by Isaac Hooke
He accelerated, and in moments turned onto a side road. He hit the outskirts of the village shortly thereafter. The low-slung buildings bordering the road were made of either mud brick or stucco, and tinted the color of faded sand. Some of the properties were girthed in cinder block fences. Mini dunes had formed on the eastern walls of many homes, marking the abandoned residences. A subtle miasma of dust floated in the air, coating everything.
"He's driving into some kind of estate," Sam said. "It's surrounded by a cinder block wall. The grounds are obscured from the air by several palm trees." She glanced at the road. "Turn left up ahead. Then take the first right. William, get ready to launch the Hornet."
The village seemed empty save for the occasional unarmed Iraqi seated in the shade of a mud brick house, watching with idle curiosity as the Accent drove past. Ethan was worried the men were sentinels of some kind.
Guided by Sam, he drove onto a bumpy road behind a row of houses and then parked beside a long cinder block wall. Glancing at the laptop, he realized the estate lay beyond that tall fence.
"Will, get me eyes inside that estate," Sam said.
William launched the nano drone. The base station lay open in his lap. Doug, acting as his tripod, held the antennas out the opposite window near the roof of the car.
Sam streamed the Hornet's video feed to a small area on the right side of her screen.
Ethan watched the drone fly over the wall.
"Signal strength just dropped by about forty percent," William said. "But I'm still in the air."
"Find the target," Sam said.
Ethan stared at the video feed on the laptop. Date palms skirted past beneath the drone. The plants covered the inner grounds with such profusion that Ethan wondered if the estate was some kind of plantation. That seemed impossible, given the drought conditions.
"Wait a second," Ethan said. "Those aren't palm trees. They're tall umbrellas painted to look like palms. Those sandy gaps between the leaves are a dead giveaway... the gaps stay the same color, even when the sky is behind them."
"You're right," Sam said. "More subterfuge."
Near the middle of those painted canopies, the rooftop of a stucco building poked through. The Hornet accelerated toward it.
"There's a break in the ground coverage here," William said. "I'm dropping down."
The drone descended into a clearing. William yawed the Hornet, panning the camera across the umbrella poles. The view froze and pixelated often—the poles were likely metallic, and interfered with the signal. William stopped the yaw when he had a good view of the stucco building. He zoomed in.
"There," William said. "The Elantra is parked beside the building. Looks like—wait. There's another Elantra just in front of it. Same year and color. Both cars have drivers behind the wheels."
"Terrorist tradecraft," Sam muttered. On her laptop, she maximized the view from the Hornet so that it took up the entire screen.
Ethan saw the two vehicles on the display, and the stucco building beyond them. A man observed from the entrance to the house; he wore a white robe, and a black band secured a keffiyeh to his head.
"Who's the guy in front of the home?" Ethan said.
"Probably some random IS supporter," Sam said. "I'm sending his picture back to HQ. Maybe we'll get a hit."
Ethan focused his attention on the vehicles.
"Can you tell which driver is our courier?" Doug said.
"No," Sam answered.
"The second vehicle just turned around," William said. "Looks like it's headed for the exit."
"I see it," Sam said.
"I'm going in for a closer look," William told her.
"Going to be tricky flying between all those poles," Ethan said.
"I can do it," William said.
Ethan waited, his stomach in knots. The problem with flying FPV was that the single camera allowed no depth perception, and it was very hard to gauge the distance of surrounding objects. The constant video freezes and pixelation didn't help matters, but somehow William managed to get closer to the moving Elantra without hitting anything.
"It's not him," Sam abruptly announced.
"Are you sure?" Doug said.
"This guy has a full religious beard instead of a simple mustache."
"Maybe the courier relayed the message to him before we got here," Ethan said.
Sam reduced the size of the Hornet's feed so that the top-down view from the Predator filled the screen once more. The moving vehicle emerged from the cover of the fake palm trees and out into the open streets. When the Elantra hit the rural road, it turned eastward, heading back toward the Mosul-Baghdad highway.
