Traffick Stop, an American Assassin's Story (Paladine Political Thriller Series Book 3)

by Kenneth Eade

  “So does everyone think you are dead?”

  “I’m pretty sure they do. Otherwise I probably would really be dead.”

  “This means you no longer work for United States government?”

  “That’s right. I’m in the private sector.”

  “So Robert Garcia is already buried?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I guess I don’t have to kill you.”

  Robert breathed a silent sigh of relief. “What are you going to do with me?”

  “You are dead man, right?”

  “Right.”

  “I can see that you are not dead Russian, so I don’t have to bury you. I guess I can leave you in desert.”

  That sounded fine to Robert.

  “Can I ask what you are doing here, Boab?”

  “Killing terrorists, just like you.”

  “Yes, but for who?”

  “I can’t expose my employer. That’s top secret. But our targets are the ISIS sex slave smugglers.”

  Lyosha clenched his teeth. “Those fucking bastards.”

  “Exactly.”

  ***

  Ayisha went back into Shawish’s office and straight to the tiny drawer under the desk counter. She straightened out the paper clip and inserted it as far as it would go into the lock and wiggled it.

  Nothing.

  She grabbed the letter opener and forced it into the lock at the same time as the clip and wriggled, twisted and turned each of them until the lock budged. Then she opened the door and shone her light on the content, coins, pencils, chewing gum, more cigarettes, and more papers. She took out all the papers and spread them out on the desk, shining the light on each of them and reading as fast as she could. Requisition orders, notes – notes! She riffled through the notes. On one lined sheet of paper she found five addresses, one of which she recognized as the tannery they had raided. At the bottom of the paper was written a name that made her blood run cold – Boulem Halabi.

  She found a stack of blank papers on the desk, took a pencil out of the jar, and began copying the addresses as fast as she could, as well as the dreaded name. When she had finished, she stacked the papers, put them back in the drawer, and then twisted the paperclip and letter opener to lock the drawer. Just as she was thinking everything was fine, the tumbler fell out and into her hand.

  ***

  Lyosha’s expression was sick. He had seen a lot of things in his life, but the thought of those dirty, filthy pigs keeping women like animals for their sick satisfaction truly turned his stomach.

  “I want to help, Boab.”

  “You want to help me?”

  “Not you. I want to help girls. What is your plan?”

  Robert certainly didn’t want to share any plan with the Russians. But he didn’t have one yet.

  “I haven’t formulated one yet. But it seems there are several brothels in the city where hundreds of girls are being kept, to be sold at auction.”

  “Sold? At auction?”

  “Yes, and while they’re kept there, they rent their bodies out to the militants for sex.”

  “Koshmar!”

  “Killing the kingpin of the operation is clear. Closing down the brothels is also clear. But getting the women to safety – that’s something I haven’t figured out yet and quite frankly I don’t have the resources to do it.”

  “We have fucking resources, Boab. You kill those bastards and I can get team in there to take girls out.”

  “Wait a minute, cowboy. Don’t you have to get permission for an operation like that?”

  “Yes, of course. And it would have to be carefully planned. Not only that, you Americans are talking about going in with a bunch of Syrian rebels and taking the city.”

  “I’ve heard that talk.”

  “Kind of destroys element of surprise.”

  It was already looking complicated. Robert had no desire to take a partner on in the operation – especially a Russian one – but he saw it as viable if they worked independently. Robert and Ayisha would go in for phase one, and then they would be out. The Russians would handle the extraction. The only problem was they would have to share their intelligence. That was a variable to consider carefully. Fortunately, Robert didn’t have a command to answer to because the answer would have been no. It was up to him to decide.

  “I’ll let you know. How do we communicate?”

  “I give you radio set to special channel. We use these for informants.”

  ***

  Ayisha fumbled with the tumbler, her hands shaking. She shoved it back into the drawer, but it wouldn’t go in all the way. She tried to manipulate it with the letter opener. Finally, it snapped back in, but the pins were obviously broken or loose because it twirled around in the drawer and she couldn’t get it to lock.

  I’m dead! They’ll know I was here.

  She finally resolved that she could not repair the lock. She would either have to feign ignorance or confess that, in her diligence, she had broken into the desk to get the addresses. She intended to disobey Shawish and conduct the raids anyway. She hoped the penalty would be whipping – not beheading.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  When Ayisha explained her difficulties with the break-in, Robert knew they had to plan the operation quickly and execute it as soon as possible.

  “Now you have to show me your face.”

  “Why?”

  “So I don’t shoot you by mistake.”

  Robert emerged from the shadows and Ayisha got a good look at him.

  “Not bad.”

  “I’d say the same but I can’t get past your sense of fashion.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Now it’s your turn.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Take off that stupid mask so I can see your face.”

  “That’s haram!”

  “Don’t give me that shit. Nobody can see us.”

  She lowered her veil, and for the first time, Robert could see the girl in the picture. Feminine, yet strong, tough even. But there was a profound sadness behind her eyes.

  “What are you hiding from me, Ayisha?”

  Now that she had been exposed, she had to tell him. Maybe half of the story would do. She hung her head.

