The Division Collection

by Angus McLean

  ‘Okay folks,’ Pat began, ‘we’ve analysed the electronic data from the guys our New Zealand friends encountered. As we know, the main man was Mohammed al-Rishawi, known as The Doctor. He was a relative of the female terrorist executed in Jordan last year for burning a pilot alive in a cage.’

  Moore had seen the video the terrorists had broadcast of that execution, and an unwelcome image of it flashed back through his mind. It had sickened him at the time and was no better in retrospect.

  Pat addressed them directly as he continued.

  ‘We identified Obasi Karim and Kassim Karim as the guards you overpowered. They were brothers, and were known ISIS sympathisers. The bodyguard was another Jordanian, Rashad Yildiray, well known to us for a number of years. We’re not sure on the other two yet, but they both appear to be Iraqi.’

  The spook flicked up photos of all the players from the farm. The ones they had identified featured in surveillance shots, whereas the two unknowns – the driver and the guy they had shot inside – were shown in situ in all the goriness of their violent deaths.

  ‘Needless to say, nobody’s mourning the loss of these guys. Now, taking it back a step,’ Pat said, flicking up a new surveillance photo.

  The image resonated with Moore but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It looked like a still image taken from CCTV.

  ‘Our Kiwi friends were also on-site when the suicide bomber blew himself up at a shopping mall in Ankara the other day. This here is the bomber entering the mall itself, moments before the detonation.’

  Moore nodded to himself, recognising the guy now.

  ‘Ali al-Jamil was an Iraqi, previously unknown to us. ISIS have released the usual rhetoric about the bombing, but given the bomber was seen following these guys it seems reasonable to deduce that they were specifically targeted.’ Pat flicked up a series of images from the mall bombing. ‘Last count is twenty two dead, not including the bomber himself and the two shooters who followed him in.’

  The screen changed to another CCTV still, this one showing the clean-up crew entering the mall.

  ‘We haven’t ID’d these guys yet, I’m picking they’re Iraqi also, probably came over the border with al-Jamil. We’re currently trying to retrace their steps.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Not getting much assistance from our Turkish friends, however. As an aside though, as far as we’re aware they haven’t identified the two shooters or our friends here either.’

  He brought up a headshot of a bearded, middle aged Iraqi. Moore recognised him immediately, and the murmurs among the Delta operators told him they knew the face too.

  ‘Nassim al-Hussein, as you know. He’s Top Twenty for us, presently sitting at number nineteen, and has been on the run since the 2006 Sadr City bombings. Our intel identifies him as a principal organiser of suicide bombers.’ He glanced down to Moore and Katie. ‘I don’t know what you guys know about them, but suicide bombings are usually extremely well organised and planned. We believe he was one of the organisers behind Sadr City, which killed two hundred and fifty seven.’

  Katie stiffened noticeably.

  ‘How solid is your intel on that?’ Moore asked.

  Pat eyed him coolly.

  ‘Solid enough for the FBI to request we actively hunt him down and kill him,’ he said. He turned back to the screen, clicking through to an aerial map. ‘This is Qahira, a village about forty klicks this side of the Syrian border and close enough to Turkey. It’s been taken and retaken numerous times by various factions over the years – Kurds, the Coalition, ISIS. Traditionally an area frequented by Bedouin and of little economic value to anyone, it’s a lot of sandy dirt and scrub and not a lot else. Last known population in the area is roughly fifty people, if that.’

  He flipped up a series of shots depicting a basic village of adobe huts and cooking pits, shepherds herding goats and villagers staring unsmilingly at the camera.

  ‘A pretty standard village as far as we are aware,’ Pat continued, ‘however it is linked to al-Hussein through his father, who was born there. There’s been some scuttlebutt over time that al-Hussein has sought refuge there while on the run.’

  ‘How recent?’ Jerry interrupted.

  ‘The last piece was from a prisoner around six months ago. He said al-Hussein had spent a night or two there before moving on. We hit the vill within hours but came up empty, not even a sign that he’d been there and nobody was talking of course.’

  Pat flicked back to the photo of The Doctor, and now he smiled.

