The Caliphate Invasion

by Michael Beals

  “Base? That’s cute. We’re in the opposite of the heart of darkness. This is one great big, homogenous empire stretching from the Atlantic to the Sea of Japan. Do you have any idea how much effort it takes just to maintain this safehouse?”

  “What about the massive guerilla armies waiting in the wind?”

  “Is that what they told you? An uprising was always a European fantasy; not mine. They believed what they wanted to. Just like Langley, well, when it was still there.”

  Smith peeled off his shirt and unstrapped the body armor underneath. He rushed over to the kitchen and came back with a couple bottles of Arak liquor before he even took off his shoes. The Al Qaeda militants in the hall glared. Their leader toyed with the safety on his AK.

  “Did you need something, Akeem? Maybe you and your warriors should get some rest. The Lord has much work for us tomorrow.” Smith turned his back on the bearded fighters and plopped in a seat. The head terrorist just barred his teeth, a yellow flash under his tangled beard, and growled. The whole group stomped out the door without another word.

  “So, we have the whole place to ourselves. These guys refuse to share a room with heathens.”

  Dore took one of the clear bottles and unscrewed the lid. He winced at the odd ouzo-like scent.

  “That’s not playing with fire. You’re pissing on a rattlesnake. There’s easier ways to commit suicide, you know.”

  “Ah, those goatfuckers hate everyone. At least they fear me. Which is about as good as it gets around here. Speaking of hate, don’t worry. That stuff is a lot better than it smells. Especially after the first one singes off your taste buds!”

  No one laughed as Smith took a long swig of the traditional Arab booze and shoved the rest into Kolchak’s hands. The Russian slammed the cap on and set it between his legs. “I’ll drink when I get back to my boys. Which better be soon.” He cocked his hand into a pistol and aimed at the empty bottles stacked in the kitchen.

  “Your Muslim comrades aren’t drinking all of that. You better tell me this isn’t all you have to show for a month operating in enemy territory.”

  Smith kicked up his feet and gave a pained grinned back at the sour faces around him. “What do you want me to say? I’ve done what I could with what I’ve got. Don’t give me that look.” He waved his hand at Captain Dore’s eye slits.

  “Of course I’ve been chatting up tribal and religious leaders all throughout North Africa. I’ve tried every trick in the book to develop them into useful assets, but the CIA doesn’t exactly have the street cred we used to. Worse, I don’t have anything to offer. At least nothing compared to the peace and prosperity the Caliphate’s offering. You can laugh at those wannabe Osama bin Laden’s outside, but these are the only type of people who are going to risk everything trying to fight the Caliphate—the ones that don’t have shit to live for in the first place.”

  “You can’t build an army with a bunch of terrorists. Al Qaeda didn’t have much support around here before the invasion. So what makes you think the locals will flock to these guys now?”

  Smith snagged the bottle with impeccable grace as it was passed back around, sloshing out as much as he chugged. “Who said anything about these martyrs? Now that we have some real soldiers…”

  “For Christ’s sake! What can we do here that we couldn’t do with the entire resources of Europe at our disposal? Jesus H Christ, Smith. You know better than this. We need local forces, and a hell of a lot of them, if we’re going to change anything.”

  “What can I tell you? You’re in the wrong place to start recruiting. Maybe if we could somehow link up with those Arab militants on the Peninsula then these new weapons would make for one hell of a sales pitch. Those folks are in daily contact with the Caliphate; they know just how vicious those assholes are. Around here, where the rulers are hardly ever seen, you’re just trying to entice people to fight against an abstract idea. One that’s quite lucrative for them.”

  Kat stared off at the desert. “Is Prince Saud still leading the insurgents?”

  Smith snapped his head around, eyes suddenly in laser focus. “Yes, your old pal. They’ve been stirring up a ton of trouble in Mecca and Medina, but that’s home base for the Caliphate. Mecca is the enemy’s self-proclaimed capital. Might as well be on the far side of the moon. There’s just no way to contact them.”

