by Ethan Jones
“Will do. And I’ll also give you a call if Flavio grows suspicious.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Be safe, Justin.”
“Yes, you too, Carrie.”
He placed the phone next to his laptop and finished the last of his coffee. Yes, Flavio. I need to show him some progress, so he doesn’t become restless and begin to ask questions. He thought about his next steps for a long moment. Maybe I should send Vale to Erbil and meet up with him after Azade’s rescue.
He shrugged and walked to the window. A high-pitched howl sounded very close. Is he announcing someone’s arrival? His eyes went to the assault rifle set next to the wall. He picked it up and stepped through the small narrow doorway connecting to the next shack. Vale was sleeping on a mat on the dirt floor next to a couple of Peshmergas. Justin sidestepped them, trying to make as little noise as possible, then opened the door leading outside.
Rojan and another Peshmerga were keeping watch, sitting with their backs against the walls. “Justin, what are you doing up?” Rojan whispered to him.
“I heard the howling. Jackal?”
Rojan shrugged. “Could be. But there hasn’t been any movement, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
The other Peshmerga nodded.
Justin sat next to them. “I’m not worried about it, but we can be discovered. Especially at daytime.”
“When do you want to move?”
“Daybreak.”
Rojan looked at the eastern sky. “That’s about an hour away.”
Justin nodded. “Any chatter on radios? Phones?”
“Daesh is rushing to figure out what has happened. Nothing officially, but some of their leaders seem to be denying their involvement.”
Justin frowned. “How come? They used to take credit for any attack, no matter how small and no matter how little they were a part of it.”
“This may be different. Even ISIS doesn’t want to pick a fight with the Turkish monster army.” Rojan shook his head and reached for his coffee mug. “Not after the losses they’ve suffered. They’re in regroup, not battle mode.” He took a long sip.
“Their videos give another impression,” Justin said.
The Peshmerga shook his large head. “Videos are propaganda. Exaggerations. Daesh dogs may be scaring people online, but here on the ground, they’re the ones running with their tails between their legs.”
Justin nodded. “Has anyone said anything about the missing soldiers?”
Rojan said, “No. And I don’t expect any word of it.”
“Good,” Justin said. “Keep listening and tell me right away if they’re mentioned, or if ISIS admits the attacks.” He stood up. “You want more coffee?”
“Sure.”
Justin nodded and went back into the shack. As he walked by the Peshmergas, his boot caught on a sharp edge on the ground. He made very little noise as the butt of his rifle struck the side of the table. But it was sufficient for Vale to open his eyes. His hand almost involuntarily went for the rifle next to his head, but he recognized Justin’s face. “Hey . . . what . . . what are you doing there?” He whispered.
“Trying not to wake you.”
Vale yawned. “I’m awake now.”
“Well, then come to the office so I can brief you.”
“Sure, I got to relieve myself first.”
One of the Peshmergas stirred, but continued to snore. The other one rolled over to the other side.
Justin started to make coffee and sat cross-legged next to the gas canister stove. When Vale came in, Justin brought him up to speed on the situation on the ground and the conversation with Carrie, save for the portion that related to Karolin. “So, if ISIS keep denying this was their attack, what are our options?” Vale asked.
“They can deny it as much as they want. The fighters who attacked the base waved ISIS flags and rode ISIS vehicles. If it looks like it’s them, the army will believe it was them, despite the jihadists’ attempted denials.”
“Let’s hope so. And what have you heard from the boss?”
“Nothing directly.” Justin thought about how to word his answer. “He’s waiting for progress, but this op has set us back. Flavio will start to ask questions if we don’t deliver results from Erbil.”
Vale frowned. He seemed to be sensing Justin’s subtle message. “And you’re ordering me to continue to Erbil?”
Justin glanced up at Vale. “Yes, get there ahead of me and see what you can find out. You’ll work with my contacts there, so you won’t be on your own.”
Vale shrugged. “I don’t mind going by myself. I just thought we were a team.”
“We are. But being a team doesn’t mean we do everything together, all the time.”
“Yeah, I know that, but we’re splitting up and ignoring the priority op.”
Justin shook his head. “No, Vale, we’re not ignoring it, just postponing it for a day or two. And that’s why I’m dispatching you there, because this is still our priority op.”
Vale held Justin’s eyes for a long moment. “All right, I’ll take care of it. When am I heading out?”
Justin poured the coffee that had just finished brewing. “As soon as we leave this place. Make contact with Kubar, and if he still hasn’t made up his mind, strike a deal with Behrooz.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I’m not sure. It’s up to Rojan. We could go south or continue southwest, depending on what he learns.”
Vale nodded. “Let’s go now. It’s coffee time with our Peshmerga friends.”
Chapter Twelve
January 13
Kadjalah, thirty-five miles south of the Bashaweh Turkish base
Northern Iraq
Justin said “goodbye” to Vale as soon as they arrived in Kadjalah. This was a small town in Peshmerga hands, where most of the population was Kurds. Justin had never been to this part of Iraq, but he seemed to recognize a few of the fighters walking along the debris-littered streets. Is my mind playing tricks on me? Or am I looking for something familiar, albeit unreal?
