by Ethan Jones
Twilight slowly gave way to the morning sun, which shone dim behind a thick blanket of gray clouds. Javin could not remember the forecast, but he thought it was not supposed to rain. The air was still dry, but storms were known to happen out of the blue.
Most of the residents of the small village had been awakened by the attack on the safehouse. The narrow, crooked alleys began to fill with women and children. A couple of convenience stores across the intersection three blocks away were opened around seven thirty.
Javin decided to stretch his legs. “I’m going for a walk around the block. You want to go?” he asked Claudia.
She shook her head. “No. I’m good.”
Javin looked at Tom, who also returned a headshake.
Javin said, “You don’t like fresh air?”
“What’s wrong with the air here?”
Javin grinned. He did not want to insult everyone by saying the yard stunk worse than a barn. None of them had showered in over three days. Dust and grime stuck to their sweat-covered bodies. Carrying thirty to forty pounds of tactical gear at almost all times and making their way through usually ninety-degree weather did not make things easier. He stood up. “I’m at the store if you need me. I’ll bring two cases of water bottles.”
“I’ll go with you,” al-Razi said.
He swung his rifle over his shoulder and followed Javin into the alley. A small boy who was maybe ten or eleven was walking in front of them driving a herd of four goats and two kids. Al-Razi spoke to the boy, asking him about whether his father was home. The boy confirmed that in a high-pitched voice.
Javin said, “Do you know his father?”
“Yes. He’s a cousin of mine.”
“I didn’t know you have family around here.”
Al-Razi nodded. “Many Iranians have relatives across the border. This area used to be part of the Persian Empire. Then the British came and hacked it to pieces, so they could keep the people under their heel.”
Javin nodded. The truth was more complicated than that, but al-Razi was not too far away from the truth. During the almost 400-year-long reign of the Ottoman Empire, the area was divided into three provinces that kept a certain level of autonomy based on their ethnicity: Shia, Sunni, and Kurd. Then, in 1916, Great Britain and France reached the secret Sykes-Picot agreement, which divided the Arab lands under the rule of the Ottomans in the British and French spheres of influence. Driven by its thirst for oil, which had recently been discovered in these lands, Great Britain maneuvered its local allies to join the three distinct provinces into one, placing it under British control, giving birth to the new “nation” of Iraq. Simplicity worked best for al-Razi and Iran’s message: These are our brothers; this is our land, and we’re here to take it back.
“So, how do you see the future of Iraq?” Javin asked.
Al-Razi shrugged. “Like I said at the house, the Shia must be respected and not abused or shamed as they have been until now. If the Shias and the Sunnis cannot learn how to get along, there will never be peace in Iraq.”
Javin could agree with that statement. Many of the problems in this war-prone part of the world were created or imported by western and other powerful world players. However, the underlying hatred between the two groups allowed for the stimuli to incite violence and the flames of war.
The boy waved at al-Razi and Javin and led the herd toward an open area with sparse vegetation close to a couple of collapsed houses. The area had seen some fierce fighting before the Shia militia had pushed ISIS out of the village. In their retreat, the jihadists had booby-trapped many of the houses and other buildings, and some of those were still not fully cleared of explosives.
Javin and al-Razi greeted the store owner and exchanged warm embraces. Javin had made a point of always buying supplies from the folks living nearby. Good gestures never went unrewarded, he believed. People were less likely to bad-mouth or betray the ones they knew and liked. “How’s life going?” Javin asked the owner after the traditional Muslim greeting.
“Not bad, not bad.” The mustached man said. “You, on the other hand, you had a tough night...”
Javin shrugged. “I wasn’t sleeping anyway. It gave me something to do.”
“I’ll make some coffee.”
Javin had drunk enough, but he was not about to insult the hospitality shown him. “Thank you.” He placed his hand over his heart.
The owner smiled and disappeared inside the store.