"I don't think the courier talked to him," Sam said. "He didn't have time. We would have caught him walking back to his own vehicle, at least. That the new guy is headed toward the main highway and leaving the Al Hadar region tells me everything I need to know."
"Maybe he plans to double back at some point," Ethan said.
Sam tapped her chin. "Maybe. But my gut tells me he's not our man."
"You're going to rely on your gut for something as important as this?" Ethan said.
"What choice do we have?" Sam typed on the laptop. "I'm tagging him as a secondary target for JSOC. They have another Predator in the area, and a remote team will track him for us. They'll drop a couple of two-thousand pounders wherever he ends up, just to be on the safe side."
Ethan pressed his lips together. It was a suitable compromise, given the circumstances, though he didn't want to think about the potentially unnecessary collateral damage. He remembered, bitterly, the words Sam had spoken what seemed a lifetime ago: Things are going to be different, working for me.
"You did the same thing with the original courier, didn't you?" Ethan said, remembering that she had been typing earlier after deciding not to pursue the first target.
"You know me all too well," Sam responded offhandedly.
More potential collateral damage. Nothing had changed at all.
"The remaining vehicle is on the move," William announced, bringing Ethan out of his head.
"Recall the Hornet," Sam told him. "HQ just got back to me on the white-robed man from the house. He's not in any of our files. I'm tagging his residence for future aerial surveillance."
William returned the quad to the clearing and accelerated skyward; in under a minute he had the nano drone back at the Accent, and he landed it just outside Doug's door.
"Nice flying, Tex," Doug said when he retrieved it.
"Yeah," William said. "Just hope my balls don't get irradiated." The latter comment was in reference to the powerful, suitcase-sized base station in his lap.
The courier returned to the rural road and headed southwest.
Ethan drove to the outskirts of the village and waited; when the target vehicle had moved four and a half klicks out, Ethan accelerated onto the road, continuing the elaborate game of cat and mouse.
He drove past three more tiny mud brick villages. There was still no sign of any Islamic State presence—no checkpoints, no flags, no militants. In fact the entire area seemed completely deserted. The only person they saw was a grizzled Iraqi leading a train of camels on foot, a man who regarded the Accent suspiciously as it went by.
"Some kind of lookout?" Ethan asked as the camel train receded. He glanced in the rearview mirror, and realized William was observing the man through the binoculars.
"The haji hasn't reached for a radio," William said after several moments. "I think he's just a random trader."
Several minutes later the target arrived at a fourth village, somewhat larger than the last three.
"Close to within two klicks," Sam said.
Ethan floored the accelerator. He glanced at the laptop: the target vehicle approached a larger building—perhaps a mosque of some kind—and parked beside it under the screening branches of one of the many terebinth trees in the area. Those trees implied the presence of an oasis, perhaps with wells tapping into groundwater via an aquifer
. Either that, or they were fake.
"Switching cars again?" Ethan said.
"It's possible."
Ethan halted two kilometers outside the village.
Sam raised an expectant hand. "Binocs?" William handed over the Zeiss and she peered into the lenses. "Move the car forward just a tad."
Ethan complied. William shifted in the backseat, likely preparing the Hornet.
"Stop," Sam said.
Ethan braked, and placed the car into park once more. Then he waited.
"What do you see?" Doug said after several seconds.
"I've spotted him," Sam said. "He's walking toward the building—I think it's a mosque. There's no fence. I can see everything. There are a bunch of other vehicles, mostly SUVs, parked around it under the trees. But it's not even close to prayer time."
"Is the courier approaching any of the vehicles?" Doug said.
"No," Sam answered. "He's ignoring them. He's climbing the steps, heading straight inside the mosque."
"Relaying the message to another courier within?" William mused.
"It's possible," Sam said. "But if that were the case, why so many other vehicles at this hour? Wait... I just spotted two mujahadeen, guarding the entrance to the mosque." The excitement was obvious in her voice. "I think we have Afri."
