Retrieval

by Ethan Jones

  The governor shrugged and leaned back in his seat. He ran his hands over his nearly bald head and fixed a few of the hairs along the sides. “I just want to see how things are moving along. The people in the camp ... most of them are former Daesh fighters, or had connections with the Islamic extremists. We need to make sure the team is not misled through lies or false accusations.”

  “We appreciate your concern,” Javin said. “We are aware of the situation, and we’re relying on our local members to guide us through the maze of lies and deception.”

  “That’s good, that’s very good. I’m glad to hear that.” The governor nodded. “Now, whom did you talk to at the camp?”

  Javin was not sure why the governor was asking or whether he had any need for that information. He could easily find out by contacting Liberty, the Deputy Camp Manager, or any one of the camp officials. Perhaps he’s checking the integrity of our relationship. “We talked to several people, Governor. I have a full list, if you require all the names...”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. Anyone that stood out?”

  Javin glanced at Claudia sitting to his right. She offered a small shrug. “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I mean someone who spat venom toward my administration. I’d like to know who we should be on guard against, so that their lies are not spread to the ‘media,’ or officials from other countries.”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t come to you as a surprise that many people are displeased with the pace of the reconstruction and the lack of essential services. Murders and kidnappings are rampant and—”

  “As I mentioned, we’re doing all we can to bring things to a state of normality.” The governor sat up straight in his oversized armchair. “Daesh and their collaborators are dead set on hindering our efforts, casting a cloud of doubt over me, personally, and my people.”

  “I understand it, Mr. Khaznadar.”

  “So, then, who did you talk to?”

  Javin sighed, then said, “We talked to Huda Yusuf Ghanem, among others.”

  Governor Khaznadar frowned. “You did? You know who she is, right?”

  “Yes, a woman suspected—”

  “No, not suspected. We know for certain that she’s involved in many deaths and beatings of innocent people.”

  Claudia leaned forward. “How come she hasn’t been arrested or tried for her crimes?” She kept her voice warm and low and simply asked the question, without any hint of accusation.

  The governor heaved a deep sigh. “Oh, it’s a long and complicated situation. It’s difficult to prove many charges that are brought up, not only against her, but many other people. We can’t assume that everyone who lived in Mosul under the Daesh occupation was a terrorist. Plus, we’re trying to work toward reconciliation ... Unless there’s strong, concrete evidence, we can’t do much.”

  Javin nodded. He was not certain how much of what the governor was saying was lip service to foreigners and how much was a true policy of the new administration. Many of the senior officials who had served in their functions during the ISIS reign of terror were still in their positions. Many had claimed that they had no choice but to collaborate, or face death, beatings, or extermination of their families.

  The governor said, “Now, what lies did Ghanem tell you?”

  “Oh, what you can expect from an ISIS member. Accusations against the police and especially the Shia militias.”

  “Yes, of course. Let’s blame the Shias who helped rid this country of the Daesh plague.”

  Javin thought about whether he should inform the governor about Ghanem’s sister. Considering what he believed about her, Javin doubted the governor would help them. He was asking specific questions, so Javin was prepared to give him specific answers. “Ghanem asked us to look into the disappearance of her sister, Rania. Are you familiar with—”

  “Is that your job, now, Mr. Pierce? Looking for Daesh family members...”

  Javin frowned. He wanted to say that it was supposed to be the job of the administration to find out what had happened to all of its residents, especially the ones who could have been kidnapped. But his comment would not help the already tense situation. So he shook his head. “No, Governor, but since it was brought to our attention, I thought I’d bring it to yours.”

  The governor nodded. “Do you know how many people have disappeared in my province? No? Well, let me tell you. The number is in the thousands. And that doesn’t include those who have left for their own personal reasons and were not kidnapped or intimidated. People looking for opportunities in other cities or abroad.”

  “Yes, but everyone deserves the same attention, right?”

  “And they do, of course they do. You can leave her name and other information with my aides... I’m sure they already have it, since this is not a new case, but perhaps Ms. Ghanem has something new that might help.” The governor’s voice had taken on a hint of warmth.

  “Thank you,” Javin said, uncertain of the reason for the sudden change in the governor’s tone and attitude. “She would appreciate being united with her sister, and this would be a great gesture of reconciliation with the ISIS community.”

  “Right, right, but there is very little hope. This is like looking for the needle in a haystack, as you say, right? We’ll do our best, but, no promises.”

  “Yes, that’s all we’re asking for,” Javin said. “Perhaps the sister is in another camp. Or maybe the police or the militia has some information, or can get some information, from the ISIS fighters they’ve rounded up, or from the databases they have.”

  The governor nodded again. “Yes, yes, we’ll let my people worry about this. They do this all the time, looking for people, for all these thousands that have disappeared. Now, going back to your assignment, the reason you came to Mosul, to find the ISIS leaders... How’s that coming along?”