  “They killed my sister.”

  “When did you find out?”

  “In the last raid.”

  He lifted her face by the chin. A stubborn tear had escaped from her eye and was trailing down her left cheek.

  “You can’t let your grief rule you.”

  “It’s all I can think of.”

  “Then we should seriously consider aborting this mission.”

  “No!”

  “I’ve never been one to give advice, or to take it for that matter, but, for what it’s worth, your grief has probably turned to anger by now. Emotions will get you killed in this business. You have to turn yourself into stone. For every jihadi we waste, it will be your revenge, but you can’t live for it. Survival should always be your primary instinct.”

  She nodded and withdrew from her abaya a paper on which she had copied all of the addresses.

  “Here’s the locations. How long before we can have a plan in place?”

  “I’ve already been working on one. First, I’ll have to do some surveillance on these buildings, see how many bad guys we’re up against.”

  “How are we going to do all this without any backup?”

  “That’s something I haven’t been able to figure out yet.”

  “What about the Russians?”

  “What about them?”

  “You said they may be able to help us. Wouldn’t they agree to help if I confirm one of the girls being held in the tannery brothel is Russian?”

  “Is she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah, that might do it.”

  ***

  Robert would usually require at least a week of surveillance to eliminate surprises and minimize screw-ups, but it wasn’t possible in this case. A fe
w days would have to do.

  Dressed like a native, he cruised the locations Ayisha had noted. The trouble with Raqqa was that, at any given time, there was a bunch of men walking around with automatic weapons slung over their shoulders. While it may be a simple matter to estimate how many hostiles you would encounter in any certain location, there would always be an unknown number of them on the streets as well, who would shoot at anything they thought was threatening. He made a mental picture of each building, each street, in his mind, plotting the breach, the entry, and potential escape routes. That, combined with the sticky possibility that Ayisha’s disloyalty would be discovered and they would be ambushed, made this operation perhaps the most dangerous he had ever planned.

  ***

  It was all Ayisha could do to compose herself and not shake nervously as she reported to work the next day. She had rehearsed in her mind what she would say if Shawish confronted her. She was a zealous officer, a dedicated Muslim and a soldier of jihad. Her program had generated hundreds of thousands of dinar for the Islamic State. Yes, in her enthusiasm, she had broken the rules and had gone against orders, but it was for a good cause. Secretly, she prayed she would not be caught because that would mean aborting her ultimate mission, the revenge of Zia.

  Shawish wanted to see both Ayisha and Zurfah in his office. When Ayisha arrived, Zurfah was already there sitting in one of the two small chairs in front of the sergeant’s desk. She seemed to have an accusatory look in her eyes. Then again, she always looked that way. Ayisha tentatively entered and lowered herself into the empty chair, wondering if her eyes looked guilty, pondering if this was her last day of freedom, or her last day of life.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  If there was a God, the cruelty and misery Ayisha had witnessed during her weeks in the Hisbah was enough to convince any believer to the contrary. Nevertheless, she silently prayed for her safety to be able to complete her mission. After that, it didn’t matter what happened to her. Memories of her sister played in her head while the stern-faced Shawish stared her down.

  “I’m told one of you was here last night, going over case files.”

  Ayisha nodded. “It was me, Shawish. I was preparing my testimony for court.”

  “Why didn’t you do this during normal office hours?”

  “My schedule has been very busy, sir. I didn’t want to allow my cases to suffer because of it, so I started my preparation after my shift was over. Plus, I wasn’t able to sleep, so I was making efficient use of my time.”

  “And you, Zurfah? Have you prepared your cases yet?”

  “No, Shawish. I thought we still had time for that.”

  “I think Ayisha had a good idea. But, on the other hand, she did so without permission.”

  “I’m sorry, Shawish. I couldn’t sleep. It was an impulsive act. Forgive me.”

  Shawish slapped his hand on his desktop, casually.

  “No harm done, I suppose.”

  Ayisha felt like exhaling with relief, but held it inside.

  “But don’t ever come in here without permission again.”

  “I won’t, Shawish.”

  “Well, then off to work, both of you.”

  They turned to go and Ayisha was halfway out the door when Shawish called, “Ayisha, wait.”

  She came back, dutifully, and stood at attention in front of his desk.

  “At ease, Ayisha.”

  He looked at her piercingly. She was never before thankful to have the veil covering her eyes than at that very moment.

  “Did you see anyone go into my office last night?”

  She froze inside.

  “The janitor, perhaps?”

  Her words were stuck in her throat, but she forced them out.

  “No, Shawish.”

  A pause, thinking whether she should press the case.

  “Why?”

  “Oh, nothing. The lock on my desk drawer has been broken. Sometimes it loosens during the cleaning.”

  “You should have that repaired.”

  “Yes, I suppose I should. That will be all.”

  Ayisha felt the burning of her flushed cheeks. The niqab and veil covering them had saved her life.

