Retrieval

by Ethan Jones

  “It’s all right, leave it,” Javin said.

  He was in the line of fire and worried the fighter’s rifle in shaky hands would strike him instead of the enemy.

  The fighter nodded.

  Javin climbed to one knee and squeezed off a few rounds. He fired through the door, then he crawled to the window and searched the yard for enemy combatants. The yard was empty. If there were still fighters out there, they were positioned in the back alley, behind the walls.

  “Javin, Javin, where are you?” Claudia called out to him.

  “I’m here, by the window.”

  Before she could say another word, a new explosion rocked the house. It came from the back and was followed by long barrages.

  “You okay?” Javin asked Claudia.

  “Yes, I’m okay.”

  He looked up at her face covered in dust and noticed a cut on the left side of her face. Then his eyes went to her scraped arms.

  Claudia shrugged, “Just scratches. You?”

  “I’m good. How are the others?”

  “Two dead. Two wounded.”

  “Issawi? Al-Razi? How are they?”

  “They’re okay. Fighting in the back.”

  She slid next to him.

  “Cover me.”

  Claudia nodded and stood up. She aimed her C8SFW carbine at the gate and looked through the night vision scope. “You’re good.”

  He zipped through the porch and stopped when he came close to the large opening by the gate. He began to slice the pie—the tactic of clearing a corner slowly and carefully, starting as close as possible to the wall and moving out—and cleared the area. He stood carefully next to the wall and listened. No gunfire, car engines, or footsteps. Javin crouched and went through the gap.

  Two dead bodies were lying in the alley. Lights were on in a couple of houses to his right, but no fighters on gates, windows, or rooftops. It seemed the attack was over. “Clear, it’s all clear,” he shouted at Claudia.

  “Copy,” she replied.

  Javin studied the dead fighters. They were unknown to him. He went through their pockets, but found no IDs or cellphones. One of them had a few Iraqi bills on him, about twenty dollars in all. One of the banknotes had a few numbers scribbled on the side. Maybe that’s a phone number that can lead us somewhere. He pocketed the marked banknote, then returned the rest of the money into the fighter’s pockets.

  Javin had just stood up when al-Razi and Claudia stepped into the alley. Bloodstains had covered most of al-Razi’s left sleeve.

  “What happened to you?” Javin said.

  Al-Razi cursed the shooter who had wounded him. “I killed him and his friend.”

  “Let’s get you to a medic.”

  “I see you got a couple too.” He cocked his head toward the bodies.

  “Yes. Do you know them?”

  Al-Razi took a closer look at them, then shook his head. “No, but we’ll find out who they are.”

  “And who sent them,” Claudia said.

  Javin nodded. “Yes, let’s learn everything we can about this attack.”

  Chapter Seven

  Mosul, Iraq

  “What do you mean ‘you attacked the safehouse’?” Commander Zweiri shouted on the phone. “Did you misunderstand the governor’s order about sending a warning?”

  Asif, the man at the other end of the line, did not reply for a long moment, then said, “That’s what we did. A swift, precise attack, to show them—”

  “That attack caused the deaths of two police officers and one militiaman. Now, I have a lot of explaining to do. And so does the governor, who is fuming mad, at me, but mostly at you.”

  Another long pause.

  “Asif, are you still there?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, how do you explain what happened?”

  “Well ... my men got carried away, or there must have been a breakdown in communication. Also, it’s difficult to fire warning shots when they’re grenades...”

  “Who is going to take responsibility for the attack?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The governor wants someone’s head. A couple of them.”

  “Are you telling me to sacrifice my own men?”

  “It will have to be someone’s head, Asif. Unless you want it to be yours...”

  Asif cursed under his breath, but the commander still heard it. He said, “That’s not going to help you. Find a couple of fools to take the blame. Fools that will do everything not to be taken alive when the police surround them.”

  “I know what to do now,” Asif replied right away.

  “Good. Take care of it immediately, then have someone phone in the information. We’ve got to contain this quickly.”

  “I will do that.”

  “Asif, don’t embarrass me again.”

  “No, that will not happen.”

  “Good. Call me when it’s done.”

  The commander ended the call and cursed Asif. Why have I cast my lot with such idiots? They can’t even do a simple job. How hard is it to fire a few rounds at a house and disappear into the night? He shook his head and used another cellphone to call the governor on a secure line.

  The governor replied right away. “Yes? What happened?”

  “He said his men got carried away and were confused about the order.”

  “Excuses, bad excuses.”

  “Right, but he’s going to fix it, as per your suggestion.”

  “Do you think he’s going to get it right this time?”

  “He must, otherwise he will be the one to pay.”

  The governor seemed to think about his next words, then said, “Maybe it’s time we get rid of him.”

  “We can do that, of course. But he still has a lot to give. Plus, we’d need to find a replacement.” The commander thought about the time when he had introduced Asif to Mr. Khaznadar a long time before the latter had become the Governor of Ninewa. The commander’s reputation and honor were on the line, since he was, by extension, responsible for Asif’s screw-ups. Could he be thinking of getting rid of me as well?

