by Ethan Jones
“Then what?”
“I have a plan, but it has many variables. A lot will depend on how much we learn before we leave Iraq. If we have nothing by evening, I want to get out of here before nightfall.”
“That’s not a lot of time, Javin.”
“I know, but I’d rather we leave on our own terms than get thrown out. The gov has been quite clear and firm in his orders. And, after what we learned, I’m certain he’s not going to change his mind.”
“You’re right.” Claudia stood up. “Let’s make every second count.”
Chapter Twelve
UNHCR Hasan Sham Refugee Camp
Twenty Miles East of Mosul, Iraq
“Oh, Javin, I’m so glad you came.” Liberty held his arm and almost pulled him toward the narrow path leading to the tent of Ghanem, the ISIS widow. “The police are here, and they’re not letting me talk to anyone. These are my people. I want to help them.”
“Right, yes, of course. Let me see what I can do.”
She gave him a bright, lovely smile and walked in front of him. In a matter of seconds, they were near the tent. A group of policemen had cordoned off the area with yellow tape, as if it were a crime scene. One of them was standing near the tent’s entrance, and another two were gesturing and pushing back curious bystanders. Javin noticed a fourth uniformed man at the back of the tent.
Liberty began to walk toward the tent, but one of the officers stepped in front of her. He was a tall man, in his early twenties, with the obligatory mustache and a large, hooked nose. “You can’t go there.” He held up his hand, making a “stop” gesture.
“I need to talk to Ghanem’s family, make sure they’re okay.”
“No, not now.”
Liberty tried to sidestep the officer, but he grabbed her by the arm.
“Hey, get your hands off me,” she cried.
Javin cut in. “Let the lady go.” He gripped the officer’s wrist and began to twist it.
The officer cast a menacing glance at Javin, but it was soon replaced by a wince as pain shot through his arm. He released Liberty’s arm.
Javin held the vise-like grip on the officer’s wrist a moment longer, then pushed his arm away.
A second officer, an older man with receding hair and a clean-shaven face, who had just arrived, shoved Javin away. “If you assault an officer again—”
“He was hurting a woman trying to help. That shouldn’t happen.”
“And who do you think you are?” the officer shot back.
Javin did not reply, but looked at Liberty, who was rubbing her arm. The place where the officer had manhandled her had turned red. “You okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’ll be fine. Thanks.”
“Wait back here. I’ll see what’s going on.”
“Don’t get into a fight ... for me,” Liberty said in a voice laden with true concern.
Javin smiled. “There will be no fights.”
He turned to the officers, whose faces were locked in menacing grins. The second officer, who had already asked Javin a question, said, “I’m waiting here. Who do you think you are?”
Javin took another step forward.
The officers tensed up.
The first one dropped his hand toward the pistol in his side holster.
Javin held his hands up, as a clear sign of posing no threat. “Look, gentlemen, we started off on the wrong foot here,” he said in a warm voice just above a whisper. “I work with Captain Najib Issawi, Fifth Division. I’m one of the advisors on security matters working with local police and security forces.” He used the official cover under which he and Claudia were operating in Iraq.
“An advisor? So, you, an advisor, think you can tell us how to do our job?” the second officer asked in a demanding voice.
Javin shook his head. “Of course not. Look, gentlemen, I’m just trying to help. I was here yesterday, asking residents questions about ISIS fighters—”
“Oh, so you’re the one—”
“No,” Javin cut off the first officer, who had just started to speak. “I didn’t cause this.” He gestured at the tent. “But I can help find out what happened.”
“What did she tell you?” the first officer asked.
“I’ll have to check the records. But if I talk to the cousin—”
“That’s not going to happen,” said the second officer.
Javin shrugged and sighed. He did not want to bring in Issawi or anyone else from the Iraqi authorities, because Liberty might find out he was not a reporter. I will have to tell her at some point, but I don’t want her to find out now, and in this way. “Look, if you give me just two minutes—”
“No, he said ‘no,’” said the first officer.
Javin opened his mouth to object, but at that exact moment Ghanem’s cousin stepped out of the tent. She glanced at the officers talking to Javin, then gave him a curious look. The woman took a moment to think, and it seemed she was trying to remember where she had seen the man. She tapped the side pockets of her abaya as if looking for something, then her face twisted into a scowl, and she charged toward Javin. “It’s his fault, his fault. If he didn’t talk to Huda, she’d still be here.”
She rushed toward Javin before any of the policemen could do anything to stop her, shouting, cursing, and swearing at Javin. The woman began to strike him in his chest with her tightened fists, then she slapped him across the face. He raised his hands to protect himself, but made no attempt to strike her or push her back.
The police officers seemed to be as startled as Javin by the unexpected attack. They hesitated for a long moment and simply stood there, observing the scene.
Javin stepped back, but the woman moved forward with him. At one point, she seemed to be wrapping her arms around him, as if to tackle him to the ground. Javin was reluctant to touch her or shove her away, especially since her blows had weakened and turned into a little more than harmless taps.
“All right, enough already, get back, back. Get away from him.” One of the police officers, the older of the pair, finally stepped in to break up the fight. He grabbed the woman by her shoulders and pulled her back. “Enough, that’s enough.”
