by Jack Hardin
Ben’s eyes immediately brightened with recognition. “That’s the idiot taxi driver that picked me up from the camp and detoured me to the guys who grabbed me.”
Voltaire looked back to Amini. He spoke sharply. “You said you didn’t know this man.”
“I—I do not. I only know Fahted. He must have hired him. Fahted’s men are the ones who brought Dr. Warner back here.”
Virgil chuckled. “Looks like Mr. Taxi driver was double dipping. Got paid to pick Ben up and then got paid by us to give up where he was.”
Shazia
“We can’t stay here. I’m not going to have by team be a sitting duck while we wait on our intelligence to come through. We’ll need to move you, your daughter, and Dr. Warner.”
“But I cannot—”
Voltaire cut her off. “That is not negotiable Amani. To be frank you’re lucky we’re not dragging you back to the US for trial.
“Here,” Ellie said, gesturing towards the chairs. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” She sat, and Ellie took the chair next to her, her rifle still clutched between her fingers.
“Why is he called The Apostate?” Ellie asked.
“It is a good question.” Amina said. Do you know what the word means?”
“Apostate?”
“Yes.”
“It means someone who falls away from their religion,” Ellie said. “Like a heretic.”
“Yes. Yes. That is right.” Amina frowned as she mentally reviewed painful footage from her past. “Our imam, our mosque leader, he was a good man. He interpreted the Koran and the Hadith in such a way that he believed violence was wrong. He told Nasir he had to let it go. That Allah would deal with the men who killed out father. He said that Allah would deal with the soldiers in his anger. But Nasir… he could not do that. His outrage and his hate had already grown very strong. Over time he talked of getting revenge and hurting America. And he burned all his belongings that reminded him of America in our small courtyard.” Amina shook her head. “He is like all the rest of them now. He is angry at the West and thinks that it must be destroyed. He is the same as Bin Laden and all the other in this way.”
Virgil had been listening intently. Now he spoke up. “A lot of Muslims are terrorists and hate everything about America. Hell, a lot of Muslims who aren’t terrorists still hate America. What makes your brother some kind of heretic?”
“Our imam, he did not know any radicals. You Americans think that radicals are everywhere. They do grown in number the longer you stay in our country. But our imam, he did not preach this way. He did not preach hate. Nasir spent many, many hours arguring with him. One day Nasir The imam called after him and called him an apoasate to Islam.”
“And you,” Ellie said. “Who do you agree with?”
Amani’s gaze fell towards the floor. He answer came slowly, but with conviction. “What your soldiers did, I know that Allah will judge them. But it is true that peace can only come from leaving their judgemnt in his hands. Nasir’s hate towards America has only left many of your people dead in his attacks. Innocatent poeple who, like me, are only trying to live their lives well.” She looked up and her eyes were awash with tears. She wiped them away with the backs of her hands. “Nasir is wrong in what he does. I am sorry he has hurt your people. It is not right. I am not terrorist.”
At that moment Voltaire stepped back into the room. He looked at Amina. “We’re working on cross-checking the intelligence you gave us on your brother’s location. That could take a few hours or a few days. In the meantime we’ll have to relocate the both of you. We’re leaving here. Where we eDuring that time you can’t be alone. Not even to use the restroom.” He indicated towards Ellie. “She’ll have to be with you at all time. You won’t be allowed to make an attempts at outside communication.”
Amaina nodded weakly. The weight of the entire ordeal with her daughter and her brother “I understand.” She looked to her daughter. “I need her to get better. She must be all right.”
“As soon we can get your intelligence confirmed we’ll get you and your daughter out of here.”
Nasir hung up with his sister felt the anger rise in his chest like bad indigestion. He dialed Moquat’s phone number and set the phone back to his ear. It rang once, twice—seven times before it went to a generic voicemail. He tried again. Still, nothing. Nasir slapped the phone on his desk and ran a hand down his beard.
Moquat had been with him since the beginning. He was one of his most trusted friends; there was no one as like-minded as he. They shared the same convictions with equal vervor. It was why Nasir had left him to watch over his sister and niece. Moquat would not simply abandon them.
