The two-man team had arrived in the back of a large Iraqi Security Forces truck. While the Security Forces men spread out on the street behind the apartment building, drawing attention to themselves, one Iraqi soldier quickly led the American snipers into the apartment house and up to the roof. He now guarded the roof’s stairwell. However, they hadn’t seen one person inside the apartment building on their way up the stairs, so hopefully their position would hold.
After a quick hello to the sniper team, Gonz used his own binoculars to study the south side of the warehouse. There were rows of broken out windows on all three levels. But there were no signs of life. “Might be a bust.”
Hillgard quietly announced, “Got a head shot. Second floor. Second window from the right. He moves around some, but he keeps coming back.”
Gonz raised the binoculars to his eyes. He could see the man, but at a distance of more than 1,000 meters, it was impossible to tell much.
“Al Mudtaji?” the sniper asked.
“No way of knowing,” Gonz answered. “But we have an asset in there.”
“This guy waved a sword. Saw it once. I don’t think that would be your asset.”
Gonz nodded. “You close enough?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“I’m going over to the north end. We’ll go on my count.”
“Got a visitor,” the spotter announced as he continued to watch the building through his binoculars.
“Chevy Silverado,” Hillgard offered, monitoring the action through the rifle scope. “I prefer Dodge Ram trucks myself, but what the hell.”
Gonz quickly looked through the binoculars. He focused on the white pickup truck as the driver got out. Then he saw Ghaniyah. She struggled with something on the passenger-side floor. The man came around to her side and helped her remove a suitcase.
“Shit,” Gonz mumbled. “That’s her.”
“I got a clean shot of the woman,” Hillgard quietly declared.
Gonz continued to watch, moving the binoculars from Ghaniyah to the man. He was older. A very lined face. But he looked fit.
“Want me to take them out?” Hillgard asked. “I got the shot.”
Gonz didn’t immediately answer. He watched as they approached the building. Another minute and they would be out of sight.
“I got the shot,” Hillgard calmly repeated. “Take it?”
Ghaniyah suddenly stopped, her hand reaching out to the driver. He stopped as she gripped his arm, the arm that carried the suitcase. “I can do this.”
“I don’t doubt that,” the man said.
“Look, you don’t know Sharif. I do. He’s crazy.”
“That goes without saying.”
On the roof, all three tensely watched the scene unfolding more than 1,000 meters away. Ghaniyah still had her hand on the man’s arm, talking to him.
“Got a clean shot,” Hillgard reiterated, his eye to the scope, his finger on the trigger. “They go another ten feet, I lose them.”
Ghaniyah felt an odd sense of calm. “He could kill us.”
“Worse for you than me,” the driver said with a shrug. “I’m not young and beautiful anymore.”
Ghaniyah couldn’t help but laugh. Then her laughter abruptly turned into tears. “I don’t even know your name.”
MP-5, The Green Zone, Baghdad, Iraq Sunday, April 16th 3:19 p.m.
On the monitor, Peterson saw the street bounce up and down. One building was passed, then an alley. Gonz was literally on the run.
A pop-up flash alert notice suddenly appeared in one corner of the monitor, flashing in bright red letters. Peterson had programmed the computer to alert them if al Mudtaji’s instant messenger was back online. He prayed it wasn’t the terrorist wanting to talk. With Gonz, Heisman and McKay in the field, he’d have to wing it himself. He nervously glanced over at the MPs who hadn’t changed their positions or their expressions. Then he clicked on the alert pop-up.
A moment later a three-star general suddenly appeared on screen. “At 1500 today, Cabinet Minister Hashamed al Jarkari was assassinated after speaking to over three hundred people at Baghdad University,” his voice echoed through the computer speakers. “We’ve got numerous casualties. Could be as many as a hundred. Method was a suicide bomber. Repeat, Hashamed al Jarkari, a cabinet minister who was elected last fall, has been assassinated.” The general seemed to take a deep breath, his brow furrowed with concern. “This guy was a friend. He firmly believed in a democratic Iraq and never shied from sharing those beliefs.” The general paused. “Let’s find the group responsible for this one, guys.”
