by Isaac Hooke
"What is it, exactly, you think I did?" Aaron asked sharply.
Before Habib could answer, a commotion came from outside; William abruptly barged into the room. He didn't carry a weapon—it had likely been confiscated at the door.
Bad move, Will, Aaron thought. Very bad move.
He had hoped not to drag either of his fellow operatives into that mess.
"What's going on?" William said. "I come looking for my friend, only to discover that he has been arrested. Do you know many kaffir he has killed? Do you know—"
"Your friend has been accused of being an American infidel and a spy," Mohamed interrupted.
"Well, the accuser is wrong."
"Your 'friend' was there when the Americans tried to recruit me during my hegira," Habib spat. "The pigs attempted to rape me in my hotel room in Turkey. Rape me! But I fought them off before they could do so, and I tore away this man's mask before he escaped. He is a homosexual in addition to an American and a spy."
"I'll kill you for that." Aaron fought half-heartedly against the men who restrained him. At least he knew the fabricated story he was dealing with. "A homosexual, too!"
Habib grinned. "It is common knowledge that all Americans are homosexuals."
His lackeys laughed.
It was time to start poking holes in Habib's story.
"You say you resisted these Americans who broke into your hotel?" Aaron said. "How many were there?"
"Three."
"You fought off three men who caught you by surprise? Weren't they armed?"
"I do not answer to you," Habib said. "I have already explained my case to Judge Mohamed."
"If I am an infidel," Aaron persisted. "Why do I speak perfect Arabic? Why do I look and sound like I was born in Yemen? Why can I quote every passage in the Quran?"
"The crafty ways of the kaffir know no bounds," Habib said. "The Americans are masters of deceit. Perhaps they surgically altered your face. Perhaps they made you live with a Yemeni boy so you could practice your Arabic every day—when you weren't raping him, that is."
Aaron turned toward Mohamed. "You must believe me when I tell you I wasn't there."
"The word of an emir carries more weight than the word of a common soldier," Mohamed said. "These are serious allegations, not made lightly, and we must treat them with the gravity they deserve."
"Did he swear on the Quran that his testimony was true?" Aaron said, convinced that he was about to ensnare Habib.
Mohamed bobbed his head. "He did."
How was that possible? Such an oath was sacred to Muslims.
Then Aaron had it. Habib believed he was doomed to hell for what had been done to him; if he was damned already, what did it matter if he lied while swearing on the Quran, especially if the lie allowed him to punish a perceived enemy?
Aaron struggled to find a way out of the situation but he couldn't come up with anything. One thought repeated in his mind.
Don't let them capture you.
That path led only to beheading. He didn't want his family to remember him like that: dying on video while some jihadi chopped off his head. He could already see the headline. "Purported DIA contractor Aaron Berkley beheaded by Islamic State terrorists in new Youtube video released Sunday."
A white-robed male aide entered the room, carrying Aaron's phone. "I need the PIN to unlock this."
Mohamed looked at Aaron. "What is the code?"
Aaron smiled grimly. There was a small problem with giving up access to his phone. Over the last few days, when he was in his sniper hide, he'd recorded video during the fighting, making snide comments regarding the buildings he'd targeted after they were blown to shit. "How's it feel to go to paradise, bitches?" "Enjoy your eternal erections." He'd wanted to feed his ego and show off to William and Ethan. Probably not the best idea, in retrospect.
Also, on the offline map app he'd marked several possible locations where Sheik Abu Khattab Al-Kurdi, the battle commander, might be staying, based on bodyguards Aaron had seen around the houses. He'd also snapped surreptitious photos of the respective homes.
He hadn't had a chance to wipe any of that data before his unexpected capture.
"Your code?" Mohamed repeated.
Aaron gave them a fake PIN number.
"It's not working," the aide said.
"Give him the proper code," Mohamed said.
"I'm not really sure what it is," Aaron claimed. "I can't simply recite it from memory. It's an automatic thing. I need the phone in my hand to enter it."
The aide glanced at Mohamed, who nodded, then he offered Aaron the cellphone.
It would take too long to issue a hard reset to wipe the data: they'd realize what Aaron was doing immediately when they saw him holding down the three buttons, and then they'd pry it from his grip. Even if he succeeded, the act basically incriminated him.
There had to be a way out. There had to be.
Don't do anything reckless, he warned himself.
Aaron calmly entered the fake PIN code. Three times.
"It won't take my code," he lied. "I don't know why. Maybe I'm getting one of the digits wrong. I'm just too tired from my four days on the front. I need a good night's sleep, that's all."
"And we're supposed to believe you?" Habib snarled.
Aaron shrugged, then held out the cellphone to the aide, who took it back.
"The fact that you refuse to unlock your phone doesn't help your case," Mohamed said. "In fact by not doing so, you implicate yourself."
"It's not my fault," Aaron said. "I want to unlock it. I really do."
"You are to be detained until you give up your PIN," Mohamed declared. "And if you won't talk, we have men who will make you."
His greatest fear was finally coming true. Ma and pa would watch the beheading of their son online. No parents should ever have to witness such a thing. But what could he do?
Many things.
The militants who restrained him had loosened their hold slightly. So far, Aaron hadn't revealed his true strength, and he felt fairly certain he could break free with a series of sharp, explosive moves.
He glanced at the nearest muj's holster.
Don't let them capture you...
