Retrieval

by Ethan Jones

  “Can you go back to Mosul?”

  “No, because of my husband, we’ve been branded an ISIS family. We are considered the enemy, so it is too dangerous to return to our house.”

  Claudia leaned forward. “These ISIS fighters, the ones that you say never left. We’d like to interview them, so that we can—”

  “So that they can be captured and killed?” Ghanem’s voice turned sharp and cold.

  “No, no, no,” Javin said. “We’d like to hear their side. We’d like to give them a chance to tell their truth, give them a voice, the same way that we’re doing with you.”

  “The western media always distorts the truth. You always tell lies.”

  Javin nodded. “So help us to tell the truth. We’d like to interview these courageous men that are determined to give you back hope. I promise, we’ll have a good conversation with them.”

  “We can meet them at a time and location of their choosing,” Claudia said.

  Ghanem did not seem convinced. She kept shaking her head.

  Javin said, “Well, why don’t we continue with some questions about how you see the ethnic interactions between the Sunnis and the Shias?”

  The question sent Ghanem into a long rant about the miserable conditions of the people living under the heel of the Shia militias. She did not spare curses on the Shia fighters and their families, denouncing the atrocities she claimed were taking place on a daily basis.

  Javin was familiar with similar allegations. Videos of beatings, torture, and executions, allegedly committed by the Shia militias and also some of the Sunni fighters, were circulating on the Internet. Iraq was a revengeful land, and people disappeared or were executed, sometimes based on very little evidence or suspicion.

  He took advantage of a brief pause as Ghanem was catching her breath to ask, “How do you feel here, inside the camp? Is it safe?”

  “No, not really. We are often harassed, provoked. Sometimes, we are not given the food rations.”

  “But is it better than going back to Mosul?”

  Ghanem hesitated for a moment, then said, “Yes, I have to admit that it is better. Other women, who have gone back to their neighborhoods, were taken away by them.”

  “Who are ‘them’?” Claudia asked.

  “Do I need to make it plain for you? The government forces or those evil men the government allows to roam the streets of Mosul. Those are the ones who took away these innocent women.”

  Javin said, “Besides your husband, did you lose other family members?”

  Ghanem did not respond right away. She looked at the tent wall, then away in the distance. “I ... I lost two brothers. Then I have, well, had a sister. She ... she disappeared when we left Mosul, and we haven’t heard from her.” Her voice wavered, and she could scarcely hold back her tears.

  “How long ago was that?” Claudia asked. She had leaned forward, but hesitated to touch Ghanem’s hand and comfort her, afraid she might misunderstand the gesture.

  “It was two weeks, no, fifteen days ago.”

  “And no news?”

  Ghanem shook her head. “No, so we have no hope we will ever see her alive.”

  Javin asked, “What do you think happened to her?”

  “She was probably executed if someone recognized her and tied her to us, to me.” Ghanem paused and sniffled back tears. “It was my ... my fault. If she had come into our car, and we had room, she would be here with me.” Ghanem tapped the mat next to her.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Claudia said. “This is war.”

  “And maybe she’s still alive,” Javin said. “Perhaps someone can help you find her.”

  “Who? Who will do that? No one is looking for missing family members with links to ISIS. But we had to cooperate, or we would be killed. What choice did we have?”

  Javin nodded. The choice was obvious: resist the evil that the ISIS extremists had embodied, and fight them everywhere, at all times, before they became too strong. But most of Mosul’s residents had welcomed the ISIS butchers as saviors who would liberate them from the hated and distrusted regime of Baghdad, which was Shia dominated. The Iraqi military melted away, leaving state-of-the-art weaponry to fall into the hands of the extremist fighters, which emboldened them, swelling their ranks. Soon enough, the residents learned, to their shock, that ISIS turned out far from the generous and kind image they were trying to portray.

  A thought materialized in Javin’s mind, and he decided to act upon it. “We’re journalists. Perhaps we can focus on her case to emphasize the need for closure and reconciliation. We will need more details, of course, but perhaps, after we’ve talked to those ISIS fighters who are still around, we can start to shed some light on what happened to her.”

  Ghanem gave Javin a puzzled look. “ISIS fighters had nothing to do with my sister’s disappearance.”

  “Right, but they might know the groups that were fighting them on that ... that day that was so bad for you and for her.”

  Ghanem nodded slowly. “So, are you going to help me find my sister?”

  Javin shrugged. “I can’t make any promises. However, if you arrange for us to meet with those ISIS leaders—or whoever you can find that agrees to talk to us—we will do the best we can to find her—”

  “I’m not sure I can trust you...”

  “Have I given you a reason not to?”

  “No, but you’re a Westerner, and you can’t be trusted.”

  Javin turned his body so he was closer to Ghanem. “Look, I can find information about ISIS members and their supporters from other residents in the camp or people who live in the city. But you ... how are you going to find your sister? You said it yourself, no one will be looking for missing family members linked to ISIS.”

  Ghanem nodded slowly.