“It’s his fault. He did all this. Huda would still be here. With her children and with me. You evil man.” The woman spat in Javin’s direction.
“Get her out of here.” The officer waved his hand at the younger policeman. “Now.”
The woman cursed a few more times as the officer returned her to the tent.
Javin glanced around at the crowd of onlookers observing the spectacle. He saw Liberty at quite a distance giving him a worried look. He nodded at her and smiled, as he began to fix his clothes. As he flattened the front and the sides of his jacket, he noticed a half-crumpled piece of paper in one of the outer pockets. Oh, that was smart of her, slipping me the note.
He had no time to inspect it, as the officer said, “Well, I guess you’re not talking to the cousin ... Unless you want her to pounce on you again.” He grinned, and his face indicated that he had enjoyed the fight and would not mind a second round.
Javin shrugged. “No, I think you folks can handle this on your own.”
The smug look remained on the police officer’s face. “Well, thanks for your advice, advisor...”
Javin shook his head, but said nothing. He turned around and fished the note out of his pocket. He opened it, careful not to allow anyone around him to steal a glance. It was a single sentence in a barely legible handwriting: Remember Rania. Below, there was an address. Javin recognized the street name. It was in the Judaydat al-Mufti neighborhood, in the southeastern part of the city. But what does this mean? Are the ISIS leaders there? Did Ghanem jot this down before she was taken?
“Javin, what happened?”
He folded the piece of paper and put it away before Liberty started to ask questions about it. “I ... I don’t know. Ghanem’s cousin is upset about her disappearance, so she lashed out at me.”
“Are you hurt?” Libe
rty began to inspect his face and arms.
“No, not really.”
“Wait, you got a scratch ... oh, you’re bleeding.”
Javin frowned. He had not even noticed. He brought his hands close to his face, but Liberty stopped him. “No, you’re going to smear blood all over your face. Come with me. I’ll get you a bandage.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing—”
“You can never be too careful. Let’s go.” Her voice left no room for objections.
Javin smiled and walked beside her. “How are you doing?”
She showed Javin the bruised arm.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry it happened. I should have—”
“No, you did what you could. I ... I don’t think I thanked you.”
“You did.”
“Well, thank you again. I appreciate your standing up for me.”
“The least I can do.”
“Women aren’t treated well around here. It’s ... it’s good to know that some people ... that you care.”
“Of course, I care.”
Liberty smiled. “I like you, Javin. You’re different than most men I’ve met.”
Javin smiled back and nodded.
At Liberty’s office, she took out a first aid kit and placed it on her desk. Javin sat on a chair, and she attended to his wound. Javin had read Liberty’s file and knew she had a nursing degree. He liked the way her fingers felt on his skin. She was sitting very close to him, and he could smell her perfume, which he thought was jasmine. Liberty was pretty, but she looked perfect now that he was so close to her. Javin felt slightly uncomfortable in this situation, especially with the thoughts running through his mind, and jerked his head nervously.
Liberty said, “Wait, I’m not finished.”
“Sorry. I ... I twitched.”
She smiled. “You’re one of the bravest reporters I’ve seen. Most of them don’t go toe-to-toe with the police, especially when it is one against three.”
“Four. There was another guy in the back.”
“Yes, I missed that one. So, what’s with this bravery?”
Javin shrugged. “I just wanted to talk to Ghanem’s cousin.” He looked away as an uncomfortable feeling began to sizzle in his stomach. He was used to lying for a living. It was a crucial part of his work, but for some strange unexplainable reason, he was finding it harder and harder not to tell the truth to Liberty. What’s going on, Javin?
“There, all done.” She placed the butterfly bandage over the cut, then ran her fingers over Javin’s chin. “As good as new.”
Her gentle touch sent shivers through his body. He was glad Liberty did not notice, as she had already stood up and was putting the first aid kit away. “Coffee?” she said as she headed toward the kitchen area.
“Sure.”
“You don’t hate my coffee, do you?”
Javin smiled. “Hate is a strong word. I don’t mind it.”
“You’re not a very good liar.” Liberty laughed. “Don’t ever play poker.”
“Why? Do I have a tell?”
“Yeah, a big one. Every time you tell a lie, your left eye twitches slightly, very little, almost unnoticeable, but if you know where you’re looking...”
Javin smiled again. “Coffee is all right.”
“Until we get a better brew, this is all we’ve got.”
She had barely placed the pot in the coffeemaker when an explosion came from a distance.
Liberty’s hand shook, and she dropped the cups. They shattered as they hit the floor.
Javin sprang to his feet and looked through the window. A spiral of smoke was rising up near the entrance to the camp, and people were running in that direction. His hands went to the pistol in his waistband, but he realized Liberty’s eyes were on him. So he shrugged as he glanced at her. “Stay here.” He headed toward the door.
“What about you? Why are you going out?”
“I ... I’ve got to see what’s going on—”
“No, you don’t.” She walked to him. “You don’t have to risk your life to report the news...”
Javin shrugged. “I must go. But, don’t worry, nothing will happen to me.”
“How can you say that? What, you’re bulletproof?”