Al-Razi said, “I’m next door.” He went to the other store, whose owner was smoking near the door.
Javin glanced at the boy tending the goats. They were grazing near a pile of trash at the base of one of the destroyed houses. The roof had caved in, probably because it had been hit by a mortar round. One side of the wall had formed a sort of a ramp, and one of the goats began to climb it.
Javin shook his head. What is it doing? There’s nothing up there to eat. Then, he frowned. Perhaps the goat had smelled something. A morbid thought popped into his mind. A dead body. As hard as the Civil Defense Corps of Iraq worked to clear buildings of the bodies of dead ISIS fighters and civilians, many were still rotting amidst the rubble. Do goats eat flesh? His stomach tightened at the thought of someone eating the goat that had been chewing on decomposing human flesh.
The little boy tried to shoo the goat away from the ramp, but his efforts only caused it to climb higher. It let out a triumphant bleat as it almost reached the second story. Another goat, obviously encouraged by the inviting bleat, hopped over a couple of piles, following the first one.
The boy cursed both goats and began to climb up the ramp.
“No, get out of there. Hey, no!” Javin shouted at the boy.
He was not sure if the houses had been cleared of explosives, and this was not the right way to find out. Plus, the boy was precariously hanging over the broken concrete chunks as he was taking small tentative steps.
Javin ran toward the boy. “Get down, hey, come down. Now.”
His shouts did not stop the boy, and scared both climbing goats. The first one jumped over a heap of debris and disappeared inside the collapsed building. The second goat let out a screeching bleat and scampered up the ramp.
The boy looked at Javin who was now a few steps away. “You sent them away...”
“Yes, and they’ll come back. Now, get down.”
“But ... my goats...”
“They’ll get down on their own. Come here now...”
He climbed over a couple of cinderblocks and picked up the boy, who was struggling to stay on the ramp. As soon as Javin had gotten hold of the boy, a great explosion came from inside the collapsed house. The force of the explosion threw them to the ground along with chunks of rocks and debris. A spiral of dust puffed out of the house’s caved-in roof.
One of the goats dropped down next to them. It shook his head, then its body, and it ran away bleating and skipping, obviously uninjured. A moment later, the other goat also appeared from around the corner of the house and ran away, unscathed by the explosion.
Javin looked at the boy lying next to him. “You okay?”
He groaned and trembled and did not answer.
“Are you hurt?” Javin said.
The boy shook his head. “No, I’m ... I’m all right. But, the goat...”
Al-Razi, running over to them, shouted, “Forget about the goats. What have I told you about staying away from rubble?” He picked up the boy.
“Uncle ... I’m sorry. I—”
“Go gather the herd, and get out of here. And stay away from the empty houses, you hear me?”
The boy nodded.
“Go now.”
The boy said nothing and ran toward the herd that had gathered a few steps away. They seemed to be confused about what had just happened.
Javin began to shake off the dust from his clothes and looked at al-Razi’s outstretched hand. “He’s all right.”
“Yes, I saw what you did. Thanks.”
Javin grabbed al-Razi’s hand, and the Ir
anian pulled Javin to his feet. He glanced at the heaps of rubble and shook his head. “Those sick men ... Causing destruction and death even now that they’re gone...”
Al-Razi cursed the ISIS fighters and their mothers. “They’re mostly gone, and we’re not going to stop until we’ve got them all.”
Javin sighed. “Well, we have nothing so far on those two leaders. Without any concrete intel, I will have to hand over the op to the Iraqi police so—”
“What? No, you can’t do that. They’re completely useless and absolutely incompetent.”
“Really? Does Issawi know how you feel?”
“Of course he does, and not only that, but he agrees with me.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
Al-Razi shrugged. “Well, maybe there are some people in the police worthy to wear their uniforms, but for the most part, they’re corrupt or lazy. Or both. If they could find these ISIS butchers, they would have done so, and there would be no need for you or the CIA to be here.”