  Javin said, “Think about it. Your name will never come up. You can simply find where they are, and let us know about it. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

  Ghanem nodded again. “This ... this will take some time. And I want some assurance that you will not just take my information and give me nothing in return.”

  “That’s only fair,” Claudia said. “What would be such an assurance?”

  “Start looking for my sister, and I’ll start looking for someone willing to talk to you.”

  “That’s very reasonable of you,” Javin said. “We’ll start right away with the camps around Mosul. Then, if we come up empty, we’ll expand the search to the wider region.”

  “We’ll also ask our other media contacts,” Claudia said. “Some of them have talked to or are in the process of interviewing former ISIS members, like we want to do. Someone might know something.”

  “Then you have a deal,” Ghanem said in a firm tone.

  Javin said, “Just be prepared that the news might not be good. Even if found alive, your sister would have—”

  “I know how badly she must have been treated. Probably it would have been better if she was killed on the spot. But ... I’d like to know for certain. Or have a body to cry over.” Tears began to run down her face. She turned her head to the other side and began to wipe her tears with her headdress.

  “We’ll do what we can to help,” Javin said. “Like you will.”

  “If you keep your part of the deal, I will surely keep mine.”

  “I’m glad we came to this agreement, Ms. Ghanem. Now, we’ll just need a few details about your sister, and when you last saw her. And a picture, if you have any.”

  Ghanem took another moment to compose herself, then reached for her phone in a small bag next to the TV. “I have several pictures of her right here.”

  Javin and Claudia spent the next few minutes gathering specifics about Ghanem’s sister, Rania. When they were finished, Javin glanced at Claudia. “Any final questions?”

  “No, I’m okay.”

  “All right, well, thanks for your help. We truly appreciate it.”

  “Inshallah, we’ll find something good about Rania. And soon.
”

  Ghanem said, “Yes, yes, inshallah.”

  As they were leaving the tent, both Javin and Claudia missed the gaze of a young man studying them from a distance. He was trained in surveillance and dropped down near a garbage can, pretending to be looking for cigarette butts. After Javin and Claudia had passed him and met with their driver and two armed men waiting for them by the Nissan, the young man pulled out a cellphone. He snapped a few pictures of everyone, focusing mostly on the armed men. When he was finished, he dialed a number. When someone answered from the other end of the line, he said, “Put me through to the commander.”

  He waited for a few seconds until the commander came to the phone, then the young man said, “The Canadian agents just finished talking to Ghanem.”

  Chapter Four

  Mosul, Iraq

  The local police commander listened impatiently to the young man for about ten seconds, then interrupted him with a torrent of questions. The more the commander learned, the angrier he became. Sweat began to pour out of his brow, and he mopped it with the sleeve of his plaid shirt. He glanced around the small room, and his eyes went to his aide, standing near the window and paying attention to every single word of the conversation. The commander cursed out loud, then leaned closer to the phone he had placed on the table. “What exactly did she tell them?”

  The young man hesitated for a moment, then said in a low, weak voice, “I ... I don’t know that, because—”

  “You’re paid to learn everything that happens in the camp with regard to Ghanem and the others.”

  “It was impossible, because of the policeman and the other gunman, a Shia.”

  The commander cursed the Shia and his mother. “So we have no idea if she gave away our secret?”

  “I don’t think so. She only talked to them for a few minutes, and this is the first time she met them. At worst, she promised them something, because the agents had this smug look on their faces as they came out.”

  “All right. What else do you have?”

  “Nothing, that’s it.”

  “Stay with them, the Canadians and the locals helping these infidels. Don’t do anything, just keep track of where they are and what they’re doing.”

  “Of course, I will surely do that,” the young man said, eager to end the difficult conversation.

  The commander ended the call, then punched the wall of the room. The framed portrait of the Governor of Ninewa—the province where Mosul was the capital—shook, and it looked like it was going to fall to the floor. It did not, but it remained there lopsided. The commander shrugged and reached for the phone. “I’m calling the governor.” He dismissed the aide with a flick of the wrist.

  The governor’s phone rang for a long time, but there was no answer. The commander hung up and redialed. This time, the governor picked up after the fourth ring. “What is it, Zweiri?”

  “We have a major problem with one of the camp residents—”

  “Can this wait? I’m in a meeting with US military advisors...”

  “No, it can’t wait. It’s about the transactions and—”

  “Yes, yes. I get it. I’ll call you in a minute from another secure phone. Is your line safe?”

  Zweiri glanced at his phone and frowned. The young man had dialed this number. If someone was tracking his phone, they would be able to connect the two of them. The commander did not know much about how the technology worked, but he knew the Americans and their National Security Agency listened to everyone’s calls, especially if they kept using the same phones and called a large number of people. The sensitive call would require a heightened measure of security. “I’ll change phones as well. Here’s the new phone number.”

  He gave it to the governor and hung up. Zweiri found the new phone in one of his desk drawers. He had used this phone only a couple of times, always to call the same number, his younger brother, who was a student at the Carlos III University of Madrid, Spain. Yes, that phone will be safe. No one is tracking my baby brother.

