Hammer of God: Alex Hunter 5.5

by Greig Beck

  Eli Livnet’s eyes went to Casey, and hers to his. She seemed to snarl, and he looked away slowly, clearly not impressed with his choice.

  “We’ll do all the talking,” Adira said. “But hopefully we can avoid anyone else.” She looked at a wristwatch and then opened another plastic bag full of clothing. She sighed. “And a niqab for me.” She holstered weapons and knives, and then pulled on layer after layer, the clothing even covering her face, leaving just a slit for her eyes.

  “Stifling.” She adjusted the heavy cloth, and pointed again at the map. “Alex and I will take this route – Jalba, the direct one, and leave first. Five minutes later, team two will enter through Al Jaddid Road, this route. And then in another five minutes, team three will walk east toward Yarmuk, here. These are fairly small thoroughfares and unlikely to be guarded.” She looked up. “But they’ll be watched by a dozen eyes; hopefully none of them Hezar-Jihadi.”

  “Good.” Alex, Sam and Casey pulled on the thawbs. The loose fabric concealed most things, but not that each of them was oversized.

  Adira looked at them and then shook her head. “Shizza. Both of you bend forward slightly. The only ones to stand so cockily upright are the fighters. Everyone else should be bent, humble, and permanently living in fear.”

  The HAWCs rounded their shoulders and hung their heads.

  “Better,” she said. “We meet back here at 1200 hours. That will give us plenty of time to observe from many different perspectives. There are numerous coffee shops still open – better to be seated in one, than to be loitering.” She looked at each of their faces, her eyes narrowing behind the niqab. “If you hear gunfire, screams, anything, you ignore it; it is a common thing here. You will see things that will frustrate you and horrify you, things that will demand your intervention, but do not engage. We have a priority mission, and that is not to spend our time rescuing individuals.” She waited. “Got it?”

  “Got it,” Alex said.

  She held his eyes. “I mean it.” She turned back to the table and pulled on a pair of black gloves. “Pull your cowls over your heads.” She leaned forward onto the table. “And one more thing; don’t get captured. The last high-value foreign fighter they managed to take prisoner ended up locked in a cage and burned alive for the pleasure of the online wanna-be jihadis still scattered around the world. The more barbaric the act, the more it works as a recruitment tool.”

  Alex’s jaws worked as he remembered the brave Jordanian soldier. He ground his teeth. Inside him something stirred, whispering for revenge, wanting to obliterate, to crush and butcher the butchers. He shook it away; they had bigger fish to fry this day.

  Adira pulled up her sleeve and checked her watch one last time. Her dark eyes found Alex. “Don’t be taken alive. Being beheaded would be a mercy compared to what these animals would do to you.”

  “It won’t be us that dies this day,” Alex said evenly.

  She nodded and then turned. “Reid, hunch over more, you’re still as big as a mountain. Let’s go.”

  *

  The groups left at their allotted times, and entered the sprawling city from different roads.

  Alex kept his head down, but marveled at the mix of new and ancient structures. He also noticed how quiet it was, and worse, saw there were huge patches of rust-brown in the dusty streets, and knew it for what it was: old blood. Mosul was an age-old city first mentioned by the Greek historian Xenophon in 401 BC. At its peak just a decade ago, it had nearly two million residents. Now over a million had fled, and the modern city was rapidly sliding back to being a medieval stronghold, complete with torture, stonings, and beheadings.

  New military hardware was stationed everywhere – ever since the Iraqi armory in Kirkuk was overrun and around a billion dollars of American equipment was stolen, each barbaric terrorist now had modern weaponry, anti-aircraft batteries, and tanks and armored vehicles were parked at strategic places in the streets. Alex had no doubt that many of the rooftops would have surface-to-air missiles and heavy RPG launchers ready in the event someone was brave enough to try and drop in. And a full airborne strike, the preferred option, would be impossible while there were still so many inhabitants living there.