“I know, but I can only do so much. Unless we find concrete intel in the next twenty-four hours, this will all be over.”
Al-Razi studied Javin’s face for a long moment.
Javin said, “I’m not kidding or bluffing. I have clear and direct orders.”
“From whom?”
“From those who have the authority to give orders: my boss and your governor.”
“He’s not my governor. I didn’t vote for him; nobody voted for him or wants him.”
Javin waved a dismissive hand “Well, he’s in the governor’s office, doing the governor’s job. We’re here, trying to do our job too. But, without any leads...” He shook his head and walked toward the stores.
“Hey, Javin, wait, wait up...”
Javin stopped and turned toward al-Razi. “What is it?”
Al-Razi glanced at the store owners, who were looking at them from a distance. They could not hear the conversation, especially if Javin and al-Razi kept their voices low. So al-Razi said, “There might be a way to get some intel.”
“How?”
“It’s a long shot, and we’ll have to keep this a secret. You can’t tell Issawi or Tom or anyone else.”
“Claudia will have to know.”
“Fine, she can come with us, although I wouldn’t advise it.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
Al-Razi hesitated for another moment, then said, “We’ve detained some people who might know about these leaders.”
“Prisoners? You’re holding ISIS fighters captive?”
“No, we have people paying for their crimes.”
“Have they been charged with or convicted of anything?”
Al-Razi gave Javin a sideways glance. “This is not Canada or the US, Javin. We have no independent courts here, or the time or the inclination to waste time on such things. There is clear evidence these people were ISIS fighters who committed atrocious crimes.” Al-Razi gestured with his hand toward the collapsed houses. “This devastation is their fault. They killed, raped, destroyed everything.”
Javin found it useless to argue with al-Razi. “But if they knew about the ISIS leaders, they would have given them up, right?”
“Maybe. The captives have been interrogated, but briefly, and haven’t been tortured. Yet.”
Javin shrugged. “I don’t know about that. If you torture them, they might make up stuff, stories just to make the pain stop.”
“Maybe, but now we know more than when these people were captured, which was less than a week ago. So, we’ll pay them a visit, and see what information we can extract from them.” Al-Razi stressed the word “extract” more than necessary and said it in a cold tone of voice that gave Javin the shivers.
“All right.” Javin nodded reluctantly. “Perhaps someone is willing to talk.”
Al-Razi shrugged and began to walk toward the stores. “If not, we’ll make them talk.”
Chapter Eleven
CIS Safehouse
Two Miles North of Mosul, Iraq
Javin had just finished briefing Claudia about the bank account numbers and al-Razi’s proposal when her phone rang. She glanced at the screen, then smiled and waved the phone at Javin. “It’s your girlfriend.”
“Mila? Why would she call you?”
“No, silly, not your Russian girlfriend. The other one, the sweet American aid worker.”
“Liberty? Why is she calling you?”
“I don’t know. But you can ask her.”
Javin stood up, picked up the ringing phone, and took a few steps from Claudia. They had been sitting on plastic chairs a few blocks away from the safehouse, in an improvised sidewalk café. There was no sidewalk and no café, but one of the residents had brought out a plate full of kleicha, the bite-sized, date-filled cookies that were famous across Iraq, and a pot of freshly-brewed hot Turkish coffee. “Yes, Liberty, this is Javin.”
“Javin, oh ... Good to hear from you ... I ... I actually wanted to talk to you, but I couldn’t get through.”
“Yes, my phone ... I ... eh, I dropped it, and it doesn’t work all the time.” He was not sure he wanted to give Liberty his new phone number. He had just purchased a cellphone from the convenience store owner, with a Turkish number. “What’s going on? You all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine. But there was fighting north of the city. Some of the residents told me about a couple of people found dead on the side of the road.”
Javin cocked his head and made a mental note to check on that intelligence. “What people?”
