Into The Shadows

by Michael Brady

“We’ll have to send Walid and Nanook in early. I would say ninety minutes to be safe. That should give them time to find good observation points.”

  “Agree. I will give Haris the grid coordinate for this destroyed farmhouse on the Syrian side. We will quickly cross the border and link up with Haris there. It’s only a few hundred feet, and we should be back within minutes.”

  Michael was not keen on crossing the border with only Walid and Nanook in support. However, the barren wasteland along the border offered easy access into Syria. Not many people were trying to get into Syria, he thought to himself.

  Innocent civilians fleeing the brutal civil war and Islamic State militants inside Syria, were aware of designated locations along the border to seek refuge. One of them was along the border between Karkamis and Jarabulus. Karanfilkoy was a good spot and away from Turkish attention.

  “Where will Nanook and Walid be after we get him out?” asked Michael figuring Elif had already thought of it.

  “I’m going to have them follow us. They will remain behind and provide support while we deliver the AT-4s. They may be YPG, but we can’t be too careful.”

  “I thought you told Raif it would only be the three of us?”

  “I did. I will tell him later,” said Elif without concern.

  “That might spook him.”

  “Yes. It might. However, he needs to sell the AT-4s. He will fall in line with it.”

  “If not, Elif?”

  “Then we get Haris out. Moreover, you will get the intelligence you need. Raif will continue to be an asset, regardless.”

  Michael realized Elif had examined all angles of the operation. She was correct that Haris was the primary objective, while Raif’s delivery to YPG was secondary. Mossad continued to live up to its reputation as one of the finest intelligence organizations in the world.

  Barma, Sierra Leone – November 5 – 10:25 PM

  Approximately nine miles north of Barma, Sierra Leone, the newly constructed emergency field hospital remained busy. The hospital sat on a small two-acre site nestled in between foliage. Built just two months ago with seventy-five beds, the hospital, and its remaining staff were overwhelmed. Nearly thirty percent of the doctors and nurses there became victims of the Ebola outbreak.

  Mud surrounded the hospital while sludge occupied several locations through the camp. Some plank boards along the ground were evident, which eased the mud’s relocation between housing tents, isolation shelters and staff quarters.

  The morgue was located on the eastern side of the hospital. There were two deaths this evening, and another ambulance was on the way, presumably filled with Ebola patients. This place was the epitome of hell.

  Fallubah, a loyal follower of Sheikh Cissi hid in the nearby trees. The last two hours were unpleasant for the subdued young man as he sat nearby the tent, which housed the lab. While waiting for his opportunity, he had to listen to the groans and cries of the infected. The sounds of the sick and dying began to affect him.

  Security at the hospital site was nonexistent. There was no need for it, as Medicins Sans Frontieres never imagined someone trying to sneak onto the deadly site. Nor did they have the funds to pay anyone, if they could even find willing volunteers.

  Fallubah noticed the lights of an approaching vehicle in the distance. Moments later he heard one of the doctors instruct the individuals inside the lab to join him. They were already dressed in their suits since they had to be ready for victims at any moment. Other staff members were already retired in their tents for the night. Fallubah found his opportunity.

  He entered the tent through an opening in one of the corners nearest a pole. It was just large enough for him to slip through the narrow gap. As he stood up, he quickly scanned the tent for where the blood specimens were. It did not take him long to figure out which ones were contaminated with the Ebola virus.

  Handwritten on many of the tubes included the words positive with Ebola. Also documented, were their arrival and date of death for those who perished.

  Fallubah reached into his backpack and pulled out the contents he needed for transport. Included was a foam vial holder with nine slots, one plastic container, a hard case, and two ice bags. Reaching into the case, he placed the vial holder on the table.

  Carefully removing each plastic tube with blood from Ebola victims, Fallubah began filling his vial holder. There were only six vials in the lab visible to him, more than enough he thought. It took him less than one minute.

