by James Rosone
Traitors Within
A Michael Stone Series Novel
By James Rosone and Miranda Watson
Disclaimer
This is a fictional story. All characters in this book are imagined, and any opinions that they express are simply that, fictional thoughts of literary characters. Although policies mentioned in the book may be similar to reality, they are by no means a factual representation of the news. Please enjoy this work as it is, a story to escape the part of life that can sometimes weigh us down in mundaneness or busyness.
Copyright Information
©2017, 2019, James Rosone and Miranda Watson, in conjunction with Front Line Publishing Inc. Except as provided by the Copyright Act, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: Taking Aim
Chapter 2: Awakening
Chapter 3: The Good Doctor?
Chapter 4: The Knights Meet
Chapter 5: New Boss, New Mission
Chapter 6: The Windy City
Chapter 7: Under Their Noses
Chapter 8: Overworked, Underpaid
Chapter 9: The Ghost
Chapter 10: Raid Gone Wrong
Chapter 11: Hearings
Chapter 12: Preparations
Chapter 13: The Gathering
Chapter 14: Valentine’s Day Attack
Chapter 15: First Responders
Chapter 16: Lower Wacker Drive
Chapter 17: Scapegoat
Chapter 18: Not Over Yet
Chapter 19: Don’t Get Comfortable
Chapter 20: Down at the Station
Chapter 21: Not Just Another Day at the Office
Chapter 22: Phase Two
Chapter 23: Coffee and Conversation
Chapter 24: Digging Deeper
Chapter 25: We the People
Chapter 26: Catching a Break
Chapter 27: Bread and Bullets
Chapter 28: Bending the Rules
Chapter 29: Loose Ends
Chapter 30: Power of the Conscience
Chapter 31: The Reset Button
Chapter 32: Hunted
Chapter 33: New Administration
Chapter 34: Closing In
Chapter 35: Birth of a Ghost
Chapter 36: Joint Mission
Chapter 37: Beginning or the End?
From the Authors
For the Veterans
Abbreviation Key
Chapter 1
Taking Aim
Incirlik Air Base, Turkey
It was hot and dusty as Michael Stone stood in the smoke break shack and took a long drag from his cigarette. He dropped it to the ground, putting it out with his boot.
Man, I needed that fix, he thought, and then he sighed. He knew he really needed to quit smoking one of these days.
As Mike exited the shanty, he looked off to the horizon. A storm was brewing. Faint glimpses of lightning illuminated the dark, ominous clouds in the distance. They needed to accomplish their mission soon if they were going to get the Reaper back before the nasty weather arrived.
Mike started walking back to the building where his motley crew was operating. He was anxious about this mission. A lot was riding on its success, including his reputation and nearly six years of work. As the lead officer in charge of the CIA’s anti-ISIS operation in Turkey, this wasn’t just about a drone mission; it was a step to pulling up the extremist organization from the roots.
For the last four months, Mike’s team had been tracking a man they had identified as one of the primary financiers of ISIS, a man who was acquiring large quantities of explosives for ISIS and selling ISIS-controlled oil and natural gas on the black market to foreign buyers. This arrangement had made his target extremely wealthy and well connected in certain circles in Turkey, Saudi Arabia, and Qatar. When one of Mike’s other sources had informed them that his target would be getting married and hosting a large gathering at his home where other ISIS leaders would be present, Mike had worked aggressively to gain the approval needed to conduct this drone strike. Eventually, he had convinced his superiors to act. However, there was one caveat. Since this strike would be taking place inside Turkey, an allied nation, it would have to appear as if the attack was a car bomb and not a drone strike.
Since the formation of the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria, commonly referred to as ISIS, the CIA had created a counter-ISIS group, codenamed Task Force Torch. TF Torch’s initial purpose was simply to monitor and identify ISIS leaders and as many of their members as possible. When their parallel mission to train and equip an opposition force to the Syrian government and ISIS had failed, TF Torch’s mission had changed. They had become more of a direct-action unit, focused on eradicating ISIS on their own. The Special Activities Division had begun to take more direct action to go after the senior leaders of ISIS as well as key members involved in the organization and those supporting it.
As a senior paramilitary operations officer, Michael Stone had been a part of TF Torch from the very beginning. His team had worked hard, developing sources within the numerous refugee camps and then assisting those sources as they infiltrated ISIS directly. TF Torch had quickly made a name for itself as a team that could get things done, and Mike’s ability to operate and think outside the conventional norms had separated him from his peers. Through expanded use of drones and continued access to the DoD’s Joint Special Operations Command, they were starting to turn the tide on the war with ISIS.
Stone attributed most of their success to the close collaboration with the Kurdish Peshmerga, who were providing the brunt of the forces combating ISIS. Today’s mission had been a multimonth collaborative effort between the CIA and the Peshmerga. It had taken years for one of their sources to infiltrate the ISIS leadership. Now that effort was about to pay off.