  “What about the internet? The insurgents don’t monitor a single site?” She stared at Smith, but cocked her head at Washington. He leaned back and shut his eyes for a moment, before speaking for the first time since they left Benghazi.

  “Well, I found a few benign message boards with fairly regular IP visits from Saudi Arabia. But it’s not that easy. All your ancient forms of encryption can be cracked in seconds by the Caliphate’s tactical Artificial Intelligence. Even if we had some unbreakable code, how could they know they were speaking to us and that this wasn’t some trick?”

  All eyes locked on to Kat. She got up and stared out the window into the Sahara desert starting just outside their little oasis.

  “Smith, can you at least get us another boat? Even just a small one.”

  He capped the bottle and sprang to his feet. Flipping over the couch cushions, he whipped out a stack of black Islamic State flags. Everyone ignored the blood streaks staining the edges.

  “Even easier than you think. They aren’t big on ID around here. If you’re carrying their souped-up weapons, flying this idiotic flag and just act like you belong... we can go anywhere within Africa. It only gets complicated once we cross the Suez Canal.”

  “All right. What do you say, Captain? Ready to go back into the sandbox?”

  Dore slid over and massaged her shoulder. She tensed up, but didn’t pull away. After so many years fighting together, he didn’t have to say a word. After a few hour-long seconds, Kat spun around and grinned at Washington.

  “Spray around the message that Nusaybah wants payback. We’ll meet where we parted in two days. Oh, and tell them that this time, I’m bringing friends.”

  Washington worked his jaw. “Uh, is that an offer to help or a threat?”

  Her grin melted into a molten sneer.

  “We’ll just have to see how it goes.”

  If you’re looking for a high-octane read while waiting for the next book in this series to be released, please check out my WW2 military thriller series starring Kat’s grandmother, Slaughter in the Desert: The Declassified History of World War II. The greatest WW2 action packed book, with a bit of Dark Humor just to break up all the mayhem, ever written in all of human history. Also available in Kindle Unlimited. Please read on for a short excerpt.

  Sample: Kat’s Commandos Book I

  Prologue: London

  March 1939

  “This way, gorgeous. You’re with me and the VIP trade delegation, remember? Security is for the commoners.”

  “Oh my! Buckingham Palace… I feel like a princess.”

  The lithe redhead squealed and snuggled up to her bespectacled date. She kept oohing and ahhing as he guided her away from the line of lowly nobles and up the royal staircase to the gaudy ballroom. Her obsidian, skin-tight silk dress, swaying just above her knees, drew plenty of attention. Mostly sly nods from the other young playthings and daggers of jealousy from the older wives and duchesses, all decked out like somber funeral floats.

  She ignored the old biddies’ disgust and grinned as every man, especially the security staff, glued their eyes on her ample exposed skin. They soaked in everything but her face.

  Her tuxedo-clad date slid a chair out from the endless oak banquet table. He swept a well-manicured paw towards the daffodils and fine china lavished across the satin linens.

  Kat only pouted her lips. “Oh, must we sit so far away? Can’t we dine closer to your boss? That’s where all the other bankers, all the big-time wheelers and dealers are.”

  “Well, seats are assigned by the majordomo…” The junior account executive clenched his jaw while she dropped her shawl. His annoya
nce caught in the throat as his drooling eyes raced down her backless dress. Kat leaned over and arched her rump a tad, batting her eyelashes at the far end of the table.

  “That’s okay, darling. Just my silly, girlish fantasies of being with a powerful man. This is fine. Thank you.”

  With his mouth gasping for saliva, Dieter cleared his throat. “Ah… let me see what I can do.”

  A minute later, she glided into a spot across the table and just two seats down from Werner von Brauchtisch, the CEO of her escort’s Austrian bank. She never took her hawk eyes off the banker as a Royal Air Force general hopped out of his chair and gave Kat a bow. He shot the nervous young man a wink while guiding his bored wife farther down the table.

  “Not a problem. It’s all about who you know.” Dieter patted her hand and eased next to his odd girlfriend.

  “Oooh, now this is more like it! Tonight’s going to be quite special, hmm?” She massaged his thigh under the table and brushed her lips across his cheek.

