by Isaac Hooke
"Tell me how you guys got caught," he told Aaron over his shoulder.
"Someone recognized me in the forward camp."
"Someone?"
Aaron sighed. "Before you arrived in Turkey, Sam had me working with another group of DIA contractors. Apparently these guys had some of the highest success rates at turning foreign fighters."
Ethan pressed his lips together. "I think I know where this is going."
"Take a left up ahead," Aaron said. "And yeah, these guys were twisted." He hesitated. "Their methods were unorthodox, to say the least. We intercepted this one jihadi named Habib in Gaziantep who was on his way to Syria from Saudi Arabia. The contractors brutally raped him. I walked out on the thing, but I discovered later that they took pictures and threatened to show them to his family if he didn't become their asset. You know what the punishment for homosexuality in Saudi Arabia is, right?"
Ethan shook his head. "Some of the contractors the DIA hires..."
"Yeah, well, I told Sam to reassign me shortly after that. Maybe I'm too squeamish. The guy was on his way to join the Islamic State, after all, a group of radicals who cut people's heads off on YouTube and rape entire villages, so maybe I shouldn't have felt so strung up about it. But there's a certain standard of human decency I follow, even against my enemy. A code. Doing stuff like that DIA team did, well, it makes me feel... vile, you know?"
"Worse shit was done in Guantanamo," William piped in.
"Yeah well, I always like to tell myself that we're better than the terrorists," Aaron continued. "That we won't descend to their base level, but you know what, we're not better. We're not." He cleared his throat before continuing. "Anyway, this agent the DIA team supposedly recruited? Well he showed up in the camp back there."
"Ah."
"Yeah. Apparently Habib had worked his way up the Islamic State ranks since the last time we met. Had me arrested. William got wind of it and tried to vouch for me, but the judge arrested him after Habib went wacko and started shooting me."
"Wait, what?" Ethan said. "The judge arrested William? Why? He should have arrested this Habib."
"Yeah, except that William snatched a pistol from one of the nearby muj and popped Habib in the head."
"Oh."
William jumped in. "What was I supposed to do, stand by and watch the guy kill him?"
"No," Ethan said. "You did the right thing."
William laughed softly. "I probably should have capped him in the knee instead, but the bastard royally pissed me off. Thought he could mess with one of my friends and get away with it, did he? And truthfully, I wanted to shut him up. I figured without his testimony, Aaron would be safe. I was wrong. After I was arrested, the judge's lackeys found the USB stick and TruPulse range finder on me and they got all excited because Aaron had them, too. When they discovered the retractable RF antennas hidden within the USBs, we were basically screwed."
"Didn't help matters when I gave up the PIN to my phone under duress," Aaron added. "And they found certain un-Islamic recordings on the phone."
"Videos of you providing commentary in English during airstrikes?" Ethan asked.
"Yup."
"I warned you about doing that."
"I know you did."
"You're supposed to be one of the best operatives in the field," Ethan scolded his friend.
"The best. Yeah. Doesn't mean I'm not human. I've paid for my mistakes, Ethan."
We've all paid for your mistakes, he wanted to say, but figured his friend felt guilty enough as it was. The three of them were alive and free, at least for the moment, and that was all that mattered.
The Humvee reached the final village before the wide tract to Kobane. He steered through the cement buildings, heading toward the heavy artillery at the outskirts. Under the blackout lights he spotted what he thought were a couple of militants on the guns, but none of them made any move to intercept the Humvee.
His two-way radio crackled to life. "Incoming vehicle, identify yourself."
The radio chatter from the forward camp wouldn't have reached these men, of course. Without radio towers and repeaters along the way, the distance was just too far.
"I'm a courier," Ethan said into his radio. "I have a message for the battle emir."
The militants waved him through.
Ethan drove past the heavy artillery into the empty expanse of land beyond. The southeast edge of Kobane lay about a kilometer ahead.
