A Cold Day In Mosul (4 page)

Abruptly she wrapped her hands behind his head and pulled him in, mashing her lips against his.

He pulled away after a moment, purposely drawing out the sexual tension. It was hard, because there was nothing he wanted more than to kiss her and make love to her in that moment, but he knew the brief pause would only arouse her further.

On cue she gave him a suggestive smile and glanced at the bedchamber.

"You know what I'm going to do to you in there, don't you?" Ethan said in a low voice.

Alzena's mouth dropped open. She was panting. Her eyes never left his.

Ethan stood up, his meal forgotten, and Alzena leaped into his arms, entwining her arms and legs around his torso. 

A loud knock came at the door.

He ignored it, continuing toward the room. To hell with whoever was at the door.

The knock came again. More urgently.

He spun angrily toward the foyer. "What the fuck!" he shouted.

"It's me," Doug's voice came from outside.

"Damn it." Ethan released Alzena and crossed to the main entrance in a huff.

He took a deep breath, forced his anger down, and opened the door. A wave of cold air swept inside and Ethan repressed a shiver.

"I'm not catching you at a bad time, am I?" Doug said. William stood beside him in the dark Syrian night.

"No. Come in."

As they entered the candlelight, Ethan noticed both their faces were very pale. They seemed shaken.

Suddenly concerned, Ethan beckoned toward the couches in the family room. The upholstery was intact, for the most part: only a few springs showed.

"Can we talk to you alone?" Doug said after he'd sat down.

Ethan dismissed Alzena. She must have sensed the urgency in their voices, because she obeyed immediately, all playfulness and lust gone.

"So what is it?" Ethan said after she had gone. "Is Aaron all right?"

"Aaron's fine," William said, joining Doug on the couch opposite Ethan. "It's Sam."

Ethan felt his knees weaken, and he was glad he was sitting down. Sam might be his boss, but she was like a sister to him. A big sister. She was rumored to be operating in the region, but no one knew exactly where. She never seemed to stay in one place for very long.

Fearing the worst, he said, "She's dead?"

His fellow operatives remained silent.

"What happened?" Ethan persisted.

Doug cleared his throat. "I got a message this morning from Sam's boss."

The Secretary of Defense.

"He told me she was operating out of Mosul, Iraq," Doug continued. "And that she had missed two scheduled check-ins. So he sent an asset to confirm her status."

"And... ?"

"The room she was renting wasn't there anymore."

Ethan felt his brow crease. "What do you mean?"

"It seems a shell hit it. That, or she blew the place to hell herself."

Ethan knotted his fingers, staring at his hands but not really seeing them. "So she
is
dead."

"Another asset reported an injured female prisoner arriving at one of the sharia jails a few days earlier," Doug said. "Says she was treated by the prison doctors and then carted off to an undisclosed location a few hours later."

"Do we know it's her?"

Doug nodded. "The Secretary seems to think so."

"Why?"

Doug sat back, letting the soft surface of the couch envelope him. "Certain evidence has turned up that would point to a capture scenario."

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Evidence?"

"One of our assets was found murdered in Mosul last night."

Ethan stared at him. "And you think her captors tortured the information out of her."

Doug nodded slowly.

Sam. Tortured.

The thought made his stomach curdle.

"We're going in," Ethan said, feeling a rise of anger as he imagined all the terrible things that were being done to her. "And we're getting her the hell out. You know that, right?"

Doug nodded. "The Secretary agrees. She's our top priority."

Top priority.

The Secretary had different reasons for getting her out, Ethan knew—she likely had enough information in her head to bring down deep cover operations throughout the region.

But the reasons didn't matter right then. Only the goal.

I'm coming for you, Sam.

three

T
he next morning Seyed gave them one of the beat-up Land Cruisers he had originally set aside for his fighters.

"He says it has trouble starting sometimes," Alzena translated. "And that the men planned to use it in a suicide attack."

"Glad we could make better use of it," Ethan told her.

