Spy Shadows

by Freddie P Peters

  “Do you know any of these people?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  The man saw the light of the car approach and they moved forward towards it. The Kalashnikovs were prepped, ready to be used in a flash. Two men in the front, two men at the back, looking alert despite a 2am check. Wasim opened the window. He greeted the young men as they approached the vehicle. He presented The Treasurer’s letter. One of the men shone a torch into the vehicle. The second guard moved forward and took the paper, inspecting it with his own light.

  “It’s dangerous to be on your own at night with a single vehicle.”

  “But we have to take the risk for the good of the caliphate… Inshallah…”

  The young man was still fingering the pass, unconvinced.

  “We need to reach Mosul by early morning.”

  The pass was handed over to the other guard. They were in no hurry to let them through. Two other vehicles had been parked at the side of the road. If they had more fighters waiting in them, there was no hope of escape.

  Ali bent forward. Henry’s jaw tightened. You’ll have to deal with him. If Ali wanted out this was the time. Henry was reluctant to reach for his gun he could feel in the small of his back. He heard the young man murmur a few words to Wasim he did not understand.

  Wasim slapped the wheel and quoted the Al-Ahzab, one of the Qur’an’s sura that spoke about believers’ courage, those who remained steadfast against the hypocrites who ran for safety, abandoning the Muslim army and doubting Allah and the Prophet. A slap in the face couldn’t have shamed the young man more. He waved at the other guards, handing over the pass to Wasim. The gate opened and the SUV sped through.

  “Well done. Al-Ahzab sura… brilliant idea.” Wasim smiled, shaking his head.

  Ali poked his head through the headrests. He was smiling at last. His face turned serious again. “There are another three roadblocks before we reach Mosul.”

  The glow of sunrise had appeared on the horizon. They had gone through two roadblocks already; one last one before they reached Mosul.

  Henry was back at the wheel. They would switch again before the last checkpoint. He had squeezed a bottle of water in the door’s pocket and took a few slugs. Everyone in the car was asleep. Ali had proven helpful once more. Henry was glad of it.

  Henry opened the window to let in some fresh air. He cast an eye at his crew. Mattie was asleep, her eyes quivering slightly. The dark scarf that she had wrapped around her head jihadi-style suited her. Henry’s stomach fluttered. He was glad she had left Raqqa with them. Wasim’s head had rolled slightly towards the side of the vehicle, his arms crossed over his chest, napping.

  Henry yawned, took another sip of water. The colours in the sky changed gradually, a range of purples, pinks and soft yellows that spread over the landscape, giving it form and life. Wasim moved around in his seat, finding a more comfortable position for his broad back. Gratitude was too weak a word; Wasim had been a teacher and someone he would call a friend. Never judging, simply accepting the man he had to train for who he was.

  The sun finally poked over the horizon. Henry slowed down a little. Despite the rising sun a cluster of lights appeared in the distance. The lights of Mosul had not been extinguished yet. Henry glanced at his watch. Almost 4.30am. They would be entering the city’s suburbs in half an hour. Henry nudged Wasim a little. He grunted quietly and opened his eyes with difficulty. He rubbed them with his curled fingers in a child-like manner.

  “Are we there?”

  “Almost.”

  “OK. Need to change driver.”

  “As agreed, I’ll wake the others when we are back on the road.”

  Both men got out of the car, stretched, yawned. Henry finished his bottle. Wasim splashed some of his water on his face and drank the rest. The SUV was now covered in dust and a dent had appeared on the driver’s side, no doubt inflicted when crossing the hill on the dirt track. Wasim jumped into the driver’s seat. Henry joined him in the front seat. The journey continued. Henry stretched his arm between the front seats and shook Ali’s arm gently. The young man woke up with a jolt.

  “We’re nearly there.”

  Ali rubbed his eyes, and for a moment his face looked puzzled. Where was he? The memories of the journey and those of its destination made him focus, with only one feeling showing. Dread.