The sky cleared as the vehicle broke free of the tire smoke that choked the villages; the quarter moon cast its dim light down upon them. He hoped none of the passing jets or drones would mark his thermal signature for bombing.
He breathed a soft sigh of relief when he reached the city's perimeter. At the entrance checkpoint he slowed to a halt, then slid the window locking bar from its hole and lowered the Humvee's ballistic glass.
One of the fighters on duty shone a flashlight inside. Ethan was about to repeat his courier claim when a garbled voice came over the man's two-way radio. The fighter raised a hand in a "wait a moment" gesture.
"Say again?" the man spoke into the two-way.
The voice returned, but there was far too much static for it to be intelligible. Likely the speaker originated from the forward village, or a vehicle on the way to Kobane from there. Ethan did catch one ominous word: "Prisoners."
The soldier shrugged, then returned his attention to the Humvee.
"I am a courier—" Ethan began, but the fighter was already waving him through.
Ethan stepped on the accelerator.
Almost there.
SULEMAN CROSSED both checkpoints with relative ease. He simply told the lazy watchmen that he was in pursuit of escaped kaffir spies. At the second checkpoint, the soldier on duty hesitated when he spotted the bloody nose, but when the man looked into his eyes and saw the fires that burned there, he seemed to understand that Suleman was a true lion of Islam, fervently dedicated to the cause.
Suleman's nose still throbbed slightly, and he experienced bouts of dizziness. Those were the least of his problems, however: traveling by vehicle through Kobane proper proved extremely difficult. The streets were a mess, and he had been forced to backtrack several times when his way was blocked by a collapsed building or blast crater. Worse, Emad's signal no longer showed up on the Stingray.
Despite these difficulties, he had no doubt he would find Emad eventually. None whatsoever. Allah would guide him.
He switched over the two-way radio to the common frequency and spoke. "All units, be on the lookout for a roaming Humvee. Report its position, but do not attack." The last was to ensure that any militants who spotted Suleman's Humvee wouldn't launch a rocket at him.
"I've spotted the Humvee," a scratchy voice returned a moment later. It cut in and out with static. "It just turned off Forty-Eight Street and is heading south toward the outskirts of Kobane."
Suleman grinned wickedly. He'd recognize that voice anywhere. It was Emad. The kaffir thought Suleman would fall for that, did he? Heading south toward the outskirts of Kobane. Bah. It was obvious he planned on crossing over to the Kurds. Suleman swore the kaffir would die before he reached the yellow-faces. And after he killed Emad, he planned to return home to Britain, where he would be hailed a hero for his dedicated undercover work above and beyond the call of duty. At the offices of MI6, he would detonate a suicide vest as he shook the Chief's hand. His courageous act of martyrdom would serve as a beacon of hope for all Muslims everywhere, and they would rise up against the infidel oppressors worldwide.
Suleman continued making his way toward the front line, backtracking when the streets proved impassable. He began to despair of finding Emad in time. Had Allah abandoned him so soon?
"Emir," Fida'a said.
Suleman glanced at his loyal friend. Fida'a nodded at the open laptop.
Emad's signal had returned.
"WHICH WAY, Aaron?" Ethan said.
Seven meters ahead, the way forward was blocked by a severely damaged apar
tment building. The entire right side had been blown away, spilling huge piles of concrete and furniture onto the roadway.
They had faced several such blockages during the flight—it was a rabbit's warren out there. Ethan had considered simply abandoning the Humvee, but with Aaron's injuries it was best to stay with the vehicle as long as possible.
"You do realize your map is slightly outdated, right?" Aaron said from behind. "It's missing some key information, namely, which goddamn buildings have collapsed!"
"Do what you can," Ethan said curtly.
His thoughts drifted to the radio chatter he had answered earlier. That man who had asked the mujahadeen to report any Humvees... Ethan couldn't be sure because of the static, but he thought the voice belonged to Suleman. He'd left the man duct-taped in the forward camp. Had he broken free already? Whatever the case, someone was pursuing them, and that someone apparently wanted Ethan for himself.