  ‘Jumping forward to today, this is where our electronic analysis comes into play. Our good dentist friend’s phone had made a call shortly before his arrival at the farm to another phone which we have triangulated to Qahira.’

  ‘How close?’ Todd asked, stroking his beard with one hand.

  ‘Right in the heart of it,’ Pat responded, still smiling. ‘Naturally we don’t know who the user of the other phone is, with it being a standard burn phone and all, but that phone has itself made a call to young Master Ali al-Jamil, just half an hour before he blew himself up in the mall.’

  Moore felt his pulse pick up. Now they were getting somewhere. He listened intently.

  ‘Where was that call from?’ Todd asked.

  Pat cut back to the aerial shot of Qahira.

  ‘Right here,’ he said.

  Now Mike stepped forward and took the lead, his hands clasped behind his back.

  ‘This intel was put together around 0800 hours today,’ he rasped. ‘We inserted a small team on foot around 1100 hours. They have established an OP on Qahira and are giving us live intel. From what they can see there is definitely some activity in the village, however they have not eyeballed any persons of interest.’

  He had everybody’s full attention.

  ‘If they sight al-Hussein, they have instructions to take the shot.’ The major looked around the assembled troops. ‘He is to be taken out and the team are to withdraw immediately.’

  He took a few paces to his left and stopped again, before turning back to Pat.

  ‘Give it to them,’ he said.

  Pat stepped forward again, and addressed Moore and Katie specifically.

  ‘The twist in all this is that we’ve been trying to figure out why these guys are so interested in you two. It just doesn’t make any sense, unless there is some kind of link between what you are doing and these guys’ business, which you would think would be extremely unlikely. However…’ He clicked through to a passport-style facial shot of Natalie Oldham.

  Moore sensed a shuffling among the operators behind them as they took in the photo. Pat turned his attention to the group of men.

  ‘This is Natalie Oldham, daughter of a New Zealand politician, who is currently believed to be missing somewhere in Turkey. She is a friend of Miss Katie Simpson here, who has travelled over from London to look for her in an unofficial capacity. Rob is here as a representative of the NZ High Commission, also looking for her.’

  The screen changed to a typed paragraph of dialogue.

  ‘This is an excerpt of a conversation snatched yesterday between The Doctor’s phone and another as yet unidentified user. You can read it for yourselves.’

  He stayed silent while they all read the passage.

  They do not have the same value as the other one. She will be a wonderful tool for our leader.

  You are right my brother. She is certainly a tremendous coup for us. I cannot imagine the surprise when they see her.

  May Allah be praised, my friend. Every blow we strike to the hearts of the infidels brings us closer to our own Paradise. God is great.

  ‘The first speaker is The Doctor, al-Rishawi. As I say we don’t know who the second guy is, can’t get a match on the voice recognition, but it’s a fair bet it’s someone pretty close to the action, since they were clearly talking about our two Kiwis and Miss Oldham.’

  ‘What time was this?’ Moore asked.

  ‘Nearly an hour after the bombing,’ Pat said, ‘while you two were on t
he train.’

  Moore nodded slowly, thinking.

  ‘What we are taking from this is that these guys have Miss Oldham and see her as some kind of an ace card to play. The expectation is that either a ransom demand will be made or –’ he avoided eye contact with Katie now –‘she will appear online in an execution video.’

  Moore unconsciously reached out and touched Katie’s hand. It was trembling. She clenched hard, her nails digging into his palm.

  ‘Neither of these things have happened yet,’ Pat said uncomfortably. ‘And of course we need to keep an open mind…

  ‘So what’s with us?’ Moore said. ‘I’ve been told to ride along with you, you’ve issued us some gear…why are we here?’

  Mike stepped up again.

  ‘We suspect that Miss Oldham may be being held in Qahira. It makes sense to keep her out of the way somewhere quiet, handy to a couple of different borders, easy to move.’ He rocked on his heels. ‘Our plan is to get in there and see for sure. We know something’s going on there, and all signs point to it being her.’

  Katie released Moore’s hand and spoke for the first time.