  Henry woke up Mattie last. He took the hand that was resting next to her leg on the seat and squeezed it gently. She smiled and opened one eye.

  “I was dozing.” She stretched a little, rolled her head around slowly. There was something boyish about her that Henry found attractive. She reached for the water bottle in the side pocket of her seat and drank the lot.

  “What do you remember about the approach to Mosul?” Wasim’s words reminded everyone that they were approaching the city.

  “The crosses, and…” Ali hesitated. “The executions… lots of them.”

  The silence that followed was only interrupted by the faint sound of the car rolling on the road.

  “What about the city itself?” Henry’s throat felt dry and strangled. Navigating his people safely in and out of Mosul was certainly going to test his resourcefulness as well as his mettle.

  Something changed in the atmosphere of the car. Mattie was the first one to react. She stuck her head between the two seats, unable to ignore it any longer.

  “Do you smell that?”

  “We’re approaching,” was all Ali could say. The young man retreated into his seat and brought his knees to his chest, burying his head into them. The smell grew stronger and both Henry and Wasim noticed. Wasim wound up the window. His shoulders rose a fraction, his hands grasped the wheel more tightly. Henry was still puzzled. The smell was a mix of acetone and rotting meat, so pungent it made his stomach heave.

  There was still no one on the road and Wasim slowed down the vehicle. In the distance they could see it. A sea of crosses. A vision of what Calvary on Mount Golgotha might have looked like 2,000 years earlier. There were perhaps 20, 30 crosses, maybe more. Henry’s stomach lurched and he had to use all his will not to vomit. Most crosses had a body nailed on them, in various states of decomposition, the birds having already started their work in the early morning sun. They drove slowly, unable to say another word.

  Mattie was the first to break the silence. “Who are they?”

  “Iraqi army fighters.” Ali’s voice was muffled, his head against his knees, eyes shut. The smell intensified and the other three brought their scarves over their noses and mouths. Henry could see in the distance a mound of freshly dug-up earth alongside a long trench. He no longer had to ask Ali what it might be. They were passing mass graves, ready to receive the victims of IS summary executions. Henry counted four of them and a bulldozer had started creating another. The engine bulk, the teeth of its digger hanging in the air, felt ominous.

  Was Mosul such a great idea after all?

  The last checkpoint before entering the city was deserted. One guard was standing alongside the makeshift gate. He looked tired and grumpy, ready for the changeover. He cast an indifferent eye over the vehicle, focused briefly on The Treasurer’s pass and opened the gate.

  Everyone remained silent for a moment, still stunned by what they had just witnessed.

  “Much easier than I thought.” Henry felt he had to say something.

  “We need to find the Kurdish quarter of Mosul.” Wasim had picked up speed.

  “Kurds like the Chahalis live on the left bank of the city. Al-Jaza’r or Al-Noor.” Mattie had poked her head between the two seats. “I can get you there.”

  Henry turned his face away from the road. Mattie’s profile was close to his shoulder, the delicate line of her nose, the slight curve of her cheekbone.

  “How do you know?” Wasim sounded doubtful.

  “I covered the 2003 invasion of Mosul b
y the American army. Two sons of Saddam Hussein were killed there. I hung around a bit longer once it became safer to move around the city. It’s very beautiful and ancient… a place where many religious people have coexisted for centuries.”

  “People who left or tried.” Ali had unfolded his legs.

  Wasim and Mattie directed their attention to negotiating the streets of Mosul. It was almost 6am and the city should have been waking up. People would start going about their business before the blazing summer heat of the midday sun. But Mosul had become a ghost town.

  Mattie craned her neck, moved from between the two headrests to her side of the window. “I know where we are. We are arriving on the eastern side of the city.” She closed her eye in an effort to remember. “There is a roundabout of some sort… and then… turn left and you’re very close to one of the bridges, crossing the Tigris.”

  Wasim accelerated and the car came quickly to a complex set of converging roads. He took a sharp left again.

