A Long Gray Line

by Simon Gervais

  As much as she appreciated the thought, Lisa was momentarily worried by her husband’s choice of words. Was it the words or his tone?

  “Are you okay?” she asked him.

  “What’s wrong with me wanting a little off time with my wife,” he said, chuckling.

  “Nothing,” she said, not wanting to push the issue. “I’d like that too.”

  _________________________

  What was it with women? It blew his mind that his wife could guess when something was bothering him simply by his choice of words or intonation. The pressure was getting to him. He felt it. The loss of Jasmine Carson was a tough pill to swallow, and that combined with the loss of most of his family at the hands of the Sheik and the fact that there had been no additional information regarding his father’s whereabouts, he just couldn’t sleep without taking medication anymore. He wasn’t about to admit any of it to his wife, but his hands had started shaking a couple of hours ago.

  He had no idea how his wife managed to cope with everything that had happened to them in the last year. She was stronger than he was, at least emotionally.

  They had just entered the city limits of Zagreb when Mapother’s voice came through his earpiece. “We’ve pinpointed al-Julani’s phone.”

  Mike appreciated the fact that Mapother hadn’t said they knew where the ISIS cell leader was. But they know where his phone is.

  “Oh shit,” Mike heard Mapother say.

  Mike and Lisa exchanged a worried look. It wasn’t like the IMSI director to use foul language and certainly not on an open mic.

  “What is it?” inquired Mike. “Are we too late?”

  Mapother didn’t reply. Instead, it was Jonathan Sanchez who picked up the conversation.

  “Charles just stormed out of the control room, Mike,” he said. “He ain’t happy, I’ll tell you this much.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Mike asked.

  “It’s all over the news, guys,” Sanchez explained. “And it’s not pretty.”

  Mike signaled his wife to pull over. “Please explain, Jonathan,” Mike said, losing patience.

  “Stand by,” came Sanchez’s reply.

  Mike turned on the car’s radio but couldn’t find any English-speaking channel.

  _________________________

  Lisa used her smartphone to get on the Internet. Damn the roaming fees! IMSI was footing the bill anyway. Her heart missed a beat when she saw CNN’s breaking news.

  Shit!

  “How did this get out of hand so fast?” Lisa said, her mind spinning as she read the article. She angled her smartphone so Mike could read it too.

  It seemed that all the news channels were running the same story about an imminent terror threat facing many European countries.

  “Sorry guys,” came in Sanchez. “I was watching Fox—”

  “We’re on the CNN website, Jonathan,” Lisa cut in. “Is this a joke?”

  “Charles is furious, Lisa,” Sanchez replied. “He has no idea who could have leaked this info.”

  “It will only cause widespread panic,” Mike jumped in, before adding, “and it will push the terror cells to move immediately.”

  Next to speak was Charles Mapother. “I’m back,” he said. “Just spoke to DNI Phillips and he assured me he didn’t leak this.”

  “Then who?” Mike asked.

  “What I know is that the markets are already crashing and that’s worldwide,” Mapother noted.

  Lisa smashed her hand on top of the steering wheel. “That plays directly into the hands of the Sheik.”

  “Oh, and there’s more,” Mapother said, clearly unhappy. “Just before I called him, the DNI was on the phone with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees and was told in no uncertain terms that if the threats weren’t neutralized, he would recommend to the Secretary General to close all borders within the European Union.”

  “Can he actually do that?” asked Lisa.

  “Not really,” Mapother replied, “but he could certainly convince member states to close their borders.”

  “If they do that,” Mike said, “It could lead to the break up of the European Union within months, if not weeks.”

  “And it will kill Europe’s borderless Schengen area too,” added Lisa. “What do you want us to do, Charles?”

  “Like Mike said, the news will only push the embedded cells to act faster,” Mapother said. “If you’re still up to it, I want you to hit al-Julani’s cell as soon as possible.”

  Lisa didn’t see a reason why to abort and a look at her husband confirmed he was thinking the same.

  “Send us the location, Charles,” Lisa said. “We’ll hit it.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Split, Croatia

  The Sheik turned off the television and pumped his fist in the air. Plan B was working to perfection. The stock market app on his smartphone confirmed what the news anchor had said. Markets were plunging. Fast.

  That was good news for him and for his benefactors in Russia. They had heavily shorted the market weeks ago in anticipation of the crash they hoped would follow the attacks he had planned. The raid on Bashi’s apartment had changed the rules of the game and the Sheik congratulated himself for being able to adapt so quickly to the new situation.

  The Sheik felt no remorse that the Russian government, through its Ministry of Foreign Affairs, had leaked the location of the six remaining cells. The Russians had even volunteered Spetsnaz troops to help take down the ISIS fighters hidden amongst the Syrian refugees.

  And if the assault on the Israeli embassy could succeed, it would be the cherry on top.

  He dialed Bashi’s number. “Where are you?” he asked, making sure he sounded agitated.

  “I’m on my way to the safe house,” Bashi replied, his voice strained. “Have you seen the news? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, for now. But they’re closing in on me, Mouin,” the Sheik lied. “They’ve already arrested three of our cell leaders. Everything depends on how you, al-Julani and the rest of the men do. You understand?”