  They continued along Jalba Street, moving swiftly along its rubble-strewn pavement, close to the industrial area and the gas power plant. There were a few people moving around now, and a few sullen-looking soldiers glared from vehicle windows, but a woman, seeming old and bent over, accompanied by perhaps her son, should not have raised suspicions. At least that’s what they hoped.

  They turned into Al Shazani Road and spotted the flat two-story building they needed to examine. At the far end, coming in the opposite direction, was a pair of figures in brown shawls, their size unmistakable to Alex.

  “Your Franks and Eli, – don’t even look at them,” Adira said.

  Alex grunted his acknowledgement, and just kept his head down. He allowed his eyes to move over the streetscape.

  “Here, Café Jaralqmar.” Alex nodded to a shop entrance where a roller door had gone up. An old man was placing chairs on the pavement, and wiping down tables.

  Adira half turned, her expression impossible to gauge behind the heavy head covering. “Good, but too early; we don’t want to be the first in. We’ll circle the block.”

  Alex spoke softly into his throat mic as Casey Franks came abreast of them. “Franks, on your left; target is flat-topped building with the green paint.”

  “Got it, boss,” came the immediate reply.

  “And we already called the café.” Alex smiled within the hood.

  “Shit, I need my caffeine hit,” she growled.

  Adira stopped, and pulled a packet of cigarettes from a slit in her niqab. She turned and handed them to Alex. “Light one, take your time.”

  Alex nodded and took the pack. “I thought it was banned.”

  “It is. Like a lot of other vices it has been declared haram. But men can flout the rules.”

  Alex opened the red and white pack and first took the small plastic lighter out, then one of the filtered cigarettes. He put it in his mouth. Adira stood facing him, but her eyes wandered over the rooftops, windows and dark door entrances of their target building.

  “Seems abandoned,” she said. “Big enough for a chopper to land on the roof, but if it is some sort of bomb factory, then it should be heavily guarded.” She looked along its façade. “Its ground floor is fortified, steel grills across windows and doors, but the second floor is wide open.” She frowned. “Those symbols painted on the walls and door are strange. It’s very ancient Arabic, in fact I think it’s an extinct dialect of Northern Arabic – not spoken by anyone anymore.”

  After a moment she said, “Hard to read, doesn’t make sense.” Alex saw her frown as she concentrated on a translation. “It says something like, praise those who choose, or are chosen, to become the fire of god.” Adira spoke softly. “Maybe a jihad reference, but why write it in a language that is mostly forgotten?”

  There was a flicker of movement in one of the windows.

  “Time to go,” Alex said. “Seems there is somebody home after all.” He flicked the cigarette away, and together they ambled down the street and turned the corner.

  *

  Casey walked beside Eli. Both were looking at the street, assessing, searching for anything that would hint at danger or higher risk. She spotted Sam and Moshe at a far intersection but ignored them. Theirs, Alex’s, and also Sam’s risk assessment would all feed into the coming night’s insertion plan.

  “Fucking graveyard,” Casey muttered. There were a few people about but behind the walls and doors, there was silence.

  “Music is banned, singing is banned, secularism is banned.” Moshe snorted. “Welcome to paradise under Hezar-Jihadi rule.”

  “Yeah, real fun place,” Casey growled back.

  They turned into an alley, this one more decrepit, with a few of the buildings looking abandoned. Doors hung open or teetered on bent hinges, and
beyond their entrances was nothing but darkness. From further down in the alleyway there came a squeal, like that of a hurt animal.

  “We should go another way,” Moshe said.

  “Why? If there’s a risk, I want to see it and assess it now, rather than tonight.” Casey lifted her pace.

  “Hey … ach.” Moshe scurried after her.

  At an open doorway, a man lay sprawled in the street, and an older woman was trying to cover him with her hands. A girl was being held by the hair by one of two men in army fatigues who stood over the group.

  “What the fuck?” Casey hissed through clamped teeth.

  “Do not intervene,” Eli said, grabbing at her. “These men are Morality Police. They enforce strict religious rule. Leave them be.”