Then the screen returned to Gonz’s Localized Video Display. However, the image was no longer bouncing at a good speed. In fact, it wasn’t moving at all.
Gonz had stopped.
Jadida, Iraq Sunday, April 16th 3:22 p.m.
Gonz peered around the corner. The street was empty. Not all that surprising considering it was a Sunday and he was in the middle of a rundown industrial area. However, he would still be exposed to the target building for a few minutes. But there was no choice.
He quickly moved out at a dead run.
Ghaniyah hiked up her long Arabian dress and led the way up the stairs. The driver, carrying the suitcase, was right behind her. Suddenly a masked man appeared at the top of the stairs, an AK-47 in his hands. With a steely resolve she didn’t know she had, she hardly missed a beat. She continued up the stairs.
Jadida, Iraq Sunday, April 16th 3:25 p.m.
“Got nine assets, divided into three teams, Blue, Red, and Green,” Heisman told Gonz.
Heisman, traveling with the Army Rangers, had made it to the location before Gonz and had quickly assembled the soldiers in secure locations around the target building. Now, the two CIA men were kneeling behind a dumpster on the north end of warehouse parking lot. They wore Army fatigues, flak jackets and helmets. They each wore a wireless headset in one ear. Heisman diagramed the positions with chalk on the asphalt. “ Blue Team, here, Red Team, here and Green here. Red will back us up. Green Team has the perimeter. We found an old car. Blue team can put it in play in a matter of minutes.”
Gonz looked at the crude drawing. He pointed to an area. “They’ll have to put the car right along here. We got a Shadow sniper team 1,000 meters south. Five stories up.”
“Pretty far.” Heisman marked the position with the chalk.
“They can handle it. Got windows all over the place. We’ve already seen one guy, maybe al Mudtaji, walking around with a sword. Problem is, there’s no way to know how many more are inside. ”
McKay came dashing toward them, keeping low, carrying gas masks. Technically, Gonz shouldn’t have included her in the assault. She was a CIA doctor, not a sniper, not a soldier. However, she had argued that Ghaniyah had been her asset and she had a right to see the mission through to the end. Anxious to get to the target building, Gonz had acquiesced. It was easier than arguing with her.
She handed out the gas masks while taking a moment to study Heisman’s layout, then pointed. “Iraqi Security Forces are now here and here.”
Heisman marked their positions with the chalk. Gonz nodded. He wanted some close to the Shadow team, covering their actions. The last thing they needed was for some young punk to spot the snipers and try and take them out.
McKay looked at Gonz. “Ready?”
Gonz moved his headset mic slightly and said, “Shadow, this is Alpha Team leader. What’s it look like in there?”
All three CIA agents heard Hillgard’s voice in their headsets. “Nothing. No one near the windows. Repeat, no shot of any kind.”
Gonz and Heisman exchanged looks. “Roger, Shadow. Alpha Team leader out.”
Ghaniyah, Adnan, and the driver were huddled together on the floor. When Adnan had seen Ghaniyah enter the room, he had leaped to his feet and quickly gone to her side. He had held her close with his left arm, her arms wrapped around him. “Are you okay?” he had asked repeatedly.
Ghaniyah had nodded, tears running down h
er face. She tenderly touched his unshaven face with the palm of her hand, and he tilted his head, kissing her palm. Then Adnan had noticed the older man. And the suitcase. Sharif had quickly put his sword on the nearby crate and taken the suitcase from the driver. His masked associate had motioned Ghaniyah, Adnan, and the driver to the far wall, telling them to sit down. They had obeyed without hesitation.
They now watched in silence as Sharif kneeled on the floor, quickly unzipping the large suitcase. He pulled out a large Ziploc bag, carefully palming it in one hand. A smile slowly came to his face. Then he gave Ghaniyah a harsh look.
“You thought you were so smart.”
“I did as I was told,” Ghaniyah retorted, her heart racing.
“No, you stole –”
“I did no such thing!” she indignantly told him. “My brother knew you were going to betray him! I was doing as he wished.”