A few other radio calls had come in, questioning his intent, but he always answered in pristine Arabic, identifying himself as a courier. None of the brothers he talked to ever repeated his location over the radio for the pursuers, probably because they couldn't tell he drove a Humvee in the night.
Ethan glanced in the left and right rearview mirrors. The road still seemed clear behind them. So far. "Come on, Aaron. Pick a direction. Or I'll do it for you."
His fellow operative didn't answer.
"Aaron!"
"Go right," Aaron said.
"Finally." Ethan took his foot off the brake and started the turn. "See if you can contact Black Mamba yet. I want—"
He was cut off when something struck the front right side of the vehicle.
37
At first Ethan thought a mortar shell had impacted, but when the vehicle veered sharply to the left of its own accord, he saw another Humvee streak past, loudly scraping the outer hull. The other vehicle tore away, halting several meters to the left.
Not trusting the ballistic glass, Ethan kept low. "You guys okay?"
"Fine," Aaron said from the backseat.
"Will?"
"I'm good," William answered. His friend was similarly crouched. "It hit the engine, not me."
The Humvee had stalled. The wait-to-start lamp was inactive, and so was the transmission indicator lamp. Staying as low as he could in his seat, Ethan tried the rotary switch regardless. The engine refused to cooperate. It was about time they left the vehicle anyway.
He peered at the second Humvee through the windshield. Lit by the quarter moon, it lay almost parallel to their own vehicle, with its tailgate facing them. The subtle, shifting darkness of smoke billowed from its engine.
Ethan opened the driver side door and stepped out, using the metal doorframe for cover. William did the same on the passenger side.
Gunfire erupted from the opposing vehicle. He instinctively ducked, recognizing the triple report of an M16. It was intermixed with the semi-automatic bursts of an AK-47. Muzzle flashes filled the night.
The other Humvee was far too close for him to practically use Beast. And the Dragunov wouldn't suffice either, not for what he intended. He needed something capable of laying down several rounds of covering fire.
"Aaron," he shouted over his shoulder. "AK. Two RGDs."
From the backseat Aaron handed over his AK and the requested fragmentation grenades.
"William," Ethan said. "Get Aaron to those buildings." He nodded toward the intersection behind them. "Let me know when you're ready to make the dash."
Ethan returned fire sporadically with the AK. Meanwhile William made his way around the rear of the vehicle to the left side passenger door and unloaded Aaron.
"Ready!" William's voice came a few seconds later.
Ethan moved to the backside of the vehicle—an enemy grenade detonated in the spot he had just vacated. He squeezed past William and Aaron, who had taken up a position near the rightmost brake light, and then he crouched behind the open passenger side door.
He threw one of the RGD-5s. It detonated, filling the air between the two vehicles with black smoke.
"Go!" He lay down suppression with the AK. The grenade smoke obscured the line of fire from the enemy Humvee's driver side flank, so he concentrated mostly on the passenger windows.
"Clear!" William's Arabic voice carried from behind.
Ethan stopped firing. He had expended almost all of the AK's thirty round magazine. He pulled the pin and threw the second RGD-5, then retreated to the back of the Humvee. Sporadic gunfire erupted from the opposing vehicle.
He didn't need to tell William what to do.
As soon as the grenade detonated, William immediately lay down covering fire with his AK. Ethan crossed the thirty meter gap at a sprint, diving for cover behind the building at the edge of the intersection.
He returned the AK to Aaron. His friend was resting against the building, huffing, phone in hand.
"Someone's out of shape," Ethan taunted him.
Aaron ignored the jibe. "Black Mamba is still offline," he said between breaths, sliding the Kalashnikov over his shoulder. "I'm setting your phone to issue a notification when he comes on."
"You can do that?" Ethan said.
"Obviously." Aaron stuffed the phone and USB stick combination into Ethan's cargo pocket. "All set."
Behind him, William remained by the building's edge, occasionally firing at the other Humvee.