  “Your man has brought us nothing but trouble,” the governor said. “You’ll need to rein him in or cut him loose.”

  Commander Zweiri frowned and bit his lip. Asif had proven himself vital in many operations, for which the governor had often taken the credit. At those times, he had described Asif’s assistance as “exceptional” in rooting out remnants of ISIS and elements trying to destabilize the country. But now that Asif had botched up the operation, suddenly he was “the commander’s man” and his responsibility. He sighed and said, “I’ve already straightened him out.”

  “Good. I hope there will be no more missteps. Otherwise, he’s gone.”

  “Yes, it’s clear. We can’t have any connection to him.”

  “Exactly. Glad you’re understanding my position.” The governor’s tone had warmed up, but not by much.

  “Now, what else are we doing to handle our current situation?” He wanted to specify and say “Canadian agents,” but he knew better. Even secure lines were not as secure as one was made to believe. Vague words were easier to dismiss as being misinterpreted if someone was recording these conversations, and they fell into the wrong hands.

  “I have something in the works, but it doesn’t involve or affect you. As long as you keep ... eh, our man in check, this situation will be resolved soon. One way or another.”

  “All right, Governor. Anything else?”

  “Keep me updated on how things evolve.”

  “Of course. I should have something very soon.”

  The governor hung up without another word.

  Commander Zweiri swore at the powerful man and at Asif. One of these idiots is going to bring me down. But I’m not going to let that happen.

  He stood up from behind his desk and paced back and forth in his office. Then he stood by the window and glanced at the heavy rain coming down from ominous black clouds hovering very low over the city
. One of the officers was loading ammunition boxes at the back of a truck, ignoring the storm. The commander gazed at the officer for a long moment. Perhaps Suleiman could help with this problem, if there’s a need... He nodded to himself. Yes, let’s get him briefed and ready for this operation.

  Chapter Eight

  CIS Safehouse

  Two Miles North of Mosul, Iraq

  Javin and Claudia had returned to the house where Issawi was trying to restore some sort of order. Police officers, men in military uniforms, and others dressed in mismatched fatigues were roaming the area. Some were examining the scenes where the explosions had occurred. Others had brought the dead bodies into the hall and were pointing at and taking pictures of them. Javin had asked around, but none of the men knew the identities of the attackers. He had not shown anyone the banknote with the potential phone numbers, waiting to give that piece of intelligence to his boss. Yes, Bateaux. I’ve got to call him.

  He thought of the message Bateaux had sent him. It said, Call me now, highlighting the urgency of the action. Javin shrugged. Bateaux seemed to have only an On button. Everything was due yesterday and was of the utmost importance. Javin had tried to figure out the reason, but could not determine whether it was Bateaux’s upbringing first in an all-boys boarding school in Edinburgh, and then at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, or the five years of being stationed in Lebanon and Afghanistan. Perhaps it’s a combination of them all.

  Javin looked at Claudia, who was making coffee in a corner of the kitchen, over a small countertop stove. Coffee was one of the invariable factors in their ever-changing world. No matter where they went—a war zone or a hotbed of terrorism—coffee gave them those moments of peacefulness in the whirlwinds storming around them.

  He walked to Claudia, who heard his footsteps. She turned around and smiled. “Coffee needs another minute.” She pointed at the small pot where she was brewing the Turkish-style coffee. This brand was also from Turkey, as were many products in the Mosul market. “And don’t take this the wrong way, but this coffee will be much better than Liberty’s.” She offered him a mischievous smile.

  Javin gave her an uncertain look. “Why would I take it the wrong way?”

  Claudia shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe with her being your girl—”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Not yet.” Claudia’s tone turned playful.

  Javin shrugged. Claudia liked to tease him, just as he had done to her in the past. I guess I’m fair game. Then his mind went to Liberty. What is she doing right now? Sleeping, probably, considering the ungodly hour of the night, well, morning. Does she stay in the camp? How safe is that place anyway? He shrugged again to shake away his thoughts and looked at the coffee. “It’s bubbling...”

  “Yes, I’ve got it.”

  She turned off the stove and poured the coffee from the long-handled copper pot into two small cups she had set on the counter. Javin picked one up and brought it close to his nose. The coffee’s strong aroma filled his nostrils. “Mmmmm, this smells so good.”

  “Wait until you’ve tasted it...”

  Javin brought the cup to his mouth, but he knew it was too hot.

  Issawi barged into the kitchen and waved his phone at Javin. “It’s the governor, and he wants to talk to you.”

  Javin set his coffee back onto the counter, stepped closer to Issawi, and whispered, “The governor... What does he want?”

  Issawi held the phone tight against his chest so that their conversation could not be heard on the other end of the line. “He didn’t say, and I didn’t ask. He’s the governor...”

  “How did he get your number?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe one of his aides called my commander, who gave him my number. The governor has been trying to reach you, but you’re not answering.”

  “Yeah, I dropped my phone during the fighting. It doesn’t work well any more.”

  “Are you going to talk to him?”