"Should I send in the Hornet?" William asked.
"No. I've seen everything I need. I'm calling in the airstrike. Ethan, some distance would be nice."
Ethan turned the vehicle around while Sam made the call.
When he had driven a klick from his previous position he halted.
Four minutes later the village lit up in the rearview mirror. The ground rumbled and the road shook as multiple bombs wiped the place from the map.
Ethan truly hoped there hadn't been any innocents in that village; he couldn't help but think of the burning boy in that moment. Nothing had changed.
No, Ethan told himself. Things are different. Don't second guess yourself. There were no innocents in that village. We did good today. Struck down a bastion of evil.
We did good.
"So it's done," William said, gazing at the incredible plume of smoke rising from the site. He sounded extremely weary. "We took out the acting leader of IS."
"Should bomb Al-Maliki, too," Doug muttered.
Under the auspices of the US, Nouri Al-Maliki had been the president of Iraq from 2006 to 2014. In 2011, when his deputy prime minister complained on CNN that Maliki was a dictator and his entire government was the puppet of Iran, Al-Maliki, a Shia, had famously cracked down on Sunni politicians, issuing arrest warrants for Sunni members of his own cabinet, including the deputy prime minister. These actions fueled Sunni resentment against the government and arguably helped the Islamic State rise. Al-Maliki had been forced to step down in August 2014, though he was currently one of the three acting vice presidents of Iraq.
"Yes, well, it won't make much of a difference now will it?" Sam said. "The damage Al-Maliki has caused can't be undone." She glanced at the destroyed city. "Get the Hornet in the air, William. I want some video evidence from the ground."
"Won't be able to see much through all that smoke." William inserted a fresh battery into the drone.
"That's fine. I don't care so much about the visuals—I simply want proof that we were actually here."
"When will we have confirmation on Afri?" Ethan said.
"HQ will be monitoring the radio chatter over the next few days. If it picks up, we'll know we got him. The Shura council will be scrambling to choose someone to replace him."
"I thought the leadership elements don't like the radios," William said.
"In times of crisis they like them," Sam told him. "Believe me. In the meantime, the remote operators will keep the Predator overhead, monitoring the site over the next few days in case anyone tries to dig him out."
"And what happens if someone shows up?" Ethan said.
Sam raised an eyebrow. "What do you think?"
William completed his pass and landed the Hornet outside Doug's door.
Doug retrieved it. "Still can't believe this thing costs north of a hundred grand. I can get a Ladybird V2 for a hundred bucks at Radio Shack. Fits in the palm of my hand. Records video. Flies great."
"And what's the range on it?" William said.
"Okay, you got me there."
"How about the noise profile? Can it fly in wind? And can the radio signal pass through walls?"
"Fine, fine. But still, that doesn't justify the Hornet's price tag. You know I'm right."
"Low sales volumes drive prices up," William said with a shrug. "Especially for custom-made crap."
"So you admit it's crap?" Doug said.
"Ethan," Sam interrupted. She was typing away. "Let's move. I'm arranging an extract. The four of us will be out of Iraq by nightfall."
"Do we have a location yet?" Ethan said, unable to hide the relief from his voice.
"I'll let you know the details once I have confirmation. For now, simply head back the way we came."
Ethan eagerly drove down the compacted-sand road.
It truly felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
The mission was done.
All that was left was to get out alive.
31
Ethan drove eastward on the sand road, making his way back toward the distant highway. He passed the tiny mud brick villages along the way, however the camel train and its grizzled Iraqi driver were nowhere to be found. The dreary moonscape showed no signs of letting up.
"Just got confirmation on the extract," Sam said.
William leaned forward, eagerly squeezing his head between the two front seats. "Do tell."
"Get your rear out of my face," Doug said from the backseat.
William shifted, probably after receiving a few solid punches in the backside from Doug, but otherwise remained in place.