  “What? Like maybe they saw her through a window singing, or more likely with her hair uncovered? That’s not policing.” She half turned. “What’ll happen?”

  “That depends. They may beat them, or maybe just imprison her for her crime.”

  “What freaking crime?” Casey’s teeth were bared as she yanked her arm free of him.

  Eli shrugged. “They make up rules that suit them. But we cannot get involved.”

  “Like hell we can’t,” Casey growled. “Think I’ll show them my rules.” She continued toward the two men, who still held so tight to the girl’s hair that her head was pulled back, exposing her neck.

  Casey could see that the elderly father had already suffered severe blows to his face, probably just for the insult of trying to defend his own daughter.

  “This will be bad.” Eli tried to keep pace with Casey.

  “Damn right it will be,” Casey spoke over her shoulder. “If the strong do not protect the weak, what is the point of being the strong?”

  “Shitzn, wait, let me do the talking.” Eli sped to overtake her.

  Both men attacking the family paused as Eli and Casey came down the lane toward them. Eli raised a hand. “Brothers, can we help with this foolish family?”

  The men looked briefly at each other and shook their heads. “No, be on your way.”

  “Then the girl … is she for sale?” Eli put his hand in his shawl. “She is a beauty; what is her price?”

  One of the men snorted. The other looked down at the girl, nodding. “Yes, she is that. But she must be taught a lesson. If she acts like a whore, she will be treated as a whore.” He looked at Eli and grinned. “You can have what we leave … for free.”

  He started to drag her away. The girl screamed and the mother wailed, wanting to stand, but the father was in too much of a mess to release his bloody head from her hands.

  “Well, you’ve had your turn,” Casey said to Eli as she threw her shawl back. Her white crew cut, fair skin and ice pick blue eyes glared at the two Mosul fighters. Both froze momentarily, not sure what they were actually looking at.

  The man holding the girl dropped her like a sack and fumbled with his gun. Casey crossed to him in three quick steps and brought a blade up and under his chin, jamming it through his larynx and up into his brain. His mouth opened, showing a hint of dark steel at the back of his throat, and his eyes rolled back.

  “Bye bye,” Casey said into his face.

  Eli still had one hand in his pocket, and through the folds in the material a soft spitting sound emanated as a tiny hole appeared. The second soldier stood shocked momentarily with a corresponding hole between his eyes, before he fell back like an axed tree.

  Eli turned to the family. “We were never here, they were never here.” He pointed at the blood on the ground. “Clean this up and speak of it to no one.” He bowed. “Enshallah.”

  Eli then turned to Casey as he grabbed one of the bodies by the shoulders. “Take the other one. We’ll hide them in one of the empty buildings.”

  Casey grabbed the other body and together they dragged them twenty feet down the street to the first abandoned building they could find. They pulled them inside, past broken doors and smashed furniture. Piles of rubble created perfect burial mounds. Casey lifted a huge sheet, and scoffed.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.” She pointed. There was already a body hidden there, desiccating in the dry air. She grinned down at it. “Would you like some company, pal?” She lifted the sheet higher and then threw the new body on top of the old. Eli added his corpse, and together they dropped the huge sheets and more debris on top.

  Eli turned to her, his hands on his hips. “You feel better now?”

  Casey shrugged. “Sorry. Hey, what did you say these guys called themselves?”

  “Hezar-Jihadi; Party of a Thousands Martyrs,” he responded.

  She snorted. “A thousand minus two now, huh?”

  “This is not funny.” Eli looked at her from under heavy brows. “You should follow your captain’s orders, and his example.”

  “Yeah, right.” She started to turn away but paused. “Come on, and I’m warning you; no distractions this time.” She laughed as she pulled her hood up once again.

  Eli groaned and followed.

  *

  Alex and Adira sat outside at the café, several hundred feet down from their target building. There were a few other patrons inside, but they were the only ones seated on the street. Half a dozen other tables sat waiting for their food and drinks.