Ethan shrugged the sniper rifle down from his shoulder. He was about to leave his friends to find an outflanking position when two mujahadeen joined them from across the street. Perfect.
"Brothers," Ethan said. "Two yellow-faces are pinned in the farthest Humvee around the corner. Hold this position while we go around the block and outflank them."
The mujahadeen agreed.
Ethan hoisted Aaron's arm over his neck and proceeded onward. William brought up the rear.
"We're not really planning on outflanking them, are we?" Aaron said as Ethan led him through a ragged hole in a cinder block fence.
"Nope. We're getting the hell out. We'll be long gone by the time our pursuers realize they've been shooting at ghosts."
SULEMAN STARED through his scope at the dead bodies of his enemies. While Fida'a had held the Humvee, Suleman had made his way to an overwatch position across the street and then mown down both attackers. Afterward, unsure if Emad or another was lying in wait to snipe him, he had ordered Fida'a to leave cover and check the bodies. The man had blindly obeyed.
"It's not them," Fida'a radioed. He sounded winded.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
Suleman jogged over to him. Fida'a was right. Neither of the dead men were Emad or his companions. He felt cheated.
Fida'a sat on the broken pavement, resting against the side of the building, his AK across his lap.
Suleman set his laptop down and opened it. Emad's signal was relatively close.
"Get up," he told Fida'a. "I don't want to lose him."
His companion coughed terribly, and did not rise.
"What's wrong?" Suleman went to him.
Fida'a smiled in the moonlight. His teeth were black—covered in blood. "I'm sorry, my friend," he said, wheezing. "But I must take my leave of you."
Suleman knelt beside him. Fida'a had taken an ugly gunshot wound in the chest. "Your place in jannah is guaranteed," Suleman told him.
"I know. Good luck to you, my brother. I will see you again in paradise."
His loyal friend closed his eyes and died.
Suleman slumped, filled with sadness. True, moments ago he had ordered Fida'a into the line of fire of a potential sniper, willing to sacrifice him to reveal the marksman's position. But he hadn't really expected his friend to die. Allah was with them. And when no shot came, that had served only to confirm his belief.
But he was wrong.
He felt utterly sapped. His mangled nose throbbed worse than ever.
Maybe I should just let Emad go.
No. Emad represented a
ll that was wrong with the world—the depravity, deceit, and dishonor of the West. If he killed Emad, he would prove to himself that good could triumph over evil in the end, and that he was right in his decision to forego his infidel masters.
But he couldn't continue the hunt in his current state. He needed a little something extra.
Nose throbbing, he weakly returned to the Humvee and retrieved the autoinjector kit. The epinephrine vials had survived the crash. He loaded one and placed the injector over his heart.
He hesitated only a moment.
"Allahu akbar," Suleman declared, and injected himself directly in the heart.
He felt a stabbing pain in his chest and keeled over.
I have killed myself, he thought.
But the pain quickly subsided, replaced by an incredible surge of energy. He lived, and more importantly, he felt more alive than ever before.
Allah was with him once more.
He glanced at the laptop.
I'm coming for you Emad.
ETHAN FOLLOWED the noise of heavy machine guns—the sporadic din of both sides exchanging fire, the sounds growing louder with each passing moment. He and his friends were nearing the front.
Ethan and William helped Aaron in shifts. It was currently William's turn, so Ethan was leading the way, Beast in hand.
As he crossed in front of a collapsed building, a feral dog looked up and growled before running off. He was surprised no one had eaten it yet.
Ethan heard a high-pitched whistle as a Kurdish shell pierced the air. He cringed, knowing it could easily land on top of them. The keen descended in pitch, finally ending in an explosion some distance away. The Islamic State line responded with DShK fire.
As he passed an upturned Hyundai van, Ethan's phone vibrated in his pocket. He paused, directing Aaron and William behind the vehicle, where all three of them crouched. He retrieved his phone and read the notification while William watched their flank. "Black Mamba is finally online."