  His next step was to place the foam vial holder into the plastic container. Foam layered the top of the container to ensure the vials could not move during transport. Fallubah then moved the container into a hard case also layered with foam. The lightweight, watertight case had two powerful hinges and a padlock hasp, which added an extra layer of protection. Fallubah, satisfied the vials were secure, placed the plastic case into his backpack.

  Fallubah would exit the tent the same way he entered. He carefully moved through the trees and arrived at his vehicle approximately fifteen minutes later. Sheikh Cissi will soon be pleased, he thought to himself.

  Ar-Raqqa, Syria – November 6, 7:45 PM

  Haris returned to his room and made his final preparations. Today would be his last day as a member of the Islamic State. He planned his escape in every detail from the moment he departed the Mosque to the drive north along the border. The only specifics he lacked were the linkup point with Ayse and the exact time of the rendezvous.

  He would make his way along Highway 4 directly to Jarabulus, blend in with the civilians there, and wait for the extraction. The trip would take approximately three hours as he anticipated several Islamic State roadblocks near Jarabulus and Ain Issa.

  Haris exited the Mosque and quickly found a cab, a preferred method of transport for Shirazi and other top commanders. The use of taxis allowed Islamic State to move freely within the city and avoid detection from overhead drones.

  “Haris entered a cab and is moving west. Should I follow him?” asked the man.

  “Yes. Let me know where he goes.”

  Ahmed Al-Diri, the man responsible for Shirazi’s protection in Ar-Raqqa, instructed that Haris would be followed. Haris was a trusted confidant and one of Shirazi’s top personal bodyguards, but Al-Diri had strict instructions from the Caliph. Ahmed’s spies would follow all members of Shirazi’s protection team, whenever they departed his location.

  Haris was aware of the procedure as Shirazi adopted the rule months ago, after a failed assassination attempt from a rival Islamic State cleric near Mosul.

  He arrived at the apartment building and quickly made his way to the drab studio. His small, lightweight rucksack, already packed earlier in the day, sat on the kitchen counter. Inside were his GPS-enabled cell phone, night vision goggles, two pistols, a map, flashlight, radio, and several bottles of water. He needed nothing else. Haris was either going to die tonight or cross the border and escape Shirazi’s inevitable collapse.

  “He’s back in his apartment complex,” said the man ordered to follow him.

  “Wait a few minutes and see if he comes out,” said Al-Diri.

  Shirazi and Haris would soon depart the Mosque at 9:20 PM to move to another location. Al-Diri knew it was odd for Haris to leave so close to their departure. Shirazi moved through Ar-Raqqa every twenty-four hours in at least a dozen different locations which were chosen randomly.

  Haris grabbed his pack and quickly moved to the bathroom in the back of the apartment. He opened the window, slid through it, and ventured out to the alley. Turning to his left, he quickly walked to the intersection to the nearest road and turned right. There he would make his way four blocks to where he parked his car a day earlier.

  Within minutes, Haris was on Highway 4 traveling north.

  “He is still in there.”

  “Go inside. Now. Find him. I want to speak with him.”

 
The man did not hesitate and did as he was instructed. He quickly entered the apartment building and knocked on the door. His knocks became louder as Haris did not respond. Finally, the man plowed his boot onto the door handle and broke it open.

  Nothing. Haris was not inside. The man then moved into the hallway and checked the bathroom. The window was open. He was gone.

  Haris was running for his life.

  “He’s not here. The window to his bathroom is open. He must have left.”

  Al-Diri was furious. Recognizing the gravity of the situation, he immediately made his way into the Sheikh’s corner suite and delivered the news. Unsure of Haris’ motivation, his first consideration was to the Caliph.

  “Caliph, Haris has left. He went to his apartment and fled through his bathroom window.”

  Shirazi sat calmly but perplexed by Al-Diri’s update.

  “Are you sure? He has been with us for many years. I find the idea preposterous.”

  “I am. I want to get you out now. I will find Haris, Caliph.”

  Shirazi turned away from Al-Diri for a moment and contemplated the many reasons why he might flee. This troubled the ruthless leader.