Something wasn’t right.
Nasir set his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands together. “Basir!” Hard squeeky footfalls once flowed down the hall gain and Basir re-appeared. “Tell Babrak he must move faster. I cannot reach Moquat. Amina said he has left her and __ alone.”
Basir frowned. “Alone? What do you mean?”
Nasir threw up his hands. “Amina said he has left. Left! That he is gone. She does not know where.”
“His brother lives in Cario,” Basir said. “Perhaps he has gone to check on him. The protests are growing strong there.”
Nasir stroked his beard. “No. If he did, the others would not have accompanied him.”
“You think he will betray us?” Basir asked, his tone now less sure than it was a minute earlier.
“I do not know. I did not think he would ever leave Amina alone.” Nasir stood quickly and snapped his fingers. “Tell Babrak to work faster. We leave tomorrow night once darkness falls. No later.”
“But Babrak will need more time to cook the–”
“We cannot stay here. I will not risk exposure. Not unless I hear from Moquat and am satisfied.” Nasir looked at the clock on the wall. “The Americans will have to get their next surprise a little early.”
Chapter Ten
Fifteen Hours Later
Jordanian/Syrian Border
9:37 pm
All seven members of TEAM 99 were present as the C-130 aircraft’s wheels lifted off the tarmac at Jordan’s Al-Azraq Air Base. They sat silently with their backs against the thin walls of cargo plane, their bodies shifting as the fulasage trembled through several turbulence patches and crept closer to the Syrian border.
They were flying just above 30,000 feet and equipped for a High-Altitude, Low Opening jump. Ellie wore googles, a ski mask pulled down past her collarbone and a full-face oxygan mask. At this altitude there was only half the atmosphere as at sea level and it was crucial for all the nitrogen be gone from their system before they made the jump. If some nitrogen remained in their bloodstream they would suffer hypoxia–the bends—and experience effects akin to a scuba diver surfacing too fast.
Beneath their parkas they wore wool-lined thermals that would serve to protect them from the -60 degrees temperatures outside of the aircraft and the snow covered terrain the aircraft. On the ground below the snow-covered desert was seven degrees below freezing.
The yellow jumplight flicked on above the airplane’s side door. Ellie grabbed the hand grips on the inside wall of the plane and came to her feet, then began a silent, pre-jump check. Volatiare, acting as jumpmaster, stepped to the door and pressed a button and the side door opened up. Freezing air rushed across the threshold at one-hundred and fifty miles per hour. The operatives fell in line and as soon as soon as Volatire gave the singal they began their exit into the void. Ellie brought up the back on the line and fell out face first and entered a slow roll into the void. Volatiore jumped immediately after her, bringing up the rear. They entered a freefall descent through the freezing darkness; dark ants sliding down the black curtain of night.
The mission was simple. An insertion point just over the southwestern edge of the Sryian border. Upon landing they would hike eight kilometers to the location Amina identified as her brother’s compound, an un-walled two-story building that sa
t at the bottom of the __ foothills and looked down over the valley.
American satellites and drones had taken up a hawkish reconnaissance of the entire area. Seven hours ago two men had left out the front door of the main house and walked to a small barn twenty meters away. An hour later they returned to the house. There had been movement on the property since; only a couple lights in the house being switched on or off as someone entered or exited a room. No vehicles were detected and there appeared to be no internet connection not a landline to the house. Save for electricity the entire compound was off-grid, not unusual for a remote building in a middle-eastern desert.
The operatives would have to enter swiftly, but with no assurance that they were at the hideout of the Apostate. The rules of engagement were clear: fire only if fired upon. The Apostate, should he be there, was not to be taken alive. Everyone invovled knew there was a good chance the Apostate woulnd’t be there, that they would only find a goat herder’s family who had never heard the name of Nasir __. simply run onto a small goat herder’s farmhouse.