  The thirsty man leaned in, purring in German while the rest of the table gossiped and topped off their glasses. “Does that mean I finally get to explore your palace of treasures?”

  “You naughty…” Across the table, Werner rose up and clasped hands with his counterpart at an English bank. Kat squinted as they pressed close and whispered, but nothing seemed to pass hands.

  “Uh, sure thing. After three months, I’d say you’ve been patient enough.”

  Dieter spilt a little of his wine and crossed his legs in a hurry. He wiggled closer and murmured sweet nothings in her ear, but Kat tensed up again.

  “Now where’s he going?” She wiggled her glass in her boyfriend’s face, stalking Werner like a wolf as the ageing grandfather lit a cigar and gossiped his way towards a side door.

  Dieter grunted and reached for his wine. “Again with Herr Brauchtisch? Why are you always so obsessed with that man? Work is over. I respect that you’re the most dedicated translator we’ve ever had, but don’t you ever shut off? This is purely a social occasion.”

  Kat scooted out of her chair. “I need to go to the powder room. Back in a moment, my dear.”

  “But the prince could be here any…” Dieter sighed at her swaying backside, already halfway across the banquet hall.

  She slowed just shy of the small door Werner disappeared through, taking a deep breath before creeping outside as well. The side gallery, ornate portraits of bygone monarchs coating the walls from end to end, was breathtaking.

  But also empty.

  With exits at both ends, she gambled on the shortest route and dashed to the right, deeper into the sprawling complex. She swooped the double doors wide open, skidding to a halt in a new hallway. Just shy of colliding with two eagle-eyed King’s Guardsmen. They hovered in front of a red-carpet staircase, both with steady hands on their holsters.

  “Is there a problem, madam?”

  Over their shoulders, some squeaky, angry young voice hollered from the private residences above. “Where’s that next damn bottle? You can’t keep a duke locked up without hydration!”

  A harried steward brushed past Kat and the guards, taking the steps two at a time with a fresh flask of Moët & Chandon in each hand.

  “Oh, I’m just looking for the little girl’s room.”

  One of the grim-faced men jerked his head down the hall. He ignored her charms and focused on that delicate face, clearly memorizing it. She spun away and tried to relax her stride. Rounding the next corner and out of their sight, Kat rushed past the lady’s room and barged inside the men’s water closet.

  A lone Scottish officer perched over a urinal with his back to her. He twisted his neck around and chuckled.

  “Don’t let the kilt fool you, lassie. Wrong room.”

  “Oh, my!” Kat dropped her slim pocket purse and squatted to pick it up. With one sweeping glance under the finely polished wooden stalls, she forced herself to blush up at the Scotsman shaking something between his legs. He was the only one there.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She slipped back out the door and punched a marble column in the hall. “Scheiße! Three months of work pissed away in a minute!”

  Kat reached for the lady’s room handle, just as the Highlander came out and grinned. She avoided his wandering eyes and focused on the floor-to-ceiling mirror at the end of the corridor, making a big show of fixing her curls back in place.

  Still grinding her teeth after he left, she gave up and turned back to the Grand Hall.

  But froze when the faint reek of tobacco wafted over her.

  Kat crouched on her knees and scanned the floor. A little mound of ash rested on the slick tile just to the side of the mirror. One corner was perfectly straight, as if someone tried sweeping it out of the way.

  “You cheeky royals!”

  She ran her hands over the gilded mirror frame, not flinching when she snapped a painted nail off in a hidden latch. Popping it as gently as possible, she creaked the whole mirror open wide enough to stick her head in for a peek.

  Kat stifled a whoop and ducked all the way inside the narrow passage, clicking the hatch tight behind her. She shuffled up the pitch-black, winding staircase until bumping her nose against another hidden door.

  For a solid minute, she pressed her ear against the inside panel, but nothing in the next room was louder than her pounding heart. Fumbling around, she finally found the latch and flicked it open.

  And had to smother a whistle as the 18th century dresser swung open and the girl tip-toed into the largest, most lavish bedroom she’d ever seen.