  “Where will he go?” asked Shirazi.

  “I doubt he would move south into Iraq. We control all the lands to the border. Assad controls most of the territory to our west, and I am sure he will not try to slip through regime forces. Since we control all lands east of Raqqa, my first guess would be northwest toward Turkey. His best chance of escape would be with the Kurds. It is only one hundred and sixty kilometers to the Turkish border. If I were fleeing, that’s how I would do it.”

  “Bring him back alive, if possible. Alert all our commanders, nonetheless. Start with Hassan in Kobani. I will be ready momentarily.”

  Al-Diri notified the two men standing outside the suite that Shirazi would leave in five minutes.

  Traveling at approximately ninety kilometers an hour, Haris soon made his way to Ain Issa. Ain Issa was a devastated small town along Highway 4 that Islamic State routed months earlier. Many of the residents were already dead or escaped the initial onslaught. Numerous buildings were empty and war-torn from artillery fires. Glancing at his GPS, he noticed he was approximately two kilometers from the city’s entrance along Highway 4. Time for a look, he thought to himself.

  Haris stepped onto the desert and looked through his night vision goggles, acquired years ago from a dead Iraqi officer near Fallujah. Peering down Highway 4, he saw no activity or signs of a checkpoint. He would enter Ain Issa with ease. As he began slowly driving into the town, he placed the banner of Islamic State onto his dashboard.

  Winding his way through the narrow roads of Ain Issa, Haris observed the checkpoint directly in front of him. At the northern edge of town, a barricade consisting of loose barbed wire and two vehicles on each side of the road were visible.

  “As-Salam-u-Alaikum,” said Haris as his vehicle came to rest at the barricade. He noticed a four-foot gap between the wire and front bumper of the Islamic State pickup truck to his left.

  “As-Salam-u-Alaikum. Who are you and where are you going?” asked the teenager.

  “I’m Haris. I have a message for Hassan Akbar in Kobani. The Caliph has sent me.”

  “You have your papers?”

  “Yes.”

  Haris handed the teenager his documentation proving Islamic State membership.

  “Hold on. I will return in a few minutes.”

  Haris observed the boy walk to the vehicle on his left. Inside sat another young man but clearly older. Probably the leader of the security detail, Haris thought to himself. Haris remained calmly in the vehicle while the two talked.

  The vehicle’s passenger, along with the teenager, now walked back to Haris. Haris did not like the development.

  “I was not told of any movement tonight,” said the man.

  “You weren’t supposed to. I come from Raqqa. I need to speak with Hassan Akbar, commander in Kobani.”

  The young man, clearly unamused by his lack of awareness, pressed Haris further.

  “My orders come from Hussein, my commander here in Ain Issa. You will have to wait until I get permission to let you out.”

  “I don’t have time to wait. I need to see Akbar within the hour. My orders come from the Caliph himself. Do you and your commander want to be responsible for causing a delay in the Caliph’s instructions? I am growing impatient. Let me through.”

  The brash young man thought for a moment. He was a recruit determined to prove himself to his commander and comrades. He grew tired of the security detail and craved an opportunity to fight in Aleppo. He would have none of it.

  “I’m going to check with my commander. It will only be ten minutes at most. I cannot allow anyone to pass. You understand, don’t you, Haris?” he said with a bit of sarcasm while looking at his paperwork.

  Staring into the man’s eyes and showing his displeasure, Haris simply said, “Make it quick.”

  Two minutes later Haris noticed one of the men in the vehicle along the right side of the barricade talking into his radio. His eyes were immediately focused on Haris as he turned to his associate sitting on the driver’s side. The two men then slowly exited their vehicle.

  Haris immediately felt uneasy and convinced something was wrong. Unsure of their intention, his nerves were flaring as he depressed the pedal on the floor. He drove directly toward the opening on the left side of the barricade. While making his escape, he collided with the right front engine compartment of the Islamic State vehicle.