  “We’re eager to serve and to die for the Islamic State, and for you, Sheik,” Bashi said. “We will not disappoint you.”

  “I know, dear friend,” the Sheik said. “I never doubted it.”

  _________________________

  Mouin Bashi couldn’t understand how it had all happened. The Sheik’s plan was perfect. They always were. He had worked for the Sheik for a long time and Bashi had noticed that the Sheik possessed a certain degree of sophistication that wasn’t yet present within the Islamic State. Maybe it would come later, but right now, the Sheik was still the man to follow. It broke his heart that a great man like he had to run away when he should have been celebrating a great victory.

  Bashi made a left on his street and started looking for a place to park his van. It took him a few minutes, but he did find a parking spot in between two vehicles. He couldn’t stop thinking about the other embedded cells. They were going to get caught before they even had the chance to serve the Islamic State. All this money, all this training.

  All for nothing.

  How could this happen? He hadn’t made up his mind yet if he would tell al-Julani and his team about the fate of their brothers. He didn’t think it would scare them, but it might light a fire under their feet.

  CHAPTER 25

  Zagreb, Croatia

  IMSI analysts pinpointed the location of the al-Julani’s cell phone but they weren’t able to tell Mike on which floor of the four-story house it was.

  “Sorry, Mike,” Sanchez had said. “We’ve uploaded al-Julani’s pictures we had to your smartphone. Charles said that anyone who’s with him is fair game.”

  Lisa was sitting in the rental car parked two blocks north from the house they were watching while Mike had set up a firing position on the rooftop of
a tall apartment building three hundred meters away. He adjusted his scope to the proper range and looked through the eyepiece.

  The house where al-Julani and his team were presumably staying was a typical mid-size house. It was located on a quiet road only a few minutes away from Zagreb’s most notable landmarks and city center. It had four stories but even though the curtains were wide open, the angle didn’t allow Mike to see inside the house and there were no vehicles parked in its driveway.

  For the last twenty minutes, Mike had sent the IMSI analysts upward of twenty license plates associated with vehicles driving by or parking near the house. So far, all of them had checked out.

  “I’ve got another one,” Mike said into his mic.

  “Go ahead,” Sanchez replied from IMSI headquarters.

  “Zooloo, golf, five, zero, two, echo, charlie,” Mike said. “It should come back to a navy blue Mercedes passenger van.”

  “Stand by,” Sanchez replied.

  Mike knew that Sanchez was now tasking different analysts to check the license plate number and the registered owner of the vehicle against several databases including the ECRIS —European Criminal Records Information System— and Interpol. Mike lost sight of the car when it turned right on a street farther south. “I’ve lost visual.”

  A minute later, the Mercedes entered his field of vision. “Any news on the Mercedes?” Mike asked. “It’s back and the driver seems to be looking for a place to park.”

  “The plate is valid and does come back to a light blue Mercedes van,” Sanchez said after a short while. “The registered owner’s name is Josip Hatz with a date of birth of January sixth, nineteen eighty-five. ECRIS check is negative.”

  Mike’s attention was on the Mercedes’s driver as he tried to squeeze his van in between a Peugeot and a Kia. Still, something Sanchez had said didn’t sound right. “You came in broken, Jonathan, please say again,” Mike lied.

  “License plate comes back to a light blue—”

  That’s it. “The color isn’t light blue, it’s navy blue,” Mike said. Could it be an honest mistake from the Croatian equivalent of the DMV?

  The driver’s door was now open and a tall man climbed out. He was wearing a baseball cap so Mike couldn’t see his face. The man was well above six feet and slim. He was wearing a leather jacket with a white scarf.

  “How tall is the RO?” Mike asked, keeping his scope on the driver.

  “His driver license indicates he’s sixty-seven inches tall.”

  It was obvious that this man wasn’t the register owner. Where are you going, buddy?

  “This guy is much taller than that,” Mike said. “But I can’t see his face; he’s wearing a baseball cap.”

  “No worries,” came in Lisa. “I’ll snap a couple of shots for you.”

  _________________________

  Lisa had picked up on the discrepancy right away between what Mike had called in and what Sanchez had responded. It might be an administrative mistake, but then again, it might not.

  She hadn’t driven by the residence yet, so there was no danger that her car would draw any kind of attention. She was four hundred meters away when Mike said he couldn’t see the man’s face. The man was too far away for her to see him but she turned on the two GoPros she had strategically placed in between her dashboard and the windshield. She didn’t alter her speed and kept driving straight down the street toward him. She didn’t dare turn her head to get a better look when she drove past him but her sunglasses did offer her eyes more freedom.

  Oh my God! That’s the man Frank McArdle had sketched. That’s Mouin Bashi.

  CHAPTER 26

  Zagreb, Croatia

  Al-Julani was loading up the last of his magazines when Bashi entered the residence. He looked stressed, and if Mouin Bashi was anxious, perhaps he should be as well.

  “Is the team ready?” Bashi asked. His voice sounded confident. Maybe there was nothing to worry about.

  “My team is ready,” al-Julani replied. “Any changes we should know about?”