*******
Walid Sattar al Sayed had tried to stay under the radar at the refugee camp in Turkey. He hadn’t been particularly social, so it surprised him when a professional-looking man with a Saudi accent approached him.
“Asalaam alaikum.”
“Alaikum asalaam,” Walid replied cautiously.
After a minimal amount of chitchat, the man came right to the point. “Walid, it would appear that you have fallen on tough times. You were clearly not taken care of or respected by your former employer.”
Walid’s eyebrows rose suspiciously, but he let the man continue.
“Unless I am mistaken, I heard that you used to work in the Syrian oil ministry. Yes? If so, then you may still have a number of contacts in that realm. Those connections are valuable to the men I represent. I’m wondering if you would be interested in selling oil on behalf of our organization. You would, of course, be highly compensated for your efforts,” the man said with a smile.
Walid snorted. “I’m not so naïve as not to see who your organization is, or what you guys have been doing. I am not a fervent believer as you all are, and I don’t want to be a part of what you guys are doing. I just want to sell oil and make a comfortable living.”
The man nodded, as if he had anticipated this response. “Well, Allah has a use for people like that as well,” he replied. “We are in the unique position of acquiring vast tranches of oil and need a way to sell it. We also need expertise to help manage the fields and ensure the oil continues to flow. Your compensation, as I mentioned before, would be quite comfortable. Is this something you’d be interested in doing?”
Pausing for a moment to think, Walid looked up at the Saudi, skeptical of his offer. “What would you guys do with the money? There’s going to be a lot of it if you’ve truly cap
tured the western fields.”
Smiling, the man leaned forward. “Does it really matter what we do with the money so long as you are taking a cut?”
A short pause ensued before Walid shook his head.
“Good,” the Saudi replied. “The money will be used for many things, chief among them salaries and acquiring better weapons and explosives. It’s time this regime be moved to the ash heaps of history and make way for the true followers of Islam.” The man puffed out his chest in pride.
Walid scratched at his beard for a moment. He knew these guys were bad business, but right now he had no business, and worse, government goons were still looking to do him harm. Finally, he answered, “Well, my own government discarded and tortured me. There is no love lost between us. I wouldn’t mind the opportunity to get revenge for what they have done to me. However, I am not the most religious man, and I can’t say that I agree with your brand of Islam.”
Smiling, the Saudi responded, “That doesn’t matter. Our organization is becoming like any other government. We’re starting to identify the people who can help run the important political positions, even if we are still operating a shadow government. All we really need is someone who can help us discreetly sell our captured oil.”
Now it was Walid’s turn to smile. “That is something I can certainly do.”
The two talked for a bit longer before they established how they would regularly communicate, where they’d meet and how they’d get Walid integrated into their process.
*******
Prior to the Syrian civil war, Walid had been very happy in his position as a Deputy Minister in the Syrian Oil Ministry. However, in the fall of 2010, shortly after protests had broken out in Homs and Damascus, he had suggested to his boss that perhaps President Assad should try to work something out with the Syrian opposition group and end the bloodshed before it got out of control.
Several days went by, and then he was suddenly fired for speaking ill of the regime. His boss quietly told him it would be best if he left Damascus, since the regime was cracking down on dissidents. Believing he had done nothing wrong, he chose to stay in the capital city and try to ride out the controversy. Unfortunately, it was the first of many erroneous decisions he’d make. Two days later, in the dark of night, men from the political security directorate busted down the door to his apartment and arrested him for treason.
While in prison, Walid was tortured and interrogated for nearly a week. After several days, he managed to befriend one of the guards and bribed the man into letting him escape. Walid quickly fled to the Turkish border and was taken in as a refugee.
He had a brother who was a chemistry professor at the University of Aleppo. In normal times, he would have sought him out for help, but he didn’t want to entangle his brother in whatever web he had become trapped in. Instead, he sent word to him of what had happened and warned him not to make the same mistake. He told his brother where he was going to be, in case he too had to flee. His brother had a wife and two little ones to care for, and Walid felt obligated to help should they need it.
*******
Within a couple of months of meeting his mysterious new Saudi friend, Walid had become an instrumental part of funding ISIS and acquiring large quantities of explosives for the organization. He knew wholesale brokers who didn’t have a problem buying oil and natural gas on the black market. These groups also had skilled engineers who could work the oil and gas fields, and the equipment to transport the oil and natural gas.
Because the transactions had to be done in cash or Bitcoin, all through multiple offshore accounts and front companies, it was easy for Walid to skim off the top without his masters knowing. After several years, Walid had become a very wealthy man and held some influence within the organization. As ISIS tried to firm up a more formal government, he became an indispensable leader behind the scenes. He started to envision himself as the possible future finance minister of this new government.
Walid was smart and cunning; he used his wealth to buy anonymity within Turkey. He paid off the right Turkish intelligence officers and military officers to keep his identity and location a secret. Through his contacts in Saudi Arabia and Qatar, he was able to secure a steady supply of explosives and other essential tools that his ISIS masters requested.
