sending it into a ditch. The car was at a full stop.

Jason and the Kurd with the AK-47 jumped out of the doors on the right. The ditch blocked the other doors. Jason yelled at Bobby to get out and in front of the car, in the ditch. The Kurd waited for the Iraqi jeep to get closer and, as it did, he began to shoot, stopping them in their tracks. Jason was conserving his bullets. The Iraqi soldiers stepped out with The Center agents right behind them. The only people shooting were the Iraqi soldiers. They were riddling the car with bullets. By now, everyone in Jason’s car was hiding in front, protected by the engine block. The Iraqis started walking over to the car, shooting, yelling to give up, in Arabic and in broken Farsi.

As they got closer, Jason grabbed the AK-47 from the Kurd, checked the magazine, and asked for more bullets. The Kurd shook his head signifying no more bullets. Jason counted ten in the magazine, one in the chamber. He propped the gun in a shooting position, stood just high enough, and shot two of the Iraqis dead. The rest scattered around, as did The Center agents. Soon after, the Iraqi soldiers started to shoot again, at the car. The Center agents too started shooting, but were much better shots. They shot the Kurdish driver in the shoulder. Jason shot another Iraqi, wounding him. Everything slowed down. More time passed between shots. Jason had depleted the Kurd’s ammo and all of his. They had nothing left. They were sitting ducks.

Najafi and his agents started moving towards the car. The two remaining and healthy Iraqi soldiers re-loaded and started to move past Najafi and his people, intending to kill everyone. Najafi tried to stop them, but got a gun barrel in his face. He backed off, looked at his Center agents, nodding an order. The Iraqi soldiers aimed their guns forward, walking faster. They were less than fifty yards away. There were no more shots from Jason’s direction. The Iraqis felt confident. They were happy to kill them all. They took several more steps. All of a sudden, two shots echoed through the air. The Iraqis fell to the ground dead. Behind them were The Center agents, with guns held at head level, a puff of smoke floating away from the tip of each gun.

The agents began their move. They were forty yards away. Jason placed Bobby in between him and the car, pushing him down low.

“Sorry son, I tried my best. You’re a great kid.”

The Kurds, one wounded and the other staring at him, began to pray. Jason placed his hand on the shoulders of one, thanking them, apologizing for their predicament.

Twenty yards away, The Center agents were about to move around the car, ready for the capture and a glorious return to Iran. Jason felt they were several seconds away from death. Suddenly, a whizzing sound went by above their heads, blowing the Iraqi jeep to smithereens. Jason recognized the Folding-Fin Aerial Rocket (FFAR) sound. Looking back, he saw the AH-64 Apache, firing its guns. He covered Bobby’s body as a barrage of 30mm cannon shots streamed at the standing Center agents. It was raining hot shells in the background. In front, there were pieces of road, rocks, and dirt, not to mention body parts, lifting in the air with each destructive bullet that zoomed by.

Less than a minute later, all who had been standing were dead. The Apache shot another rocket at the remaining jeep, and then climbed, opening airspace for an Army UH-60 Black Hawk to come in for a pick up. A soldier repelled down with a hoist, first lifting Bobby. The hoist came down again. The soldier pointed at Jason. Jason pointed at the wounded Kurd. They picked up the Kurds, then Jason, with the soldier following last. The Black Hawk tilted and started moving around and back in the direction of
Erbil
. The Apache made another sweep around the area and, once clear, followed the Black Hawk.

Minutes later the two helicopters were side by side. Jason smiled as he looked at the other helicopter, seeing his son Sean, with his helmet visor retracted and smiling back, joyfully showing the thumps up sign.

*  *  *

On the ride back, everyone was quiet, with one U.S. soldier treating the Kurd. Apart from some abrasions, the rest were all fine.

“So, do you want your watch back?” Bobby asked Jason.

“No, you keep it. I’ll have your dad buy me another.” Jason smiled.