  Adira had ordered coffees, and the dark thick rich liquid was poured at the table. A plate of dates was also set down for them. Alex lifted the small glass cup in the ornate gold holder to his lips.

  “Whoa, like a triple espresso on steroids.”

  Adira laughed softly, the sound muffled from under the folds of her niqab. “It’s Turkish style – brewed, rebrewed and then cardamom pods added. It enhances the flavor and strength. Why do you think they’re all wild eyed in these parts?”

  Alex ate a date, and let his eyes travel down the street. “If that’s the right building, then I think we’ve missed the party.”

  “Someone may be still inside, but I think you’re right. If nuclear weapons were being assembled and dispatched from that place I would have expected a fortress. Or at least a significant military presence.” She looked at the surrounding rooftops. “And much more security in the adjoining structures.”

  “I think they’ve done what they needed to do, and then moved on. Still, we need to go in and check it out,” Alex said. “Front door is too visible from the street.” He looked along the rooftops; the buildings were jammed up against each other and all were of comparable height. “Be better to enter next door, and drop down through the roof.”

  “Yes, this might work.” Adira faced the building, peering at the ancient Arabic writing on its façade. “What happened here? That writing is only on the one building. I can partly understand its words, but not its meaning.”

  Alex remembered her translation of the script. “Praise those who are chosen to become the fire of god.” He turned to her. “And what better fire than a nuclear one?”

  “Yes.” Adira continued to stare at the writing. She turned back. “It is time we take a small risk.”

  The café owner was approached. “Enshallah, brother,” Adira said. “We are visiting relatives from over the far side of the city. My brother here,” she motioned to Alex, “is a teacher of languages, and was wondering about the writing on the wall.” She pointed one gloved hand at the Arabic script.

  The man looked down the street to the wall. His eyes narrowed. “One day it just appeared. I cannot read it, but an old customer who comes here told me that it is a warning.” He became furtive and leaned toward her. “Dark magic,” he said.

  “Shukran.” Alex slid a five thousand dinar note across the table. The man took it and bowed his thanks before departing.

  “Dark magic,” Adira repeated. “That would work to keep the superstitious away.”

  “Maybe that’s why there are no physical guards – the superstition provides enough of a barrier for the locals,” Alex said, sipping his dark liquid. “And they’re not expecting there to be a
nyone else in this place.”

  Adira sat back. “I have seen enough to know that you cannot discount magic. This land has known human habitation for nearly ten thousand years. Long before the machines there was alchemy and sorcery, and there are ancient tomes written by the foremost scientists of their times. The things they included would not make sense in these modern times.” She looked around. “Unless the modern times were being rolled back.”

  “And that’s exactly what’s happening here; no music, no women on the streets, education outlawed. Barbarism is rushing to reclaim this part of the world.” He sighed and nodded toward their target.

  “Looks wide open. We enter via the next building, and then onto the roof.” Alex finished his coffee. “We should head back. See what the other teams have found for us.”

  As the morning began to give way to midday, the streets started to fill with people, and Adira led them quickly to their house. Suddenly the few woman started to scatter, and the remaining men moved to the walls, clearing a path and watching and waiting.

  “Heads up,” Alex said, turning back along the street from under his shawl.

  Adira turned away, looking in the reflection of a window. From down the street jogged a group of armed men. There were three lines of them – the outside lines all wore black balaclavas. They were strung with ammunition and were armed. The inside men had hands on their heads and were tied together, a rope looping each of their waists. Each of them was barefoot, and many had blood to the ankles, the sharp debris of the roadway uncompromising on bare flesh.

  “Hezar-Jihadi,” Adira whispered.

  Occasionally one of the soldiers would reach inwards to slap one of the prisoners over the head, urging them on. In among them was a man dressed in the remains of a flight uniform. This one also had the extra disadvantage of being tied to a huge man on both his left and right – a special prisoner. As he approached, Alex and Adira could see a tricolor patch in his sleeve. He was French, then. The man’s mouth hung open, and his eyes were already vacant,in a slack, blood smeared face.