Sharif stared at her, unsure.
“Blue Team, you read me?” Gonz asked through his headset.
“Roger, Alpha.”
“Standby, Blue Team... Shadow, you have a shot?”
“Negative, Alpha. No shot. Repeat, no shot.”
“Roger that. Blue Team, make your move. Repeat, Blue Team, I need you to make your move.”
“Roger, Alpha. Blue Team moving now.”
“He knew! He knew all along!” Ghaniyah said, rising to her feet with defiance.
Sharif shook his head. “No. No, he couldn’t have known.”
“Then how do you explain why he had me take the ricin? Take it away from Yusuf?”
Suddenly there were a series of short, loud blasts. Sharif quickly motioned to the masked gunmen. “See what’s going on!”
The terrorist went to the nearest window. He craned his neck to the street below.
“What is it!?” Sharif thundered.
“A car. I think it stalled.” He turned back to Sharif. “Probably a backfire is all.”
“I have a clean shot at the window,” Hillgard radioed.
Gonz glanced at Heisman who gave him a nod. They were at the backdoor of the warehouse, with McKay and three members of Red Team right behind them. All six wore gas masks.
“Take the shot, Shadow.”
Hillgard had the back of masked gunman’s head in his cross-hairs. Then he raised the sight-line a good ten feet to compensate for the wind speed and the natural gravitational pull on the bullet. With only the building’s plaster now in his sights, he squeezed the trigger.
“It’s nothing,” the masked man managed to say before his head suddenly snapped forward with an audible pop and he fell face first to the floor. Ghaniyah screamed, as both the driver and Adnan leaped up beside her.
“Cover the door!” Sharif yelled at his remaining man. Enraged, he strode over to the crate and picked up his sword. He came over to Ghaniyah, the sword’s tip at her throat. Piercing the skin. “What have you done!? Tell me!”
“Nothing..!” she mumbled fearfully. “I swear!”
Gonz could hear Ghaniyah’s protests as he and Heisman silently sneaked up the stairs, Heisman taking the lead, his Heckler & Koch submachine gun in hand. He knew McKay was on his heels. The Rangers would be coming up as soon as they cleared the first floor. Suddenly a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Before the startled gunman could even raise his weapon, Heisman instinctively fired several shots and the man danced backwards, his arms outstretched, flailing. Then he fell to the floor, the gun still in his hand.
Ghaniyah screamed. A piercing yell.
Sharif had quickly gone over to the dead masked man under the window, grabbing his AK-47. In that moment, Adnan had yelled at Ghaniyah, pushing her down behind the crate. He turned to see Sharif staring at him, his face masked in fury.
Gonz and Heisman stood on either side of the door. They could see Sharif, his face twisted in rage, an AK-47 now in his hand. The CIA agents exchanged nods. Gonz quickly unfastened the pull ring of a 7290 Flash Bang grenade, firmly twisting it clockwise. He pulled the pin and briefly stepped into the room, lobbing it thirty feet in the air toward the terrorist. At the same moment, Heisman tossed in a CS grenade.
Sharif saw the grenades coming and quickly fired off a series of shots toward the door.
Adnan had seen one grenade fly through the air, then another and impulsively leaped on top of Ghaniyah, trying to protect her.
Gonz and Heisman took cover in the stairwell as Sharif unleashed a barrage of rounds. The Rangers from Red Team had cleared the first floor and were now stacked on the stairs, ready.
With Adnan forcefully pinning her to the floor, Ghaniyah couldn’t move. She struggled to see behind her to see what had happened to the older man. She now wished he had stayed in the truck, out of harm’s way. Suddenly there was a horrific explosion, the brilliant white light blinding her, the sound deafening. Adnan’s free arm covered her face as she tried to scream. But she had no breath. It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.