Vale continued with Behrooz and two of his associates. The other guide had deemed passage to Erbil extremely dangerous, especially after the attack against the Turkish base. The guide was plainly exaggerating the risks, perhaps so he could extract a larger fee for his services. Or perhaps he was truly afraid. Justin was in no mood to negotiate, and he could not tell the guide the truth about the assault against the base.
Once Justin and his team settled in Kadjalah, he returned to his laptop. The Turkish chatter had increased. There were a few mentions of the “missing” soldiers, and many discussions about how and where to find them. Justin was thankful to the CIS Special Collection Service—the clandestine eavesdropping section—who had been able to track, transcribe, and translate most of the communications. This was the unit that had the best cooperation with the NSA, and they shared sources and resources. Justin would have an almost complete picture of the Turkish army plans.
ISIS commanders could be heard as very nervous in their communications. They were having a hard time deciding whether to accept responsibility for the attack or to deny any involvement. Several wanted to issue statements praising the brave fighters who dealt a “heavy blow to the Turkish infidels.” Others wanted to explain to the Turks that ISIS had nothing to do with the incident. Conflicting orders instructed groups of soldiers to move from one village to another and amass around Raykhan. The storm clouds were gathering.
Right after noontime, Justin gave the order for the former ISIS fighters to be dispatched with their message. He prayed they would not stumble, but convince the Turkish army about the perpetrators of the attack. Rojan had given the two fighters the names and ranks of the kidnapped soldiers, as well as general details of the assault, to add credibility to their story.
Things were now out of Justin’s hands, and it was waiting time. He hated it, sitting there and doing nothing. He felt ineffective. While he could not do anything else about this opera
tion, there was the matter of Egorov. Justin had promised Carrie he was going to connect with someone at the GRU, and, while he disliked owing favors to the Russian, he would have to follow through on his word.
So he hoisted his rifle over his shoulder, and stepped outside the small safehouse. He walked a block, then bought a cup of coffee at one of the shops around the corner. He sat at a small table on the sidewalk and nodded at a couple of old men playing backgammon three tables away, beyond earshot. Then Justin pulled out his phone and dialed from memory the number of his GRU contact.
“Yes, who is this?” a clearly annoyed female voice asked in Russian.
“This is Hall, Justin Hall.”
“Oh, dear Justin. Tell me, how are you?” Her voice took on a mischievous tone.
He smiled. Yuliya Markov. Always the flirtatious one. They had met during an unsanctioned operation in Yemen. At the time, she was working for Romanov, a Russian billionaire who met an untimely end. Markov was now working as a GRU special operative in the Northern Caucasus Section. “I’m doing well. How about yourself?”
“Life is treating me okay. I’m in Moscow now, but I’m sure you know that.”
Justin smiled. “I do. I like to know where my former partners are.”
“And where are you now?”
“Somewhere in Iraq.”
“Can you be more precise?”
“Northern Iraq.”
Markov groaned. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.”
Justin shrugged, then sipped his coffee. He glanced around him, checking if anyone was paying attention to his conversation. He was whispering in Russian, but it always paid to be careful. “All I can say.”
“Fair enough. So, how come you’re calling me out of the blue?”
“I need a favor.”
“I suspected as much.” Markov’s voice grew colder.
“I’ll owe you one.”
“Hmmm, I don’t know, Justin. Last time I did a favor for you, I almost lost both my life and my career.”
Justin frowned. “Yes, that was . . . that was my fault. But this . . . this is different. I just need some intel.”
“Like a Google search or something, right?”
Justin ignored Markov’s sarcasm. “No, a bit more complicated than that.”
“Yes, of course.” Markov heaved a deep sigh. “What do you need?”
“Ekaterina Egorov. Ever heard the name?”
“No. Who is she?”
“Former FSB. Disappeared a few weeks ago in northern Iraq.”
“FSB? And why are you looking for her?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Is it? Well, give me the short version.”
“It’s a favor.”
Markov laughed. “Eh, I wasn’t looking for that short a version.”
Justin sighed. “Someone asked us to find Egorov, and we’re working on that. She’s suspected of having ties to Iraqi or Syrian terrorists.”
“Oh, okay. So you’re looking to find a covert operative from one Russian agency through the help of another Russian agency?”
Justin shook his head and did not answer right away. He took a sip from his coffee, then said, “Yes, it is so.”
“That sounds quite desperate, Justin.” Markov’s voice rang with a clear hint of sarcasm.
“Or ingenious. Why look elsewhere when the GRU knows everything?”
Markov laughed again. “Oh, thank you, thank you, Justin, but many would disagree with your assessment. And flattery will not get you results this time.”
She’s playing hard to get. Justin nodded to himself. But she wants to help. I sense it in her voice. “Sorry, then what will get me a deal?”
“If you ask nicely and buy me dinner.” Markov’s voice resumed her initial playful tone.
“If that’s all, you got a deal.”
“No, not so fast, Justin. That’s not all. I’ll demand intel, when the time comes. But dinner is, uh, let’s say, the deposit to guarantee the deal.”