The Saudis and Qataris all had the same goal as ISIS—the destruction of the Shia government of Syria and Iraq, Iran’s new proxy. The fact that Walid wasn’t a religious zealot also played to his favor, as this put him more on par with these key allies’ way of thinking. Though his ISIS bosses didn’t condone his worldly behavior, he was too valuable a resource for them to make an example out of him.
*******
Walking back from the smoke shack, Mike watched the storm clouds steadily roll in toward them, a wave of rain slowly drifting down to blanket the rolling hills below. Mike sped up his steps a bit. As soon as he reached the door, he pulled his access card out and swiped it, activating the keypad, then entered his six-digit code.
The door hissed slightly as it opened.
A wave of cold air pounded his face as he walked into the hallway. He quickly made his way back to a dimly lit room, which had numerous banks of monitors and two rows of analysts working behind them. This was TF Torch’s nerve center, located in a nondescript building at the edge of the flight line on Incirlik Air Base. The CIA ran multiple drones out of this location, continually monitoring the situation with ISIS and from time to time carrying out a drone strike when the right opportunity presented itself.
An Air Force major signaled for Stone to come to his position. “Sir, the drone is on station. As you can see, the wedding reception is well underway. We estimate at least a hundred people at the compound.” He zoomed in and out of the compound from a couple of different angles to give Stone a better picture of the area.
After examining the footage for a couple of minutes in silence, Stone looked at the major. “Have you confirmed the target is there?”
“Yes. Here’s the image.” The major pulled up a separate video file and clicked on it. It showed a few minutes of footage, following the target and his bride as they were eating at a table. From the angle of the drone, they could clearly identify the man. Facial recognition placed it at a 97% match to the pictures of Walid Sattar al Sayed they had on file.
Out of the corner of his eye, Stone saw a male get into a vehicle and leave the compound. “Who’s that?” he asked, wanting to make sure the target was still there.
Scrolling back through the footage on a separate computer, one of the CIA analysts looked to see if they could catch a glimpse of the man’s face. Fortunately, the man had looked up as several birds had flown by, and that had given them enough of an angle to grab a good picture. “Unfortunately, this guy isn’t in our system, so we’re not sure who he is. We just know he’s not one of our targets,” explained the CIA analyst confidently.
The major moved the main screen back to the live image of the reception before Stone could say anything else. Then he shifted his cursor over to another large screen on the side wall and opened another video file. “While you were grabbing a cigarette, we monitored six individuals who arrived about ten minutes ago. It appears that at least four of the individuals are bodyguards, but as you can see, we got a clear shot of the person they’re protecting.”
As Stone scrutinized the still image the major had just opened, he couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Abu Muhammad al-Shimali. The Iraqi-born citizen of Saudi Arabia was a senior leader within ISIS. He was responsible for the facilitation of moving foreign fighters to and from ISIS-held territory and smuggling fighters into Europe, Britain and the US. The FBI had a five million-dollar bounty on his head.
“Do we have official confirmation of his identity?” Stone asked with a bit of excitement in his voice.
Another analyst, Jarred Miller, walked over to the major and Stone. Miller was one of the CIA’s top analysts, and they had been lucky to get him on the task force. “I just got the resu
lts back from facial recognition. It’s an 83% match. The guys back at Langley also believe this is him.”
A second later, the secured phone to Langley rang. Jarred was closest to it, and he picked it up. Then he handed the phone to Stone. “It’s the Director. He wants to speak to you,” Miller said, a bit surprised.
Stone took the phone and lifted it to his ear. The Director told him in no uncertain terms, “Hit the wedding reception now. We want you to take out Walid, and more importantly, Abu Muhammad.”
“Can I amend this mission to send in a capture team?” asked Stone.
“No,” asserted the Director. “We want you to launch this strike immediately. Do not wait. We can’t afford for you to miss Abu Muhammad. He’s too high value a target to let him slip through our fingers, even if it means there will be collateral damage.”
Turning to the Air Force captain flying the drone, Stone gave the order. “Fire!”
The captain activated his missile and locked on to what appeared to be a catering van parked near the courtyard where the reception was being held. Because this strike was going to take place in a friendly host country, the Reaper had been armed with a missile made of special polymers so that when it exploded, it would leave no trace of shrapnel or missile fragments. Stone had specifically ordered several of these missiles for his task force to use, in case they needed plausible deniability for a high-collateral strike.
The group collectively watched the feed as the missile raced toward its intended target. In less than a minute, the missile hit the van. The screen whited out for a brief second from the flash of the detonation. When the screen resolution returned, they could see that the van was gone, and so was most of the compound. The courtyard was a mangled mess of torn bodies and small fires.
Stone turned to address the group. “Great work, everyone. Not only did we get our target, it appears we got a bonus and hit their foreign fighter minister. I want a visual check of the survivors, if possible. We need to ensure that Walid and Abu Muhammad have both been eliminated. If you even think one of them survived, I want to know immediately.”