  ‘And what if you’re wrong? What if she’s not there? Isn’t there a chance that your intel will be blown and they just move her and become more careful?’

  Mike considered his answer carefully before responding.

  ‘That’s true Miss Simpson, and it’s a good point. But right now, we got nothin’ else. The intel looks good and we’ve got the capability to act on it.’ He hiked his shoulders. ‘These guys are always damn careful; it’s not every day we get enough to go kicking doors. If we don’t act on it, we could miss a golden opportunity to rescue a hostage.’

  He fixed her with a firm but almost fatherly look.

  ‘This is what we do, Miss Simpson, and we are damn good at it.’

  She nodded and sat back in her chair. Moore interjected before the major could continue.

  ‘So you’re babysitting us then,’ he said, with more than a hint of accusation in his tone.

  Mike turned his gaze to him. The fatherly tinge disappeared in an instant.

  ‘We don’t do babysitting, friend,’ he rasped. ‘You are here, standing by for us to bring Miss Oldham back. When we do, the three of you are straight on a plane back to NZ. Once you leave here she’s your responsibility.’

  Moore held his gaze and bit his tongue. Mike broke the stare and looked to Todd.

  ‘Break off,’ he said, ‘and get a plan together.’

  The Delta operators stood and filed out in silence. The door banged shut behind the last man. Pat lingered in the background behind the major. The tension in the air was unmistakable.

  Moore stood and Mike picked up the eyeball again.

  ‘I want to go on the op,’ Moore said bluntly.

  Mike lifted his chin a fraction, staring at him.

  ‘Why? We don’t need you out there.’

  ‘Why not?’ Moore countered. ‘What can it hurt? You know my background; your guys saw my skills today. I’ve been given clearance by my head shed to co-operate, and that’s all I want to do.’

  ‘We don’t take civilians along on operations,’ Mike said. ‘Sorry, but it’s not gonna happen.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ Moore snapped back, his hackles rising. ‘I’ve worked with you guys before, I know how you operate. I spent a goddamn week in a hide in the mountains of Afghanistan with two of my guys and a spook from the agency. If it’s good enough for us it’s good enough for you.’

  He felt Katie’s hand on his arm and pulled away angrily.

  ‘Look, we’ve got an interest in this situation here, Major. This isn’t some kinda fuckin’ jolly I’m asking for. All I’m asking for is a professional courtesy, in the interests of our special relationship.’

  They were almost toe to toe now, and neither man was backing down. Moore could feel the anger coming off Mike in waves.

  He heard the door open behind them but didn’t break his stare.

  Todd’s voice broke the moment.

  ‘Ahh, boss…may I have a minute of your time?’

  Mike’s eyes flickered but he didn’t move. Moore knew he was pushing his luck, and that banging heads with the Delta commander was the wrong move, but after the actions of the last few days his frustration levels were dangerously high. He had the scent of the hunt and no interest in being a spectator.

  ‘Not now, Top,’ Mike grated, ‘I’m kinda busy.’

  ‘’ppreciate that, boss,’ Todd said easily, ‘but this is kinda important.’

  A vein throbbed in Mike’s temple. His eyes were boring into Moore’s skull with an intensity only managed by school principals and commissioned officers.

  ‘What is it?’ he growled.

  ‘Well boss, I know it’s not a good time, but…me and the boys have had a Chinese Parliament, and I’m asking a favour.’

  The major finally broke his stare from Moore’s face and turned to his NCO. His face and neck were flushed as he stalked over and took him aside. They spoke in hushed tones, their backs to the others.

  Moore glanced to Katie and Pat while they waited. Both looked wide-eyed and tense, and he gave himself a mental uppercut for his bullheadedness. He knew he’d just made a major fuck up he couldn’t come back from.

  After several tense moments the two soldiers turned and came back to where Moore waited. The angry red had crept down Mike’s face to his neck, but his lips were still pursed. Todd stood at his shoulder, looking apprehensive.

  ‘Seems this is your lucky day, Mr Moore,’ Mike growled. ‘It may be one of my failings, but I tend to listen to my men. They can be a bunch of bandits at times, but they tend to talk sense. They’ve asked for you and Miss Simpson to accompany them on their mission to Qahira.’