  He began speeding north along Highway 4 and noticed a vehicle behind him as he raced from Ain Issa. After a few minutes, Haris realized he would not lose the Toyota pickup truck to his rear. The driver and passenger sprayed bullets at Haris’ Jeep but few hit their target. He also spotted a second vehicle coming into view.

  Haris could no longer allow the pursuing vehicles to continue chasing him. An errant bullet would eventually hit a rear tire, he thought to himself. He had to fight.

  Reaching for his AK-47 rattling on the passenger’s seat, he grabbed hold of the weapon and placed the stock through the left window. Haris turned the steering wheel to the left and slammed on the brakes. Coming to a rest in the middle of the road, he waited for the approaching vehicles.

  Looking through his sights, he calculated roughly five seconds before a good shot presented itself. He would aim at the driver hoping to cause the vehicle to swerve and crash.

  Haris squeezed the trigger. The bullets sprayed through the driver’s front windshield. The driver’s chest shattered open, and he immediately lost control of the vehicle as it flipped onto the desert. The second man broke his neck and died instantly upon hitting the dirt.

  In the distance, the second vehicle began to slow down. As the vehicle and its passengers were approaching Haris’ position, a third vehicle came into view in the distance. The Islamic State fighters in Ain Issa were determined to catch Haris.

  Haris recognized the situation changed drastically, and decided to turn the tables on his pursuers. He straightened his Jeep and sped toward the two vehicles who watched in bewilderment. As he closed the distance between the vehicles and himself, he quickly veered off the highway, slammed on his brakes and took aim at one of the vehicles.

  Haris fired several bursts which killed the driver and wounded the passenger. The passenger exited through the door and raced behind his truck. He returned fire and sprayed bullets toward the front of Haris’ jeep.

  It finally arrived as Michael instructed. Unbeknownst to Haris, circling overhead was the MQ-9 Reaper drone equipped with the latest next generation precision guided munitions. A remotely piloted vehicle with operators as far away as Las Vegas, Nevada, the MQ-9 was capable of flying up to forty-two hours. Tonight, the drone would only fly a maximum of fourteen hours due to the full payload of munitions it was carryi
ng.

  Earlier, Michael had convinced Doug to push US Central Command for the support. He thought military drone pilots were vastly superior to those at CIA. Michael used them whenever he could. Wrestling two Reaper drones from United States Central Command (CENTCOM) was not easy, but Doug convinced them after discussing the potential intelligence windfall from Mossad’s source.

  The drone fired a single AGM 114 Hellfire II missile into the rear vehicle. The explosion killed each occupant instantly and body parts would hit the ground in moments. Haris was stunned by what just transpired, grabbed his pack, and leaped out of his jeep. He immediately began running into the desert.

  He wondered if the next air strike would be directed at him. Haris was convinced that American military intelligence assessed the group of vehicles as Islamic State fighters traveling north toward Kobani. Haris moved approximately thirty meters away from the vehicle. He figured he should at least try to evade the drone, though its thermal Infrared (IR) capability would make it highly unlikely.

  Haris heard his phone ringing while lying on the cold desert sand. It was Elif.

  “Haris, it’s Elif. Get back in your vehicle and keep moving. We will cover you until you are safely across the border. The American drones are above and will follow you.”

  “But how did you know where I was?” asked Haris.

  “After you called, our assets picked you up. Never mind. Get moving Haris. We’re watching the rendezvous point.”

  Haris immediately stood up and sprinted back to his vehicle. It would probably take Islamic State assets in Ain Issa a while to figure out what happened. In less than an hour, he would reach his designated location. Haris jumped into his jeep and continued north. Jarabulus would be more difficult, he thought to himself.

  Kobani, Syria – November 6, 8:37 PM

  Hassan Akbar and his deputy commanders were meeting at the old war-torn school building on the far southern side of Kobani. Kobani had become a barren wasteland where Islamic State fought from abandoned buildings and burnt out shops. The smell of rotting corpses filled the streets after brutal fighting the last few days.