  Zweiri placed the phone on the desk and waited for the call.

  Two long minutes dragged by in silence. Zweiri paced back and forth in his office, which grew smaller and smaller by the second. He felt his palms sweating and trembling. His beating heart drummed in his chest, and he thought it might just erupt at any moment. This is what those apostates and infidels must have felt, the ones we caged like animals...

  At the five-minute mark, Zweiri reached for the phone. He did not know the governor’s secure number, but he was going to call the office. However, before he could form the number, the phone rang. “Yes?” Zweiri said.

  “Those Americans were like leeches, so hard to get rid of. They bring a handful of advisors, who think they’re smarter than all of us, and expect us to give them honor and respect. The fools.”

  “So, we can talk now?”

  “Yes, yes. Go ahead, tell me what happened in the camp.”

  “Two Canadian special operatives, along with policemen and local militia, have been nosing around the camp. So far, they’ve talked to Ghanem and—”

  “How did that happen?”

  Zweiri shrugged. “I had people in place, but we can’t be obvious and stop journalists from talking to residents.”

  “These agents posed as journalists?”

  “Yes, they think that’s clever and we’ll not notice.”

  “They’re sadly mistaken.”

  “They are. Now, what should we do?”

  “How much has Ghanem told them?”

  “I’m not sure, since my men could not listen to the exchange.”

  “Well, that’s our first step. Find out what the bigmouth has blabbed to them. Use coercion, if necessary, but make it seem natural.”

  Zweiri nodded. “We’ve already ‘talked’ to her.”

  “Do it again, as it seems it hasn’t had the desired effect.”

  “I’ll take care of that, but perhaps we should stop the transactions—”

  “Zweiri, what have I always told you?”

  He frowned. The governor was about to give him a lecture about their relationship, but Zweiri was not in the mood. That crook forgets who brought him to power. Without me, he would be back in the street, a nobody. “You’ve told me many things, Governor...”

  “Well, this one is extremely important, and I’m tired of reminding you. I do the thinking, and you do the groundwork. How is that?”

  Zweiri cursed the governor under his breath and said nothing.

  “I’m waiting here...” the governor said.

  “I ... I understand,” Zweiri muttered.

  “Good. It’s good when you know your job.”

  “What should we do about the agents?”

  The governor thought about it for a long moment, then said, “I’ll meet with the Canadian agents, and try to steer them away from the woman and anything she might have said. We’ll try to handle this, let’s say ... gently.”

  “I don’t think that would persuade them. From what I’ve heard, the pair is very determined.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Asif.”

  The governor let out a loud groan. “Asif tends to misjudge people. He sees enemies and opposition everywhere. It’s in his nature.”

  “He’s seldom wrong.”

  “Yes, I know that, but thanks for the reminder.”

  Zweiri hesitated for a second, then said, “Perhaps we should send them a warning.”

  The governor thought about the suggestion, then said, “Sure. That would make Asif happy, at least for a while. But don’t kill them. That would only make matters worse. The Canadians, and potentially the Americans, will send in more teams. They might discover our involvement, and that will be the end, our end. Mine, but also yours.”

  It was the only time that Zweiri truly agreed with the governor. “Yes, we will do that.”

  “Good. Any other troubling news?”

  “No.”

  “Anything good?”

 
Zweiri struggled for words. “Well ... we have a plan, and that’s good.”

  “Yes. Let’s make sure it’s executed right. Take care of business, and call me when it’s all done.”

  “I will do that,” Zweiri said in a hurried tone and ended the call.

  He sighed and walked to the window. Asif will not be pleased. He doesn’t like to be on a leash. All I can do is relay the governor’s order. Then, it’s out of my hands.

  He dialed Asif’s phone number. He replied right away, “Yes, Commander, what do you need?”

  “The governor has a job for you.”

  Chapter Five

  Ninewa Governor’s Office

  Mosul, Iraq

  Javin was uncertain about the reason why Governor Hussein Khaznadar had summoned them to this meeting. The CIS, along with the CIA, had informed all relevant Iraqi authorities about their operation. The team was cooperating with the federal police and local militia forces in the joint mission. His approach was to work with the local government and allow them to take the credit for successful operations. Javin and Claudia were correctors, dispatched to the field to fix other teams’ errors. This was a slightly different mission, but it still had a major corrective profile. Javin and Claudia were expected to fly under the radar, go in, fix the situation, and come out without leaving a trace. However, the governor had politely asked for a progress report, and Javin felt obliged to comply with the request.

  “What would you like to know, Mr. Khaznadar?” Javin said in English in a warm tone.

  The governor had spent the first few minutes of their meeting talking about the government’s achievements in rebuilding the province and especially Mosul, bringing security, jobs, and services to the people. Then, he had inquired about their activities, but had kept his questions quite general. A few moments ago, he had asked specifically about the team’s visit to the refugee camp.