  “Well, I guess there’s one in every family.”

  She crept past the bed, alone as big as her apartment, doing her best to avoid all the filth. Kat nicked a discarded bottle of whiskey with her high heel, sending it rolling under the bed. Thankfully, what was left of a block of hashish cushioned the crash.

  A loud guffaw through the half-open master door drew all her attention.

  “Oh, come on, Weiner! Stay for one drink. It’s so boring up here. My cousin’s too ashamed to ever let me join one of his soirees.”

  “It’s Werner, you drunken fool. And be thankful for his indulgence. If I was king, you would’ve disappeared a long time ago.”

  Kat dropped prone on her belly, sticking only her emerald-edged eyes out the door at ground level. Werner hovered over some scrawny man sprawled on a sofa in the common room, wearing nothing but a loose pink bathrobe. The banker dangled a microfiche roll into the light and ran a pocket magnifying glass over it.

  “Indulgence?” The pale brat staggered to his feet and drained the rest of his champagne, straight out of the bottle.

  “I should be third in line for the throne! He keeps me hidden away just to make sure his own kids take over. It’s nothing but greed! Why else do you think his fucking majesty cut me off from the royal purse? And besides, who do you think you are, speaking to me like that? You Goddamn Nazi!”

  The duke hurled his empty bottle at his guest. The flask missed by a good five feet and shattered a Chinese vase worth more than Kat’s yearly salary, from both her official and cover jobs.

  Werner only snorted. “Would you prefer me to stop paying off your whores, drug dealers and bookies? Or maybe call the king to pick you up the next time you’re strung out in an opium den somewhere.”

  He rolled the microfilm tight and tucked it inside a hollowed-out cigar in his tuxedo’s inner vest pocket. The duke kept sputtering and tried to light a hookah, but Werner snatched the pipet from him.

  “You did good here, but I didn’t see anything about how many new Matilda tanks are being deployed to the British Expeditionary Force in France. That was part of the deal.”

  The royal heir stomped around in a little circle. “Yeah, yeah. I’m trying. I’ll get it soon, promise.” The duke’s mood tilted again as he popped the cork on another champagne bottle.

  “How about a toast?”

  Werner sneered again. “You better have that next week, plus t
he sub patrol schedules, or I stop all payments. We’re done here.” With shocking speed for such an elderly man, Werner dashed into the bedroom before Kat could get the hidden passage completely open.

  “Katelyn? What ze hell are you doing here?” The businessman’s practiced Cambridge accent slipped a tad. Kat bounded across the bedroom and clutched at his collar.

  “Oh, Mr. Brauchtisch, thank God! I got a little tipsy at the party and some royal guards grabbed me. Told me to head up here and entertain a prince or something like that.” She laid on the crocodile tears. “I’m so scared!”

  Werner just bared his teeth and shoved the shrieking girl off. “I thought you English folk love your royalty? For some reason. So go ahead and show it. I won’t tell Dieter, if you don’t mention me.” He ripped open the secret path and faded into the passage, just as Kat darted into the common room.

  The duke gawked at her and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Who are…what you?”

  Kat didn’t even make eye contact as she stomped past him and grabbed the door handle leading out of his apartment.

  “You little minx! Stop that bitch!” Werner stormed back inside the common room and stamped his boot at an odd angle. Some pocket watch sized thing popped out, which he palmed with practiced ease.

  The duke snagged Kat’s wrist. “Look, why don’t we have a drink and figure this—”

  He toppled backwards over the sofa with a straight-leg kick from Kat’s heel into his solar plexus. The duke’s skull smashed the glass coffee table into a hundred shards, spilling his blue blood from a thousand cuts.

  “Where’s my fucking cigar?” Werner ignored the gruesome scene and shoved his palm pistol against her temple.

  “What are you going on about? Does it look like I can hide anything in this dress?” She traced her eyes over her heaving bosom.

  Werner ignored the bait as she loosened her stance. He sprang back out of arm’s reach and leveled the miniature barrel between his fingers at her center mass.