“Sure, Yuliya. Please give me a hand, and I’ll take you out for dinner.”
“There’s a new restaurant that just opened, three blocks off Red Square. I’d love to try it.”
Justin frowned and his fingers tightened around his coffee cup. Moscow? Out of all the places in the world, does it have to be Moscow? “If that’s what you want . . .”
“It is.”
“Okay.” He drew in a deep breath and again glanced around the sidewalk. One of the old men held Justin’s eye for a moment and waved at him. Justin waved back, then brought his coffee cup to his mouth.
“Justin, where are you?”
“Still here.”
“You didn’t change your mind?”
“No, no, of course not. When do you think you can get me something?”
“Depends on how much you can tell me, so I can get started.”
“Sure, this is what we know.”
He told Markov about the intelligence they had received from the FSB and what the ECS had gathered during the last few days. Markov asked a few clarifying questions, and, when Justin finished, she said, “This is quite useful. Give me twelve hours.”
“Perfect—thanks, Yuliya.”
“Don’t thank me yet, but gather your pennies. Krasnaya Zvezda is pretty expensive.”
Krasnaya Zvezda? That means Red Star, a few blocks from Red Square. Aptly named or very unimaginative? “Breaking the piggy bank as we speak.”
Markov took a moment to digest the meaning of Justin’s idiom. “Oh, I see.”
“Anything else you need from me?”
“No, but I can’t wait to see you, Justin.”
He shook his head. “All right, let me know what you find.”
“Call you at this number?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Justin. Stay alive.”
“Yes, you too.”
He ended the call and sighed. Maybe she will get us something we can use. It’s worth a try. Now, this business of visiting Moscow . . . I don’t like it. He thought of Arkady Krestiyev, one of the SVR operatives, with whom Justin had unfinished business. Yes, my Moscow visit should be private and low-key. He finished his coffee and got up. Time to return to eavesdropping.
Chapter Thirteen
January 13
Kadjalah, thirty-five miles south of the Bashaweh Turkish base
Northern Iraq
Justin could thank God for the course of the events. From what he and Rojan could tell, the message sent by the former jihadists had been well received. Skeptical at first, but then convinced by the accurate details, the Turkish army command had decided ISIS was to blame for the mayhem caused at the base. Regardless of ISIS’s strong denial, the army was dead set on freeing the captured soldiers. As jihadist chat rooms and Twitter and Facebook accounts buzzed with the news of the attack, the majority began to attribute the “heroic” act to the “lions of the desert, Islam’s holy warriors.”
Justin had heard and read enough. It was time to check with Rojan and plan their insertion into Al-Akral, in the attempt to free the hostages.
Rojan was on the phone, and he gestured to Justin to hold on for a moment. Justin nodded and glanced at the small TV screen. It was tuned to the Turkish Radio and Television Corporation, the official Turkish state channel, but muted. The news edition was on, and the images showed a city in ruins and fighters displaying weapons as their trucks sped through the city. Justin looked around for the remote, so he could turn up the volume. He did not see it anywhere, so he walked to the TV screen. By the time he found the right button on the side of the screen, the news segment was over. Justin shrugged and turned around.
Rojan said, “What was it?”
“Something in the news about Syria or Iraq. Just wondering if they said anything about the attack.”
Rojan shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything, but I wouldn’t be surprised if someone leaked the story to the media. They pay a good price for scoops.”
“They do, ye
s.”
“Talking about good amounts, my guy needs another five grand for the truck and the uniforms.”
Justin nodded. Rojan’s contact had supplied the team with the Toyota and the Ford truck, but they were destroyed during the attack on the base.
“Cash?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“As soon as possible.”
“I don’t have it on me. It will be tomorrow or the next day, when I get to Erbil.”
Rojan frowned. “He’s not going to take it well.”
Justin shrugged. “We’ve already paid him, and I’ll make good on my word.”
Rojan waved his hand. “It’s not your word he’s doubting. It’s the fact of whether you’ll make it out alive or not. Whether we’ll make it out alive.” His voice rang with a hint of doubt.
“You didn’t tell him about our plan?”
“No, of course, not. I’m not a fool. But neither is he. When we asked for those items, he could figure out what we’re up to.”
Justin nodded. “Well, that’s the best we can do for now. To sweeten the deal, tell him we’ll give him another grand for his discretion. No one should learn about his suspicions or ideas, if he has any.”
Rojan smiled. “Good, that should smooth things out.”
“Have you heard about ISIS troops movements?”
“Yes. As you predicted, they’re gathering around Raykhan, the HQ.”
“Fighters leaving Al-Akral?”
“I’ve sent out scouts, and they should confirm that.”
“Great. Once we have their report, we’ll head out.”
“Same plan as before?”
“Yes, no changes. How’s the wounded soldier doing?”
“He’ll be fine.” Rojan’s voice expressed clearly his dissatisfaction. “The dead one is the problem. No room at the morgue.”
“Where is he?”
“At the medical center. I paid one of the nurses to keep him there for a couple of days. But the sooner we get rid of both of them, the better it is.”
“Of course. If we carry out our raid tonight, they can go any time after that.”