"I can't translate
that
," Alzena responded. "Or he'll take the vehicle right back. Besides, isn't what you are doing a suicide mission as well?"

He sighed. "Probably."

She escorted him to the Land Cruiser. Doug and William were already waiting inside. Doug sat in the passenger seat, William the driver side. Like Ethan, they had cropped their beards to better fit the style of the Iraqis. William had wanted to go clean shaven, but the pale skin under his facial hair would have betrayed him. They'd swapped their combat boots and fatigues for walking shoes, loose-fitting slacks and polo sweaters purloined from the closets of the abandoned homes. Doug wore a turban, while Ethan and William went without headgear.

Ethan halted about three meters away from the SUV and turned to Alzena. "This is where I leave you."

She smiled sadly, eyes shining.

He knew he'd probably never see her again. As he stared into those beautiful pearl-blue orbs, she abruptly put her hand on his heart.

"I'll never forget you," she said.

"I know." Ethan turned away. That was all he had. If he tried to say anything more, he'd probably lose it. Wouldn't do to cry in front of the other operatives.

He loaded his backpack into the rear cargo area of the vehicle and then went to the driver side, where William was perched behind the wheel. "Out. I'm the driver"

William glanced at Doug, who was the lead on the mission. Doug leaned forward, glanced past Ethan—probably at Alzena—and then nodded. William switched to the back seat.

Ethan got in, put the vehicle in gear and drove off.

He didn't look in the rear-view mirror at Alzena. Didn't dare. Thankfully, Doug and William had the decency to keep quiet. Right then was not the proper time for banter or witty comments. He respected the pair all the more for it.

They drove to the southeast, taking one of the backcountry dirt roads away from the village and the front lines. Beyond the road lay the empty, lonely place that so many people were dying for: that gray, rolling landscape of rocky escarpments and blunted hills. Grass and other plant life clung to life between the many rocks, with a resiliency that reminded Ethan of the citizens that chose to live in that place.

All of that land was claimed by the Islamic State, of course; eventually the road would swing south, deeper into their territory, skirting the front lines by a wide margin and joining the main highway, the M4, that ran from Aleppo to the Iraqi Border, however they probably would have to turn off at some point, as the eastern section of that highway was under Kurdish control. According to the GPS, the border was about a five and a half hour drive from their current location, with another two hours and forty minutes to Mosul once they entered Iraq
.
That travel time assumed they didn't get bogged down too long at the inevitable checkpoints.

Far to the southwest lay the plumes of smoke from the tires and barrels of oil the Islamic State burned in an attempt to obscure their positions. It was a stark reminder of the war Ethan and the others were leaving behind. The Caliphate's Western Front.

Shortly into the drive Doug retrieved the Iridium Go from inside the glove compartment and plugged the satellite Internet device into the lighter port.

"You don't have to plug it in," William said from the backseat. "The battery is already fully charged."

Doug shrugged. "Might as well keep it topped up." He swiveled the antenna to the upright position and held the device to the window.

"Getting a signal?" William asked him.

"Not yet," Doug said.

"Make sure you keep the antenna pointed straight up. And don't touch it. You might have to open the window."

Doug nodded distractedly.

"What's with the external Sat-Int anyway?" William said. "I thought you had one of those SatSleeve things that turn a normal cellphone into a satphone?"

"I do," Doug said. "But the damn thing is finicky. Can't connect to any of Thuraya's satellites this morning."

"Maybe the DIA forgot to pay your monthly bill," William joked.

"Wouldn't surprise me in the least," Doug said.

"I still think we could've locked a Makarov in there," William said, in reference to the glove compartment.

Doug didn't comment. There had been a whole argument the night before on whether or not to bring arms. William was for weapons, Doug and Ethan against. Officially, civilians weren't allowed to bear arms under the banner of the Islamic State. To be caught smuggling them in would result in lashes and jail time, at the very least. Not something they could afford at the moment.

They'd left their radios behind for the same reason: being found with military-grade PRC-153s would be bad news, and the unencrypted Hyteras would only draw unwanted questions. They had apps installed on their innocuous-seeming smartphones that made the devices function like radios anyway.