The echo of Ellie’s breathing sounded in her ears as she fell at terminal velocity and the freezing air whistled by. HALO jumps took advantage of high downward speed and minimal forward airspeed to ensure that the operatives could slip easily past radar. reduce the amount of time a parachute might be visible to ground observers, enabling a stealthy insertion.
Ellie free-fell for eighty-one seconds before her altimeter gave her a reading of 2,800 feet. She yanked the hakey and the parachuate canopy slipped off her back and billowed out, catching the wind and spreading open like an enourous bed sheet. Her harness tightended into her body and as her speed slowed. Ellie’s night vision goggles were attached to a rail mount on her helmet and as she dirfted closer to the landing zone she flipped them down over her eyes, backing everything in a haunted green glow. Her boots punched through two inches on snow as they made contact with the ground and she landed on her feet.
All seven team members hit the LZ within thirty meters of each other, touching down in a close tactical grouping. They removed their harnesses, quickly rolled up the chutes, and placed them all on the ground in a tight pattern. They removed their masks and oxygen systems, then flipped their parkas inside out, switching them from black to white.
Darwin removed a white polyester sheet from his pack, shook it out, and the team moved efficenly to spread it across the parachutes. In a more accommodating landscape they would simply bag and bury their chutes, dig a hole in the soft ground or toss them into a copse of thick trees. But in this part of the desert there were only small rocks covering the harpan. The team set several rocks on the corners of the sheet and covered them with snow before setting off. Their exfiltration route out of the country would take them back by here, where they would pack and re-shoulder the chutes for the trek over the border into Jordan.
The temperature was a fridged twenty-nine degrees fahrenheit, a full ten degrees colder than was average for this time of year, and Ellie could easily make out the cloud of her breath as they made their way deeper into Syria and to the cover of an upward slope ahead.
Mortimer’s voice cut through their earpieces. “No tangos in route. Remain on course.” An MQ-9 Reaper drone was cruising five miles above them, it's thermographic cameras scanning the area for any movement or imaging that would indicate that a nearby human that could threaten to notice their presence on the open terrain.
The winter night was calm and eerily quiet, the only sound the muffled crunch of their boots packing down the thin layer of snow. They approached a dormant olive orchard and moved single file down a row of bare-branched trees that offered a modicum of cover as they approached the top of the hill and the view that would give them a view of the valley Nasir’s temporary home.
The hour would reveal wether or not Amina had told the truth about her brother and, if she had, whether or not tonight was the night The Apostats’s terror finally came to an end.
The Americans walked on, fueled by a deep hunger for revenge.
CHAPTER
_ nodded quickly and stepped backwards out the doorway, disappeared down the hall. Nasir rubbed a thoughtful hand down his beard. For the first time since taking on the personage of the Apostate he felt a sense of unease. The entire ordeal with Moquat and the others had compromised his plans and quite possibly, his identity. He knew there was a good chance now that his deserters had abandoned ideology for profit; that they were in the process of selling him out for money. It was
Nasir turned gazed out the window. Towards the west. Towards America.
He smiled; a cold, proud smile reflecting a heart fully committed to revenge. The time for his greatest response had come. It would be a glorious; heard the world over.
He heard footsteps coming from down the hall and turned to see Afif entering with a cardboard box in his arms. He set it gently on the desk. Nasir leaned forward in his chair and came to his feet. He looked into the box and nodded satisfactorily. He reached in and touched the metal plate. It was smooth beneath his fingertips. Nasir ran them gracefully over the top of the bomb as a mother might across the back of her infant child. He smiled again, and felt a tingle of adrenaline rush through him. “This is very good, Basir. Very good.”
“Thank you, Nasir.”
Nasir looked into the older man’s face. His pupils were tiny dots, set into eyes that were weary from lack of sleep. ”You both have become very tired.” Nasir noted. “You are sure there have been no mistakes?”
“No. No Mistakes. I was with Basir as he built it. I checked each step as we proceeded.”
“Very good.” Nasir indicated towards the bomb. “Give this back to Afif and tell him to go to the truck. He and I will leave now.”