  “We’re in the Muhamadeen district where the vaults of the Trade Bank are… the ones we’re supposed to be investigating,” Henry reminded everyone. He bent forward to check the gun underneath his seat was ready for use and lowered his window, ready to take a shot. To his surprise another vehicle had stopped at the bridge checkpoint. The truck looked well used and dirty. The man who owned it was standing on the road, the door still open, hands over his head. One of the guards was looking into the truck. A few boxes containing supplies were gathered together under a tarpaulin sheet. He took a couple of apples out of one of the crates, rubbed one a few times against his jacket. He handed the second apple to the other guard.

  Wasim moved closer, almost level with the truck. The smaller guard turned his attention away from the driver.

  “We need to cross the bridge as soon as possible.” His voice was blunt, giving orders that would not be challenged. He presented The Treasurer’s pass. The man’s angry face relaxed.

  “We are going to Al Muhamadeen, to inspect the vaults of the Trade Bank on behalf of The Treasurer.”

  The SUV looked dirty, but it also looked brand new and expensive. They had travelled from Raqqa overnight. It must be important.

  The smaller man moved his head towards the bridge. The second guards swung the gate open and Wasim rushed through.

  A few vehicles had now appeared on the streets. Most of them bearing either the flag or the seal of IS painted on their bonnet. Wasim followed the main road for a short while and turned right towards the older part of Mosul. The building looked ancient, a rich architecture, ornate, with mosaics, carved woods and delicate decorations. Mosul would have been a beautiful city to visit.

  “Where now?” he asked.

  Mattie squinted. “Turn left at the next big intersection, then keep going straight on. We should drive past the Mosque of Prophet Yunus. We enter Al-Jaza’r after that.”

  The buildings became more modern. Trees had been planted in the small gardens that lay at their entrances. The area felt wealthy and inviting. The large dome of the mosque appeared on their right as Mattie had predicted. They had reached Al-Jaza’r.

  Wasim drove on and found a smaller street in which he parked the car. Henry walked towards one of the apartment blocks. He mechanically checked the Glock that he had stuck again into the small of his back. The main entrance of one of the buildings looked deserted. He rang the doorbells… no reply. Henry pushed the wooden door expecting resistance. It gave way and he entered quietly. He closed his hand over the grip of his gun. One of the doors was ajar. He waited outside, listening for anything that could indicate a presence. He opened the door with the tip of his boot. Henry drew his Glock and stepped in. The property had been ransacked, debris of crockery and ornaments lay on the floor. He walked across the ground floor slowly, encountering the same disaster landscape, scraps creaking underneath his feet. He stopped to listen again. Nothing. He reached the first floor. Bedroom doors were open. Henry hoped that whoever had lived here had left in a hurry and that the ransacking had happened afterwards. He came down, walked out and signalled that they could come in.

  “Let’s set up camp here.” Wasim dumped his rucksack and handed Henry his. Mattie and Ali followed carrying their meagre belongings.

  “And let’s decide what we need and how we’re going to get it.” Henry closed the door and joined them inside.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Steve Harris killed the alarm before it started ringing. Sarah was asleep and he gingerly swung his legs out of bed. For a short moment he sat hunched forward, thinking about the previous evening’s meeting at the Home Office. There had been recriminations and finger-pointing. Still, the exchange of one hostage had been agreed. His team on the ground had gone dark. They had almost certainly left Raqqa, but he was not sure for where. Mosul was an option. James and Amina had put forward a good case for it. Brett’s contact had been tough when it came to the money… he had presented his begging bowl to The Chief… $200,000 per person was a rather large donation… but he hadn’t received an are-you-insane reply. There had to be hope.

  A warm hand landed on his back and its contact reminded him he was halfway out of bed. “Sorry.” Harris murmured “Did I wake you?”

  “No.” She squeezed his shoulder and nudged closer to him. “Are you working a real time zone?”