"The jihadists are going to take that away, you know," Ethan said, nodding at the Iridium Go. "Along with your SatSleeve. Just saying."

"We'll see," Doug said.

A few minutes later Doug finally received a signal; he connected to the device's Wi-Fi Hotspot via his smartphone.

"So tell us what you're up to," William said.

"Need to know basis, Tex," Doug answered.

"Funny."

"I'm sending feeler messages to my embeds in Mosul, asking if a woman has been taken into custody recently."

It took William a moment to process that. "I didn't know you had embeds in Iraq."

"You'd be surprised at the intelligence network you can build up when you devote yourself to it," Doug said. "But you gotta put in the legwork, bro."

"Yeah yeah," William said. "You've got a big hat, my friend, but no cattle."

"You and your Texan sayings."

"That you've been operating in Iraq is news to me as well," Ethan said, feeling inclined to side with William.

"Me and Iraq go way back," Doug said vaguely.

Ethan didn't press him. He doubted Doug would reveal anything more.

"That's great and all," William said. "But what happens if your embeds don't come through for us?"

Ethan was the one who answered. "Then we start kicking in heads."

Truthfully he hoped to avoid that route if possible. Someone of Sam's potential intelligence value wouldn't be kept in an ordinary, known prison. Time was of the essence, and if they had to start kidnapping militants off the street, it could take weeks to track her down. Their methods would attract attention, placing Sam, and themselves, in further danger.

Ethan turned onto a paved highway, and shortly thereafter began to encounter checkpoints, usually near bigger villages. He passed them without issue.

The rolling hills soon gave way to steppe. The grass and shrubs flourished at that time of year, coloring the plains a bright green. Eventually the steppe yielded to flat desert sand. Or rather,
dust
, and ultra fine at that—it definitely wasn't the kind of sand you found on a beach. Gravel layered the dusty surface, with various drought-resistant shrubs including tamarisk, milfoil, turpentine, and wild olive scattered about. Moderately grassy steppe occasionally interrupted the dreary moonscape, but it was few and far between.

They passed two checkpoints in that desert region without issue, but encountered a problem at the third.

four

A
pair of technicals had been haphazardly parked across the highway. The double-barreled ZU-2s bolted to the beds of each Hyundai pickup were pointed at them menacingly the entire time the Land Cruiser pulled up. Ethan was extremely worried the idiots would open fire. Conspicuous were the absence of any Islamic State flags or other identifying markers. Either the fighters were trying to hide their origins, or they were not Islamic State.

As the Land Cruiser grew near, one of the armed militants, a dark-bearded man with a black turban, rushed forward, waving for them to stop.

Ethan halted about thirty meters from the technicals. The militant himself kept a good distance from the car. Probably afraid that Ethan and the others were suicide bombers.

Ethan inquisitively peered out the open window. 

"Turn back!" the turbaned guard said. "Turn back."

"We are civilians," Ethan said. He had no problem mimicking the Syrian dialect, given all the time he'd spent in the country.

"Turn back! This route is dangerous. Al Nusra has been conducting raids. Go home." Al Nusra was a rival Al Qaeda-affiliated group in the country.

Ethan gestured toward his jacket pocket. "I have money..."

The turbaned man raised a palm. "I do not want your money. Go back. Please."

Ethan shrugged. Keeping his eyes on those menacing anti-aircraft guns, he reversed the vehicle, then turned around and accelerated away.

"So now what?" William said.

"I never take no for an answer." Ethan glanced occasionally in the rear-view mirror as he drove, and when the technicals were out of sight he swerved off the road and into the desert.

"Here we go," William complained to Doug. "Hate it when he does this."

"We're gonna get stuck," Doug said.

The passengers bobbed up and down as the Land Cruiser drove over the rocky gray desert. The vehicle kicked up a small, localized cloud of dust that quickly settled. One particularly nasty bump almost launched Ethan's head into the ceiling, but the seatbelt saved him.