  Moore threw a momentary glance over the major’s shoulder to Todd and got a tiny flick of the eyebrows in acknowledgement.

  ‘But understand this, son,’ the major continued, waving a finger of warning for emphasis, ‘you follow the directions of the team and don’t make me regret my decision. And if, by God, you ever front me like that again…I will kick you so hard you’ll be growin’ ass hairs outta your ears, you understand?’

  Moore gave a nod and let his breath out through his nose. He swallowed his pride and did his best to look contrite.

  ‘My apologies, Major,’ he said and extended his hand. ‘I was out of line.’

  Mike gave a brief nod and shook his hand. He was smaller than Moore but his grip was crushing.

  ‘Done,’ the major said. He turned to Katie. ‘Ma’am.’

  With that he marched out, Pat falling in behind him.

  ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ, pal,’ Todd breathed, as soon as the door had closed. ‘You are one lucky son of a bitch, you know that?’ He glanced over his shoulder and jerked a thumb at the door. ‘You don’t know who he is, do ya?’

  ‘He’s Major Mike,’ Moore replied blithely, and Todd shook his head in amazement.

  ‘He ain’t just some chucklehead officer, pal. He rose up from an enlisted man. He’s been passed over for further promotion twice – shoulda been running the unit by now, but the brass say he’s too “operationally oriented”, whatever the fuck that means. Remember the Mog in ninety-three?’

  Everybody knew of that conflict, immortalised on celluloid as Blackhawk Down. Rangers and Special Forces troops had fought a pitched battle in the Somalian capital of Mogadishu for hours, blasting their way out of the city after a snatch and grab mission went wrong.

  ‘The major was a young Ranger back then, and he won the Silver Star that day.’ Todd met Moore’s gaze. ‘That’s a big deal. He won another in Iraq, plus a chest full of other shiny shit. Nobody, I mean nobody, fronts up to the major and walks away from it.’ He stroked his moustache and shook his head again. ‘You’re either dumb as a brick, or you got some serious cajones, pal.’

  Moore wasn’t sure how to respond, so he thanked the other man instead.

  ‘I certainly didn’t expec
t to get invited along,’ he said.

  ‘Is it both of us?’ Katie asked, her eyes glistening with excitement.

  ‘Sure is,’ Todd told her sombrely. He checked his watch. ‘Better get moving. We want to get the both of you back down the range for some trigger time before we load up. Let’s hustle.’

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  The Americans were as generous with their weaponry as they were with uniform.

  Moore and Katie were issued weapons and left at the range under the watchful eyes of one of the unit’s instructors, a wiry Texan named Duke. He ran them through skills and drills on the Armalite M4 carbines, which both of them were comfortable with – Moore had used the M4 and variants for years, and the Bushmaster version was the standard issue Police rifle.

  After an hour Duke told them they would move onto basic patrol tactics. Katie was up front about her lack of tactical training, which amounted to almost nothing, so the Texan dismissed Moore and sent him back to the base.

  ‘No point tryin’ to teach y’all this, sport,’ he drawled. He settled his ball cap on his head a little snugger and turned to Katie, who was loading rifle magazines at the table. ‘I’ll give you some one to one, ma’am, and see whatcha got.’

  Moore was happy to get back into the hangar and find Pat.

  ‘I need some info,’ he said without ceremony, locating the spook coming out of the chow hall with a steaming mug in his hand.

  ‘That so?’ Pat glanced self-consciously at the mug, and Moore peered at it.

  ‘What the hell is that?’ he asked, wrinkling his nose at the floral scent.

  ‘Chamomile tea,’ Pat muttered, avoiding eye contact.

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘What is it you’re wanting, Kiwi?’

  ‘What the fuck is chamomile good for?’ Moore persisted, ‘don’t old ladies drink that shit?’

  Pat sighed heavily.

  ‘Look, the guys don’t know okay? I only drink it when I know they’re not around.’ His cheeks flushed. ‘My wife doesn’t want me drinking too much coffee, okay?’

  Moore shrugged.