  “Yep.” Harris turned back and leaned on his elbow to get closer to his wife.

  “How many time zones are you working then? You came back late last night.”

  “I’m… It’s complicated at the moment.” Harris took her hand and gave it a warm squeeze.

  “Don’t worry. Me and the dog are doing fine… I’m just making sure you have enough rest.”

  “Thank you. You’re a star.” Harris landed a kiss on her neck and Sarah giggled.

  He sighed. “Got to go.”

  Sarah disappeared underneath her covers and Harris stood up. He so wished he could have stayed.

  Amina was already in. Three cups of piping hot coffee were waiting in the Caffe Italia holder. She too had had little sleep. James had arrived last, grumbling about the journey. He had brought up a map of Mosul on his computer, looking at the details of the city’s neighbourhoods.

  “If the Kurdish connection is the link to follow, they’ve got two options, Al-Jaza’r or Al-Noor.”

  “Not many people have had time to flee, according to OMA.” Amina was sipping her coffee, one of many that would keep her awake during another gruelling day.

  “And the traffickers will know that. The immediate problem is how they can make contact without looking suspicious.” Harris’s hoarse voice made him sound crankier than he was.

  “Perhaps we could make contact with the Kurdish cells in the Dubok area? They might be able to help.”

  “Why not… I’ll see what contacts the Iraqi desk have there…” Harris finished his coffee. “But I bet they tell us all their efforts are focused on pushing back IS.”

  * * *

  “You don’t trust me?” Ali was sitting in the passenger seat. Henry, at the wheel, was following his instructions towards a shopping centre a few blocks away.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I could take the car… do the shopping alone.”

  “I haven’t known you for long, that is true… I won’t lie to you, but it’s not the reason.”

  Ali gave him a doubtful look.

  “It is safer if we go in pairs in Mosul and I have to learn the layout of the area.”

  The explanation seemed to do the trick. Ali’s forehead lost a few of its creases.

  The shopping mall appeared at the corner of a small street. Henry parked the SUV at the end of it and they both made their way to the store. It was surprisingly busy: men who were unmistakably IS were out doing their shopping. Henry spotted the electrical shop he was looking for. He hesitated before entering, surveying the
goods available from the shop window. The shopkeeper looked worried behind his counter, men in black shirts were browsing through the items on display, asking him questions. Henry could not dither any longer. He walked in and picked up a few items, a couple of chargers, batteries. Already phones had been confiscated and there were none on display. Ali had moved further inside the shop. He came back and nudged Henry. He had spotted a small portable TV. Henry nodded… a good idea. The two men had stopped their browsing, watching with interest the few items that Henry had laid on the counter. They seemed interested to find out what banknotes Henry would be producing to pay. Henry deliberately lined up his Syrian pounds. They retreated at the size of the denomination and the wedge he held in his hand. Henry and Ali took their time to walk out of the mall, then round the corner, rushed to reach the SUV. Henry glanced back towards the shops. No one had followed them.

  They repeated the process for food and petrol in two different stores. So far so unexpectedly good.

  “The Wi-Fi is weak.” Wasim was helping to offload the car.

  “We may not need it.” Henry took the charger out of the bag he had brought in.

  “If I were a Christian, I’d sing Hallelujah.” Wasim took the charger, plugged in the phone and sat on the ground next to it, still working his laptop.

  Henry looked around. The debris had been swept away and the furniture left behind, rearranged at the back end of the room, away from the windows.

  “Outside?” Ali had come in with a brush and pan.

  “Leave the crap that’s still outside the door… we’ll use it as an alarm if someone comes close.” Henry moved to where Wasim had sat down. He checked the phone. The little battery was pumping in energy like a slow-beating heart. In a short while they would be able to communicate.

  Ali set up the TV. He moved the antenna around to get an image… but only grey static materialised on the screen. He tried again the position of the aerial and the sound of a news programme reverberated around the room. He turned the volume down. He started searching for the right channel to watch.