  ***

  Robert set out on foot for his recon mission, his hairless head covered with a black taqiyah cap and dressed to blend in a brown keffiyeh and long tunic. The four brothels were scattered throughout an industrial area in the center of the city. Robert had intel on the first site – the old tannery – from Ayisha. It was lightly manned, with no more than two armed attendants, and contained facilities for approximately two dozen women. Robert examined the area from the street. Its proximity to a main thoroughfare made ingress and egress feasible, but it also meant their escape would be visible, since an evacuation to the south was the most logical route. The countryside north of the city was under heavy ISIS control. It was also the area under the most pressure from rebel YPG forces, who couldn’t be expected to be friendly to a Russian convoy.

  The second site was formerly an old factory about three city blocks from the tannery site. This was, by far, the largest building. Robert had no intel with regard to the inside of the building, but watched the comings and goings of dozens of men over a 24-hour period. It was almost impossible to distinguish between customers and personnel, but he assumed the “cleaner” ones were the employees, and counted four of them leaving at 8 in the morning (the night shift) replaced by 12 fresh employees. Those 12 were replaced at 5 p.m. by another 12 (the swing shift) and the final 12 left at 12 a.m. which completed the cycle. Most of the customer traffic occurred between 9 and midnight, making the optimal “hit” time somewhere between 2 and 3 a.m.

  The third site was southwest of the 7 April Park and due south of the National Hospital in a medium-sized building. Robert calculated about half the staff and customer traffic at this facility. The fourth brothel was in a warehouse located off of a two-lane highway about a mile south of the third target, but well on the way to the escape route, which was the most problematic. The most logical way out was across the Euphrates River, where there were fewer pockets of ISIS occupation.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Robert sketched out a plan in his mind. The assaults would be simple. He didn’t expect communication between the facilities so they could move from one to the next with relative ease, and they would attack at night, using the element of surprise. Phase two, the extraction of approximately 100 women, give or take, was more of a logistical nightmare. The use of even heavily-armed Humvees was out of the question, as their windows and doors, although armored, could be penetrated by heavy fire or RPGs and there was no way they could make it across the Euphrates, if all avenues were blocked. It required more sophisticated equipment and personnel than Robert could possibly arrange. There was no choice but to call on the Russians and take advantage of Lyosha’s offer.

  Lyosha was already doing some planning of his own. He had received approval for a rescue force of spetsnaz special forces, provided none of them were required to leave their vehicles at any time. He was commissioned up to ten BTR 82A armed amphibious personnel carriers, which could each accommodate a crew of three and seven fully equipped soldiers. The amphibious BTRs could easily traverse the Euphrates. He had calculated each one could comfortably fit up to ten women, as they would take up less space than the soldiers and their equipment. The most perilous part would be taking on the load which could only be done through the side doors of the trucks. The BTRs had a 30 mm cannon on a rotating turret, like a tank, and a 7.62 mm machine gun. A lot of ISIS military equipment and personnel had been moved out of Raqqa to concentrate on hostilities in the north, so the BTRs could lay waste to just about anything in the city that tried to challenge them.

  Robert called Lyosha on his “informant” channel and arranged to meet him where they had ambushed him the week before. He arrived with a group of four soldiers in two Desert Tiger armored vehicles. Lyosha jumped out and shook Robert’s hand, while the three others set up
a table and threw down five folding chairs around it. Lyosha motioned toward it, like a ringmaster introducing a circus act.

  “Lunch, courtesy of Mother Russia!”

  Robert had eaten his share of rations, both in his military and paramilitary careers, but the Russians had invented a new word for “canned goods.” They opened cans of red caviar which they spread on crackers; sturgeon which they ate straight from the can; and pickled cabbage, cucumbers and tomatoes. And, of course, a large bottle of vodka to wash it all down with. Vodka rations had been a plentiful staple with the Soviet forces during World War II and Robert did not expect Lyosha to be traveling without a stash of it. As they ate, Robert was relieved to discover Lyosha had been doing some authorizing, requisitioning and planning on his own.

  “We will have three spetsnaz in each BTR which we are using for transportation, not assault.”

  “Understood.”

  “We will be authorized to engage the hostiles only if we perceive them to be a threat.”

  “Anyone walking around in Raqqa perceives them to be a threat.”

  “None of our guys are authorized to leave vehicles at any time. Think of us as chauffeurs.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “We will place girls in Syrian protection in Damascus until they can each sort out their own immigration situations.”

  “Perfect.”

  Lyosha held a full glass of vodka in his hand. His regard was serious as he locked eyes with Robert.

  “The question of whether or not Russians and Americans are friends or enemies may never be decided in our lifetime. But, as men, we have obligation to protect women. This is bigger than politics.”

  Robert nodded. “Agreed!”

  “To operation Free Woman!”

  As the name of the operation was born, Lyosha raised his full shot glass and toasted, followed by a simultaneous slamming of vodka down each of their throats.

  It was decided. The BTRs would load their cargo and cross the river on their own. Once on the other side, there would be ample air support to protect them. They would be in the most peril during the three-mile stretch from the first site to the Euphrates, where every resident on the streets had to be presumed to be a potential combatant and every window of every building facing the escape route was a potential sniper position.