Gonz was the first one into the room, his machine gun in hand, as he quickly scanned the room through the dense smoke from the tear gas. It shrouded everything. He nearly stumbled on one of the terrorists lying on the floor. The man was coughing horribly
“Heisman!” Gonz yelled. A minute later the ex-football jock was there. Heisman quickly patted the man down. He found a small handgun in his belt and pocketed it. Then he rolled the man onto his stomach and secured his hands behind his back with plastic flexicuffs.
Gonz carefully moved further into the room.
Flat on his back, his eyes burning terribly from the tear gas, Sharif could only see a meter off the floor as the smoky cloud slowly rose. There! The legs of an American soldier. Sharif looked for the AK-47. It was close. He stretched his right hand. Reaching. It was just out of his grasp. As he made his way across the floor, he realized that there were no sounds. Everything was eerily silent. He briefly wondered if he was now deaf. Reached out again for the weapon. Grabbed it. The effort exhausted him, and he lay back down gasping for clean air, the weapon held firmly across his body.
Gonz kneeled beside an unarmed man. He was bleeding from one ear and both nostrils – the man’s eardrum had been ruptured, the nostril cavity shattered. His felt for a pulse. It was there. The man was alive. His injuries not life threatening.
Slowly rising, Gonz surveyed the expansive warehouse floor. He could see another man, behind a crate. Not moving. Adnan?
“Behind you!” Heisman cried out.
Gonz whipped around. As the CS fog lifted, he could see a man lying twelve feet away on his back. The gun aimed right at him. Time seemed to stop.
Then he instinctively dove across the floor as a series of shots rang out.
Sharif felt the heavy movement of rapid steps on the wood floor and turned just in time to see Ghaniyah running toward him with her arms raised above her head, a knife clutched in both hands.
He tried to get his gun around, but she was nearly on top of him.
I’m hit, Gonz thought. Shit.
He looked down. The calf of his right leg was soaked with blood. His ears ringing, he frantically looked around for his gun. Then he saw it. Near his feet.
Ghaniyah landed awkwardly on one knee, falling at an angle. But her aunt’s knife found its mark, burying itself in Sharif’s neck. She couldn’t hear a sound, but she saw his expression. It was one of total shock.
“I’m fine,” Gonz grumbled as he lay on top of the crate. With all the windows open, most of the tear gas had sufficiently dissipated, although there was a lingering haze.
“That’s the morphine talking,” McKay told him, as she closed her medical bag. She had cleaned and bandaged the wound where minutes earlier the bullet had tunneled through the muscle, causing a lot of bleeding, but no serious damage. Luckily for Gonz, the bullet missed the major blood vessels.
Gonz sat up on the crate and looked around for the first time. With most of the CS gas cloud, he could see half a dozen soldiers milling about. The terrorist who ha
d shot him lay lifeless nearby, a knife in his throat, his eyes wide open in surprise. Across the room he saw Adnan conferring with Heisman. The older Iraqi man who had arrived in the Chevy truck with Ghaniyah was sitting on the floor. Someone had tended to him, and he now had cotton stuffed up each nostril. He was smiling at Ghaniyah who stood close by.
Gingerly sliding off the crate, Gonz hobbled over to the suitcase. He opened it and pulled out one of the large plastic bags.
“You have, how you say?” a voice said behind him. “A sweet tooth?”
Gonz turned around, the bag still in hand. Ghaniyah had a grin on her face.
“That’s sugar. Nearly eight kilograms. Fifteen pounds, maybe.”
Gonz didn’t look too pleased. “Where’s the –”
“At the pharmacy,” Ghaniyah answered before he could he even ask. She glanced at Adnan who was still talking with Heisman. “Only place I could think of.” She turned back to Gonz. “I told Thamer if we weren’t back by nightfall, he should take it to Checkpoint 2. I told him the Marines there are quite reasonable.”
Epilogue
Somewhere Over Iraq ~ 35 Days Later
Adnan looked over at his wife. Ghaniyah had reclined the plush leather captain’s chair so that it was almost flat. With a pillow under her head and a blanket over her, she slept peacefully. Adnan sipped the chilled mineral water that he had found in the Gulfstream’s small refrigerator.
Seven Days From Sunday (MP-5 CIA #1) Page 29