  Javin was uncomfortable sharing classified intelligence with Governor Khaznadar. The man who had previously occupied that office had been sacked a few months back because of allegations of corruption and turning a blind eye to sectarian violence. Rumors circulated that the current governor had ties to dirty money flowing from ISIS activities: illegal oil sales, extortion, bribes, and ransom money from families of kidnapped victims. Nothing could be proven, as was often the case in these situations, and so far, the governor had ridden the wave of charges against him. “Eh ... we’ve made some progress, but still have nothing concrete. That’s why we went to the camp, so we could obtain some intel. Anyone who is even remotely related to Daesh could be of value.”

  Claudia gestured with her hand. “We’d like to talk to any of the prisoners held by the local police and—”

  “That’s not going to happen.” The governor stood up and walked to the window. “First, they’ll realize you’re not just journalists, and that would make you a target.”

  “We’re used to that, sir.”

  “You might be, but I can’t have two foreign operatives killed while I’m in office.”

  Yes, that wouldn’t play well during the re-election, Javin thought.

  “Second, those rats lie about everything. Once they clue in that they could get a reward for telling ‘the truth,’ they’ll fill you up with stories and send you chasing false trails.”

  “So, then, what can the administration offer us?”

  The governor shrugged. “You have all my resources at your disposal. But those prisoners, they’re off limits. Trust me, we’ve tried to get information from them. For the most part, it hasn’t worked, as they refused to talk. And when they do, like I said, it’s only lies.” He gave Javin and Claudia an exhausted look.

  “We understand, sir,” Claudia said.

  Javin said, “I guess we’ll continue to look, but it might take some time. We have no real leads at the moment.”

  The governor walked around the table and stood closer to Javin and Claudia. “I don’t want to pressure you, but this assignment cannot continue indefinitely. I’ve started to get complaints fro
m our intelligence officers.”

  “You have?” Javin gave the governor a sideways glance, but kept his voice neutral.

  “Yes, a number of them.”

  “About what specifically?”

  The governor flinched. He had not expected the question, so he did not respond immediately. “Eh ... about interference with local investigations.”

  Javin stifled a grin. “Okay. So what are you telling us?”

  “I’d like you to wrap up your work in the next two days. If you have no concrete results in that time, you must hand over all evidence to our intelligence office.”

  “Three days isn’t sufficient—”

  “That’s all you’re getting, Mr. Pierce. You knew that your presence here was short-term and only for the purpose of finding the Daesh leaders. Unless that happens in a couple of days, you’ll have to leave.”

  Claudia said, “We’ll need more time if—”

  Javin interrupted her. “We understand, Governor. It will be a tight deadline, but we’ll do our best.”

  “Good. I’m glad this is clear. Now, I don’t want to take more of your time, considering you’re running out...”

  There was a hint of mischief in the governor’s voice, but Javin did not allow it to unravel him. He did not want to end the conversation with a bad taste in his mouth. The governor could be a difficult man to deal with, but it was always good to never burn bridges. So Javin nodded and said, “Thank you, Governor. We appreciate your time and support.”

  “Yes, yes, any time.”

  They shook hands, and the governor ushered them out of his office. A guard escorted them through the hall and outside the building.

  “Now what?” Claudia asked when they were beyond the guard’s earshot.

  “We’ll start with the prisoners. If the governor isn’t going to be of help, we’ll have to find another way.”

  “How?”

  “Not sure, but let’s see if Issawi or al-Razi have any ideas.”

  “And what’s this business of Iraqi intelligence complaining about us?”

  “That sounds like nonsense, but we’ll ask around to see if there’s some truth to it.”

  Chapter Six

  CIS Safehouse

  Two Miles North of Mosul, Iraq

  The small building was far from being safe or even a house, but Javin was not about to complain to his hosts. The Shia militia and the Iraqi police officers were sleeping in the same poor conditions, on thin mattresses on the floor in Spartan rooms. There was power, thanks to a diesel generator, but no running water. However, the hundred-gallon reservoir atop the roof of the two-story structure provided a small amount of water for their basic hygiene needs. And they had food for three meals a day. What else did they need?

  Javin lay awake, his mind going over the recent developments. He thought about Rania, the ISIS widow’s sister. The governor was right: finding her was going to be extremely difficult. UNHCR’s records were incomplete, since people went in and out of the camps as they pleased. When someone was found, the last thing on the family’s mind was to inform the authorities so that the missing person’s name could be removed from the lists. Some people registered under aliases, making the Herculean effort almost impossible.

  Javin was not one to give up easily. He had sent out Rania’s photo to as many people as he could, starting with Liberty at the Hasan Sham camp. Claudia had teased him about wanting to see Liberty for personal reasons. Of course, Javin denied it, but he could sense the tension building up between the two of them. She had been giving him certain looks and had created in him an unexpected vibe. Is it because I haven’t been with a woman for a while? Or is it because I’m looking at her as someone who deserves to be protected in this brutal land? He shrugged and made the call. Liberty promised to send Rania’s photos to all camps in the province. It was a good start.

  Then, Javin had talked to Issawi and al-Razi. Both had reluctantly agreed to start searching for the missing woman, and both had given not even the slightest assurance of hope. As expected, al-Razi had called this exercise “a waste of time.” Javin wished he could tell him and the Iraqi police contact about the potential trade if the woman was found. While Javin had no specific reason to distrust the local members of his team, it was in his nature to safeguard and compartmentalize the intelligence, especially while it was in the process of being gathered. The more people who knew about the widow’s promise to help the team, the more likely it was for the word to get around and for something bad to happen to her.