  Ha! There it is again. He saw Bashi pause, as if he were debating what to say.

  “No changes, we proceed as planned. We leave in fifteen minutes,” Bashi said, before walking out of the living room.

  Al-Julani sensed his men were looking at him. They too had seen the hesitation. They respected Bashi because of his position within the Islamic State, but it was he, Samir al-Julani, who was their team leader, the man who had trained and shed blood with them for the last year. His team needed reassurance.

  “You’ve heard our brother,” al-Julani said, “We leave in fifteen minutes. In the meantime, I’ll confer with him.”

  Al-Julani let go of the magazine he had been busy loading on the coffee table and joined Bashi who was making himself a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

  _________________________

  Bashi had had a little time to think. What the Sheik had said didn’t make sense. They must have a traitor amongst them. How could it be anything else? Was it al-Julani? He’d know soon enough.

  “You know we’ll do what you ask; nothing will change that,” al-Julani said as he entered the kitchen. “But if something has—”

  Everything happened so fast that al-Julani had no time to defend himself. His strong build was no match for Bashi’s speed and agility. Bashi grabbed the cell leader by his throat and brought him down to the ground in a flash, placing a streak knife against his jugular.

  “What do you know about the other embedded cells,” Bashi asked, keeping his voice low. “Lie to me and you’ll die right now.”

  Bashi looked into al-Julani’s eyes for any sign of treachery, but the only thing he could see was a mixture of confusion and stupefaction. He nevertheless pressed the knife against the skin until it drew blood.

  “Speak,” he ordered.

  “Nothing,” al-Juvani yelled back, “I know nothing.”

  Bashi heard movement behind him and glanced back. One of al-Juvani’s men was standing right under the door frame leading into the kitchen. He had an AK-47 at the ready but he looked startled by the scene in front of him. Cold chills ran up and down Bashi’s spine.

  Were they all in on this? Or was he getting paranoid?

  He looked back at al-Julani. The man hadn’t moved even though he could have used the distraction to get out from under him. Bashi made his decision and let go of the knife. He got up and offered al-Julani his hand. The cell leader took a moment but finally accepted it.

  “Now, you will speak,” al-Julani said, clearly shaken by what had just happened. His men were now all standing in the kitchen.

  At least their weapons aren’t pointing at me.

  The men deserved an explanation so Bashi gave them one. “There were another six cells just like yours embedded amongst the Syrian refugees, but you were the only one activated. Your commander, Zebar Selam, was killed in Ar Raqqah before he could activate the other ones.”

  “Are there any other ways to contact them?” al-Julani asked.

  “As you know, we can only communicate with the cell leaders using the proper encryption key. Unfortunately, the Kurds who raided my apartment and killed your commander stole the flash drives and laptops containing the encryption keys.”

  Bashi could see that al-Julani didn’t know what to make of this information. “What does it mean for us?” al-Julani asked, while using a paper towel to wipe the blood from his neck.

  “I’m not sure,” Bashi replied. “But it seems like the cells are being picked up by the authorities one by one.”

  That got everyone’s attention. “The Sheik told me this,” he added.

  “The Sheik? We fight for the Islamic State,” al-Juvani hissed. “Not for the Sheik.”

  “You’ll fight for who I tell you to fight,” Bashi fought back. He had to maintain his authority over the cell.

&n
bsp; “How many?” one of the men asked from behind him. Bashi turned to face the man and recognized him. It was Zaman Douaa, the man who had killed one of the Croatian guards back at the camp. “How many cells out of the six have been neutralized?”

  “I was told that three cell leaders had been arrested or killed,” Bashi replied.

  “The Sheik told you this too?,” al-Julani spat.

  Bashi was baffled. It seemed like only yesterday that the Sheik appeared to be invincible. And now, people were openly disrespecting him, after all he had done for their cause?

  “You won’t address the Sheik in this manner,” Bashi said, pointing his finger at al-Julani. “His work, his sacrifices paved the way to our Islamic State. Can’t you see that? Without him, there’d be no Islamic State—”

  Bashi heard the shot but didn’t feel the pain as the bullet cut through his lower back and severed his spine. He even wondered, for the briefest moment, why there was so much blood on the wall in front of him, inches away from where al-Juvani was standing.

  Then he collapsed.

  CHAPTER 27

  Zagreb, Croatia

  Mike and Lisa had been debating with Mapother what to do in regards to Bashi’s sighting.

  “Are you sure, Lisa?” Mapother asked.

  If Mapother would have known his wife like he did, Mike knew the IMSI director would never have asked the question.

  “For God’s sake, Mapother,” Lisa said over their secure net, “How many times will I need to tell you. Yes, I’m sure.”

  Ouch! I’m not sure Charles will appreciate her tone.

  Nevertheless, Mike couldn’t help but chuckle, even though the situation had nothing remotely funny about it. But he’d been where Mapother was now standing many times over the years and he couldn’t remember even one time when his wife had been proven wrong.

  The net stayed silent for a long minute and Mike shifted impatiently behind his sniper rifle. Mapother finally said, “Keep your cool, Lisa. I got it. You’re sure it’s Bashi. What do you see, Mike?”