  Javin shook his head. “No, I’m not ready for another scolding. He’ll probably blame me, blame us, for this.” He waved his hand around. “And who told him about what happened here?”

  Issawi shrugged. “He has eyes and ears everywhere. I’ll tell him you’re busy.”

  “Yes, I’ll call him in five minutes. Once I’m done finishing something very important.” He gestured at his coffee.

  Issawi winked at Javin. “I got it,” he said and stepped out into the hall.

  Javin picked up the coffee cup and brought it to his mouth. He took a small sip and licked the foam off his lips. The coffee was still hot, but drinkable. However, the taste was not great. He was not sure if it was the unexpected call from the governor, or if the coffee was just okay. Javin took another sip and smiled at Claudia.

  “You like it?” she asked.

  “I do. It’s good.”

  “Just good?”

  “It’s very good. Thanks for making it.”

  “No problem. So, what do you think Bateaux wants?”

  “No clue about specifics, but I’m sure it has to do with the governor and our mission here.”

  “Will he order us back?”

  “I hope not. The gov gave us forty-eight hours. We still have a few left...”

  Claudia sipped her coffee. “Bateaux may not see it that way, especially if he’s been talking to someone from the minister’s office.”

  The Minister of Public Safety was charged with the oversight of the CIS, and Hao Chan, the CIS General Director, reported directly to the minister. Like many politicians, the minister had to balance his political career and the country’s security interests. Apparently, most of the time, the priority rested with his party and his personal political advancement.

  Javin sighed. “It would be nice if someone in that office had our back...”

  “Right. But they don’t. At least, they’re not stabbing us in the back, like the last guy.”

  Javin cursed under his breath. The former minister also had met an untimely death in Geneva. “I don’t think it’s good news, but let’s call him.”

  He sipped the last of his coffee, then swirled the cup around so that he could get some of the grounds that had sunk to the bottom of the cup. “Can we use your phone?”

  “Sure.” Claudia handed it to him.

  “Let’s step outside.”

  They found an empty corner of the back alley, and Javin made the call.

  Bateaux replied after the first ring, “Claudia, how’s everything?”

  “This is Javin, sir. Claudia is here with me.”

  “How’re you doing?” Claudia said.

  “Things are all right. No crazier than any other day. What’s new there?”

  “I was going to call you earlier, but there was a problem.” Javin briefed his boss about the attack on the safehouse. He gave him the numbers handwritten on the banknote that Javin had taken from one of the dead fighters. Bateaux promised to run searches through all their databases and inform Javin right away if there was a hit.

  Then Javin told his boss about yesterday’s events, beginning with the visit to the refugee camp and ending with the meeting with the governor.

  Bateaux listened with unusual patience until Javin mentioned the governor. Bateaux said, “That man is stirring up a lot of trouble.”

  “How so?”

  “The Iraqi foreign minister called our ambassador, complaining about ‘rogue foreign operatives’ wreaking havoc in Mosul. When the ambassador asked about specifics and whether that involved Canadian troops, the minister seemed to backtrack, citing unconfirmed reports that did not include, but also did not exclude, Canadian operatives.”

  “So, that means us?”

  “Well, I’m not sure, as I wasn’t a part of that conversation. The Iraqi minister said he had reliable sources in high political places to confirm his claims. So, that means the governor, considering he has made noise about other foreign agents operating in the area.”

  Javin shrugged. “I thought the
y wanted our help. Have they changed their mind?”

  “No, it doesn’t appear to be that way. But the minister highlighted the fact that Iraqis have the authority and the final word about all operations.”

  “What does that mean for our mission?” Claudia asked.

  “I asked General Director Chan the same question. He said to stay the course, but ‘ruffle no feathers.’ His exact words.”

  “Sir, we’re beyond the point of ruffling feathers.” Javin’s voice turned sharp with a certain amount of irritation. “These orders are blocking our efforts to find the ISIS fighters.”

  “I understand your frustration, Javin, and I did bring that up with Chan. His hands are tied, as this has become a hot political issue now. The minister can’t afford another political scandal. So, no more angry calls from the governor or Iraqi officials.”

  Javin shook his head. “I’ll do what I can—”

  “No, you’re just going to do it, Javin. Listen carefully, as these are also Chan’s exact words. ‘Remember Geneva and the terms of your return to the service.’”

  Javin could not believe his ears. “Please repeat your last, sir,” he said, even though he had clearly heard every single word.

  “Chan said to remember Geneva and the deal that brought you back to the service.”

  “Sir, this sounds like a threat—”

  “No, Javin. It’s a reminder about a promise. This is a correction mission, different, yes, but still the same. You’re a corrector—well, supposed to be one. Continue operating within those parameters.”

  “Or?”

  “There is no ‘or.’ It’s simple, Javin and Claudia, since the deal is for you both. Complete the assignment and find the targets without causing political mayhem in Iraq and Ottawa, or find a good lawyer.”

  Javin bit his lip and balled his left hand into a tight fist. The fingers of his right hand clenched the phone so hard he felt its bezel cutting into his hand. “Are these Chan’s or your words?”