  Al-Razi was more willing to help in finding out who in the Iraqi intelligence was complaining about the team and why. Being a Shia, he saw the complaint as a personal attack from the Sunnis, since most of the security force in and around Mosul belonged to that ethnic group. Al-Razi and his militia had invested much in the team’s operation, and they were not going to allow anonymous voices to smear their reputation.

  Issawi, on the other hand, shrugged off the accusations as nothing but baseless rumors that deserved none of their attention. He promised to look into the matter of interrogating any of the prisoners, despite the governor’s refusal to allow them access. He noted that it was going to be difficult and some money would likely need to change hands. In principle, Javin was against all types of bribery, but he was also pragmatic. In Iraq’s society, steeped in corruption, paying “intermediary” fees was the only way to get things done in a timely fashion. The cost of doing business, he thought, and getting results. The CIS had provided him with a special fund he could access for such “technical expenses.”

  He turned onto his back on the uncomfortable mattress and reached for his phone. It was underneath his pillow, next to his Sig Sauer P320 pistol. He entered his password, and the screen glowed dimly. Javin checked his work email account. There was a report from the agency about the situation in northern Iraq and eastern Syria across the border. I’ll read that in the morning. He scrolled down to the next message. It was from his and Claudia’s boss, Michael Bateaux. He was appointed the CIS Director of Intelligence for the Europe Division about a week ago, after the former director had met an untimely death in Geneva. The email was short, in Bateaux’s usual style: Call me now.

  Javin shrugged. Well, now is as good a time as any. I’m awake, and so is he. He made some mental calculations. It was nine fifty in the evening in Ottawa, the location of the CIS headquarters and Bateaux’s office.

  He sat up at the end of the mattress trying to make as little noise as possible. Claudia was sleeping across from him, at the far end of the room and by the door. An Iraqi police officer was stretched right under the window. He was facing the wall and was snoring and wheezing.

  Javin leaned on the handle, and the door opened with a low squeak. He glanced at Claudia and held his breath as she stirred. She was a light sleeper, but in this case, she just rolled onto her side.

  He stepped around boxes of ammunition and a couple of machine guns stored “temporarily” in the middle of the hall. They had been there for two days. A faint glow came through a couple of large gaps in the wall caused by mortar rounds and a series of slits the Shia militia had carved out, which were large enough for their rifle barrels. Javin nodded at one of the Iraqi policemen, who was standing guard outside the main entrance. He was struggling to keep his eyes open and did his best to appear awake as Javin walked past him.

  Javin stepped out of the porch and walked in the high-walled front yard. He reached for his phone and glanced at Rania’s photo that her sister had given him. Rania was dressed in a long loose robe and a headdress, but he could still make out the slender shape of her body and noticed how attractive she was. Rania had raven hair, large hazel eyes, a small narrow nose, and a small birthmark just underneath the left corner of her lips. Barely in her twenties, she would have been a coveted prize for men driven by their lust. He hoped she had not fallen into such wicked hands. The terrors she would have gone through would be beyond description and never to be forgotten. Her beauty might work in her
favor, as she would be a difficult face to forget.

  He glanced at the guard, who had lit a cigarette. He was beyond earshot, so Javin dialed his boss. The first three rings went unanswered.

  Then an explosion came from the right side of the house.

  It was the side where Claudia was sleeping.

  Javin dropped his phone and dashed toward the house.

  The move saved his life.

  He had barely made it to the porch when a second explosion tossed him through the air. Debris covered him, but no shrapnel, since most of it sprayed the porch’s low decorative walls. His ears rang, but he crawled inside the house.

  The policeman opened fire at targets Javin could not see. The spent cartridges fell next to him. Then the policeman collapsed to his knees, then to his side. He was bleeding profusely from two wounds in his neck and thigh.

  Javin glanced at the wounded man as more bullets ricocheted off the metal door and danced around them. The Canadian agent dragged the policeman away from the torrents of bullets just as someone else opened fired from one of the windows near the porch. Javin checked the policeman’s vitals, but he had no pulse.

  Javin shook his head and grabbed the AK rifle that had fallen on the floor. He stole a peek and noticed a gunman standing near a large gap in the wall by the main gate. The man swung a rocket-propelled grenade launcher and aimed it at the house’s entrance.

  Javin had only a split second to react.

  He tapped the rifle’s trigger and planted three bullets in the gunman’s chest.

  Still, he was able to fire his launcher.

  The grenade screamed through the air and slammed into the house, about four feet away from Javin. The metal door partially protected him from the wave of shrapnel. Debris and slivers from the cinderblock wall covered Javin. He was far enough away for them not to cause severe damage, but they covered his back. He had been able to cover his face with his arms, which only suffered minor cuts.

  Javin slid backwards away from the mangled door and the hole the grenade had tore through the wall. One of the Iraqi fighters inside the hall—probably the one who had returned fire—was lying on his back and writhing in pain. He reached for his rifle, but his arms were too weak to hold it upright.