"Helos won't get clearance to land anywhere inside Islamic State territory, so we have to travel past the Eastern Front into Kurdistan." Sam showed the planned route on her laptop. "The closest IS village to the Eastern Front, yet not part of the battle, is here." She pointed out the location. "We'll hole up near there until nightfall, then proceed on foot through the hilly countryside. Members of the extract team will rendezvous with us halfway. They'll be riding ATVs."
"How are they going to get past the Eastern Front?" William asked. His head still poked between the two front seats.
"It's a long, porous front," Sam said. "The Islamic State can't be everywhere at once. If trouble arises, they'll simply call in an airstrike."
"Ah, the time-honored airstrike," William said sarcastically. "The panacea for all our problems."
"Hate to throw a wrench in the machine..." Ethan said.
Sam turned toward him. "What's the problem now?"
"It's not a big problem. Not yet anyway. We have a quarter of a tank left. Probably should refuel the next chance we get."
"What?" William pressed against the side of Ethan's seat, probably repositioning himself for a better view of the fuel gauge. "We were three-quarters full earlier. These Accents are supposed to give some serious mileage on the gallon."
"The new ones, maybe," Ethan said. "The twenty-year-old clunkers, not so much. And driving at twice the speed limit like we've been doing hasn't helped the fuel situation much."
"We should be able to refuel at the next big village," Sam said. "If I recall, there was an Iraqi seated by the road with a red jerrycan."
"I didn't see him," Ethan said.
"He was there," Sam insisted. "You didn't see him because you took a side road a block away."
"All right. Let's hope he hasn't gone for lunch, then."
"You're talking about the village where the courier stopped earlier?" Doug said. "The place with the fake palm tree estate?"
"That's the one."
Ethan reached the larger village shortly and the other operatives lowered their veils. Sam guided him to the side street
where she'd seen the gas vendor. Sure enough an Iraqi was sitting there with a red jerrycan.
The man stood as Ethan pulled the Accent in front of him.
"Banzeen?" The Iraqi spoke the word for petrol. He had such a deep tan that his wrinkled skin appeared nearly black.
"Li, banzeen," Ethan said.
"How much?"
"Full," Ethan answered.
"Fifty dollars," the man proclaimed.
"US dollars?" Ethan said in disbelief.
"Yes."
He glanced at Sam. She shook her head imperceptibly. "Twenty," she said softly. "It's all we have."
"Twenty," Ethan told the vendor.
"Then I will fill you up with twenty dollars worth," the man said matter-of-factly.
Sam gave Ethan the money and he paid the man. Ethan popped the fuel cover and waited.
While the Iraqi poured fuel into the vehicle, Ethan regarded the surrounding mud brick homes suspiciously. He didn't see anyone in the darkened windows, but he activated his Hytera radio anyway, worried that there might be Islamic State spotters out there. He turned up the volume and hit the scan button. No hits. He left the radio in scan mode.
He heard the thud as the Accent's fuel flap closed and a moment later the man rapped his knuckles on the rear window.
Ethan started the vehicle and glanced at the fuel gauge. Three-quarters full.
"Shukran," Ethan told the man before driving off.
He couldn't have known that the Iraqi made a quick transmission shortly afterward, a broadcast that the scanning function of Ethan's radio missed.
THE BREAK DMITRI had been waiting for had finally come. He was on the Baghdad-Mosul highway, about one hundred fifty kilometers south of Mosul, when his satphone rang. He extended the thick antenna and clicked the receive button.
It was Victor.
"A spotter just reported three women and a man riding in a beat-up Accent," his boss reported. That matched the description given to them by the carjacked Iraqi. "In a tiny Al Hadar village three hours southwest of Mosul. They were headed northeast. He also says there was a plume of smoke in the distance behind them, as if some great conflagration raged."
"Send me the GPS coordinates," Dmitri said.
Victor did so, and Dmitri compared the location to his own. It wasn't all that far. Roughly fifty kilometers behind them. It seemed that Dmitri had overshot his prey.