“Something like that.”
Liberty stepped closer to him and gave him a look full of concern. She held him by the arms. “Well, if you have to go, then ... be careful...”
She gazed deep into his eyes.
Javin returned the intense look, then leaned forward and kissed Liberty. A small, gentle kiss, where his lips just brushed hers. Then, he pulled back, halfway wondering if he had made a mistake.
Liberty wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer for a deeper, passionate kiss.
It lasted only for a few seconds, but it felt like a very long time. When they broke the kiss, Javin smiled at her and said, “I’ll be back very soon. Stay here, and lock the door.”
“Do you really think we’re in danger?”
“Yes, it’s safer this way.”
Liberty nodded. “Okay. Be safe.”
“I will. See you soon.”
He stepped outside the trailer and looked back as Liberty locked the door.
Loud gunfire erupted from the camp’s entrance, followed by another explosion, which sounded like a rocket-propelled grenade.
Javin bolted in that direction. When he rounded the corner and was beyond the point where Liberty could see what he was doing, he pulled out his Sig Sauer P320 9mm pistol. Let’s see what’s going on.
Chapter Thirteen
Hayy Al Yarmuk Neighborhood
East Mosul, Iraq
Al-Razi and Issawi got into a vicious argument that almost turned into a fistfight. In Javin’s absence, they could not agree on who should give the orders. When al-Razi said that he and Claudia were going on a side operation, Issawi inquired about the purpose. Of course, Al-Razi could not and did not want to tell the Iraqi police officer the truth, that they were going to interrogate a group of ISIS fighters illegally held by Shia militias. Issawi insisted, even resorting to threats, but al-Razi simply shrugged them away. He and Claudia got into a battered blue Toyota truck and went on with their mission.
“Do you think he’ll follow us?” Claudia asked after they had been driving for about five minutes. She had looked over her shoulder so many times that her neck started to hurt. A couple of suspicious vehicles had come in and out of her view, but they had turned into side alleys and had disappeared.
“I don’t think so.” Al-Razi’s eyes went to the rearview mirror.
“What if he sent someone else?”
Al-Razi shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking: A group of people taking turns watching us. But Issawi’s not that sophisticated.”
“But he has connections, right?”
“He does, but not to that extent. He thinks he’s someone important, but he’s nobody. Issawi is only a crude, brute man. And one of these days, he’ll meet an ugly end.”
“That sounds like a threat...”
“No, just the truth. Issawi has made a lot of enemies.”
“So have you.”
“True. I don’t deny it. But I’m not actively picking more fights, especially with the ones we’re supposed to be partners with.”
Claudia shrugged. She turned her head one last time, then sat back in the seat. She rearranged her C8SFW carbine across her lap, then looked through the window. The western part of Mosul had seen some of the fiercest fighting and heaviest pounding by the coalition bombers. Most buildings were flattened to the ground, with rubble, concrete chunks, and skeletons of rusted out or burned vehicles almost at every turn.
When they came near the center of the neighborhood, al-Razi sat up straighter in the driver’s seat. The traffic up ahead had gotten heavier, with a couple of sedans and two SUVs slowly making their way through a narrow two-lane street. “There’s a checkpoint, but no worries. They’re friends.”
Claudia tighte
ned her grip around the rifle. Friends or not, checkpoints were never a welcome sight. One could never be certain about the true identities of the people armed to their teeth who demanded to search the vehicles. Even if they were friends, one misspoken word or misunderstood gesture was enough to spark the flames of hostilities.
“Relax,” al-Razi said, “and let me do the talking.”
Claudia nodded, but her breathing grew faster. She felt her heart beating harder. Her flitting eyes began to take in everything around her. An escape route. The gate of the nearest house. The red Kia sedan in front of them. She felt for the grenades on the side pouches of her chest rig. I hope there will be no need for them. But it’s good to know they’re there...
In a matter of seconds, al-Razi pulled up to the crude checkpoint of a couple of rolls of barbed wire and heaps of concrete. Four gunmen were positioned along two trucks that were parked about ten yards away from the concrete. A fifth gunman was standing behind a heavy machine gun mounted by the nearest concrete pile.
Al-Razi waved at the gunmen, then said something Claudia did not understand. She spoke very little Arabic, although she was trying to learn more and had bought a couple of online audio courses. One of the gunmen responded with something she interpreted as “keep going, keep going.” She also recognized “left” in the jumbled conversation.
The other gunmen waved them through.
Al-Razi turned to Claudia. “See, what did I say?”
“They’re friends, and they told us we can go left.”
Al-Razi smiled. “Very good. You’re learning. Soon, you’ll be speaking Arabic fluently.”
“Oh, I seriously doubt that.”
“Eh, you never know.”
He kept going straight for another block, then yanked at the wheel to go around the burned skeleton of a small sedan. The neighborhood resembled any other one in the area: litter-filled, with narrow and crooked alleys, and one- and two-story cinder block houses—most of them in various states of ruin—and very few people meandering about.
When the truck came to the third house, al-Razi slowed down. A gunman was standing near the gate. He peered at al-Razi, then offered a small nod and took a few steps toward the truck.