“I’m not sure. Islamic fighters, maybe, but then, one can’t be sure of anything anymore around here. People are gunned down sometimes purely on speculation. You don’t like your neighbor, and all of a sudden, the police get a tip that he was working with the terrorists.”
“Yes, sadly so. Now, what can I do for you?”
Liberty hesitated for a moment. “I’m not sure if you can help, but I don’t really have anyone else to ask. You know Huda Yusuf Ghanem, one of the camp residents, an ISIS widow you interviewed yesterday?”
“Yes, I remember her.” Javin swallowed hard, suspecting what might be coming next. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. Ghanem has disappeared. Her cousin reported that Ghanem was gone during the night. Vanished.”
“Did anyone see or hear anything?”
“I’m not sure. We’re checking. I called the police an hour ago, but they haven’t arrived yet. This isn’t a priority.”
“Do residents leave often?”
“They do, yes, regularly, but not like this. Most come to thank us for the help we give, or leave during the day, with their entire family. Not like this, at night, leaving behind her two children...” Liberty’s voice rang with a hint of desperation.
“Yes, this is unusual.”
He refrained from expressing his thoughts about the fact that Ghanem was most likely kidnapped. But how did they learn so fast about her talking to us? Did someone see us? Or was it because of the governor? The possibility of the governor’s having something to do with the woman’s kidnapping sent his blood boiling. He had to stop his hand from trembling.
“It is, yes. Did she say anything about whether she might be leaving, or where she might be going?”
Javin shook his head. “No, she didn’t mention anything.”
“Do you know what might have prompted her to leave? Was she worried about something? Scared?”
“I ... I’m not sure, Liberty.” He did not want to outright lie to her, but also he could not tell her the truth about the information Ghanem had given him and how Javin had passed that on to the governor. “Look, today is not that busy, yet, so how about I come over and see what I can do to help?”
“Thank you, Javin. I’d sure like that, and it could help us find her.” Liberty sounded excited at the prospect of seeing Javin again.
“Okay, well, let’s say in a couple of hours, perhaps even earlier.”
“Good. I’ll be in the
camp until noon.”
“See you then.”
“Bye, Javin.”
He glanced at the phone, wondering again about Liberty’s cheerful tone. Am I imagining things, or is she really happy to see me? He shrugged. Whatever it is with Liberty, Ghanem’s disappearance complicates everything.
Javin shrugged and returned to Claudia, who frowned as she glanced at him. “Bad news?”
“Ghanem’s gone.”
“What do you mean?”
Javin sat next to her. “She disappeared during the night.”
Claudia cursed under her breath. “The jihadists took her before she could give us their location.”
Javin nodded. “Yes, but what bothers me is how they learned about her. We talked to many ISIS widows...”
“The governor. We told him how the woman is looking for her sister. He—or someone in his office who learned about it—put two and two together that she was going to give us some intel in exchange. So, they silenced her.”
“It’s only a possibility at this point, but still a disturbing one. I told Liberty I’ll go to the camp, perhaps help.”
Claudia gave him a small smile. “And have a cup of coffee with her...”
“Oh, stop it,” Javin said, but he did not really mind Claudia’s teasing.
“What? You still need fuel as you help her with the investigation...”
“Right, but we still need to think about how to bring this up with the governor.”
“How about we don’t? In the best case, he’ll consider this a waste of his time; in the worst, he’ll see this as an accusation.”
“So we don’t tell him at all?”
“I’m sure he’ll find out sooner or later, if he doesn’t know about it already. We have other, better things to do.”
“Yes, with this Liberty thing coming up, can you handle the prisoners’ interrogation?”
Claudia gave him a serious look. “Do you need to ask?”
“No, I don’t.”
“I’m sure al-Razi will do all the talking and the beating... But I’ll make sure we get what we need, if any of the ISIS fighters has it.”
“Good. I’ll see what’s going on at the camp. Unless we get something useful from the prisoners, we’re bound for Switzerland.”