“Yes, Nasir.” Afif hesitated. “Will you come back here when it is finished?”
“No. Not here. Wait for my instruction and I will let you know where to meet me. Begin to gather everything. If you have not heard from me by tomorrow evening then take the other truck and leave. Go north to Manbij. I will get word to you there.”
Nasir snatched a leather sachel from a shelf and shoved in some papers from off the desk and a photo of his late father. He stepped to the gun rack and selected two AK-47s. He slung them over his shoulder before grabbing four loaded magazines and stuffing them into the satchel. He turned to __, set a hand on his shoulder. “You have been a loyal friend, Afif. We will see each other again soon.”
“May God be with you, Nasir. And Omar, too”
“Yes. And with you.”
Nasir left his office for the last time and walked to the rear of the home he entered a small bedroom where Omar was waiting. His fellow terrorist was clutching a leather bag that was sagging towards the floor. The bomb inside was heavy. He gently laid the bag on the floor, reached in, and pulled something out. He handed it to Nasir. The detonator, Nasir.
Nasir nodded silently as he took it, then put one knee on the floor and reached for the corner of the area rug. He pulled it back from the concrete floor to reveal a wooden door set into the foundation and lying flush to the floor. Nasir wiggled his fingers beneath the latch, flipped it up, and pulled back the door. A dry, musty smell filled his nostrils and he motioned for Omar to enter first. The leather bag had a rope attached to the handle, which Omar used to slowly lower it into the tunnel, then quickly made his way down the ladder. Nasir descended after him, the AKs clacking on the edge of the floor, and once his sandals found the dirt he flipped on the flashlight as the door above was secured shut once again. Beside him, Omar picked up the leather bag and carefully hoisted it up as Nasir shined the light down the corridor of darkness and started forward.
The hike that brought the American’s further into Sryia took nearly two hours. Three miles behind them the landscape had begun to change, with hills rising out of the darkness like broad waves on a trubulent ocean. Their earpieces came alive with Mortimer’s voice. “The crest of the next hill is your lookout point. No external guards have been confirme
d. The Apostate, if he was here, was apparently confident that he had not yet been identified. Apparently he had misjudged his sister’s commitment to her daughter over him.
“Voltaire, mission is yours.” And with that, Mortimter signed off as he gave all future directives over to the team leader. The operatives followed Volatire up the hill’s rugged spine and lowered themselves onto the ground as they crested the rise on their stomachs. They peered over to see a two-story mud brick house sitting on the desert’s level plain a hundred meters from the bottom of the hill. There were no disruptions in the pure blanket of snow that might indicate a road somewhere beneath the icy covering. And there were no automobiles. A tired old barn sat some thirty meters to the west of the house, its doors shut. If there were any vehicles, that was the only place they could be.
The house itself had no wall; no fence or gate around it that would qualify it to be a compound of sorts. The only fencing was on the side of the house, deformed chicken wire that formed the perimtere of an abanoded goat pen.
Their route down the hill would be under the cover of a barren olive orchard.
Since Amaina has spoken with her brother the night before Nasir had since broken with his Volatire had given her clear instruction that she was not to ask her brother where he was, that in no way was she to attempt for Masir to confirm his location. Nasir would already be
Beyond the house, the desert floor was littered with boulders and rock formations that seemed to mountain three miles to the north.
Each operative’s night vision goggles sent a live video feed back to CIA leadership in Langley, the White House, the Pentagon, and Mortimer in Brussels. The feed would run through facial recognition software and compare who the team was coming in contact with against known terrorists.
Over the last fifteen hours only one confirmed photo of Nasir Haqqani had surfaced. The image was nearly twenty years old, taken when Nasir applied for his green card to enter the US as an exchange student. At the time he was a clean-shaven, fresh-faced young man. His eyes held a glimmer, an excitement over the chance to come to the country he so idolized. There were no known photos of him in the time since he returned home to Afghanistan. Nothing since his new personalized religion was conceived in tragedy and hardened through nearly a decade of bitterness.