Before Aaron could act, Habib drew his pistol and fired a shot directly into his thigh.
Aaron sagged in the arms of the men who held him. The pain was unbearable. He was vaguely aware as other militants loyal to Mohamed switched to battle postures and spun their weapons toward Habib.
"What are you doing?" Mohamed said.
"Did you not see the infidel staring at the man's gun?" Habib cried. "I stopped the American pig before he could grab it. Besides, he deserves a little taste of his own medicine. How does it feel to be violated?"
"Habib," Mohamed said. "I have to arrest you for this."
"Well, in that case." Habib loosed another shot, striking Aaron in the shoulder.
Any fight he might have had left was gone with that second bullet. If the militants weren't clutching him he would have collapsed. It would have been better if they let him go, because by holding him up by the arms like that, they prolonged his torture, stretching his freshly injured shoulder joint. Torn tendons rubbed against displaced cartilage and chipped bone. Such sheer, burning excruciation...
"Habib, enough!" Aaron heard Mohamed say.
He sensed motion to his right. The next thing he knew, Habib was lying on the floor with a gunshot wound to the temple, and William was beside him, subdued by the remaining militants in the room. A handgun, probably seized from another mujahid's holster, lay on the carpet in front of William.
"What have you done?" Mohamed said.
"A lucky shot, judge," William pleaded. "He was going to kill Abu-Aadil. I only intended to wound him."
In a daze, Aaron stared at Habib. Blood pooled from the dead man's forehead onto the floor.
"Do you know what this looks like?" Mohamed said. "You have murdered a witness—an emir—in cold blood to save the life of a
suspected spy. You are now under suspicion of being a spy yourself." He nodded toward the men who restrained William. "Arrest him and prepare him for interrogation."
"What about him?" one of the militants who gripped Aaron said.
"Bind his wounds and take him to the interrogation ward as well." He glanced at Habib's bleeding corpse. "And someone clean that up!"
"This is an outrage," William said as they hauled him away. "Abu-Aadil should be brought to the infirmary for proper treatment at the very least."
"Hold your tongue, spy," Mohamed said.
"I'm not a spy!" William shouted.
"That remains to be seen. The interrogators will extract the truth either way. And even if you are not a spy, then you will be executed for the crime of murdering an emir."
I'm sorry, William.
Aaron's vision darkened as he descended into the sweet, painless embrace of unconsciousness.
thirty-three
Ethan remained motionless.
Neither of the guards obeyed Suleman's command to arrest him, so the man did the deed himself, taking Ethan's M24, Beast, along with his Dragunov, combat knife and radio. He also confiscated the bicep cuff that was part of Beast's sling system. Suleman searched him, but didn't find anything else of concern other than his cellphone. Ethan didn't say a word the whole time—it was best to keep his peace until he knew what was going on.
Bringing one of the guards, Suleman led Ethan inside the foyer. Beyond it lay a tall, pyramidal chamber filled with rows of empty padded seats. Near a cleared central area, prisoners sat with their hands bound. Two AKM-wielding guards watched them. William and Aaron were not among the handcuffed group.
Still in the foyer, Suleman steered Ethan to the left, into a wide overflow room populated with hardback chairs. He led him into a hallway, where another mujahid with an AK stood watch.
Inside the hallway two closed doors resided on the left. He heard a shout from behind one of those doors.
"I told you I don't know anything!"
The Arabic voice belonged to Aaron.
Ethan halted. All of his being called out at him to save his friend.
Suleman shoved him onward. Ethan considered turning around and incapacitating the man and the guards right there, then breaking William and Aaron out in a blaze of ballistic glory, but he knew the chances of a daytime escape were extremely low. The whole camp would be mobilized against them within the first few minutes.
Wait until dark, he told himself.
Suleman placed him in a third room. A windowless, furniture-less affair.
"Sit," Suleman told him.
Ethan sat on the hard floor, near the wall.
"Unlock your phone." Suleman handed him the Android he had previously confiscated.
Ethan entered his PIN and unlocked the cellphone. He knew Suleman wouldn't find anything incriminating on it. Even if the zealous militant somehow discovered the hidden app, he'd be asked to enter another PIN. Ethan would simply claim the app was some sort of malware he didn't even know he had.
Suleman retrieved the cellphone and performed a cursory check, obviously looking at the contacts, messages, and media. He probably disabled the lock mechanism.
"Watch him," Suleman told the guard who had come with them, and then he withdrew from the room, closing the door. Ethan was left alone with the other man.
He closed his eyes, doing his best to clear his mind, trying to pretend he wasn't confined to a windowless interrogation room with a militant ready to unload an AK into his chest.
The door opened some time later; a man in a white robe and skull cap entered. He wore rimless glasses with rectangular lenses. Suleman stood at his side.
The newcomer took a seat on the floor opposite Ethan, while Suleman remained standing.
"I am Judge Mohamed Al'Sharia."
Ethan nodded slowly. "It is an honor to meet you, judge. I am Abu-Emad."
"I know who you are," Mohamed said. "Do you know what crime you are accused of?"
"If fighting for Allah and doing His will is a crime, then I am guilty," Ethan declared.
Mohamed pursed his lips. He exchanged a glance with Suleman, then returned his attention to Ethan. "You are accused of being an American spy."
Ethan feigned complete disinterest. "Fascinating. And what evidence do you have against me to support this wrongful claim?"
"We captured two spies this morning," Mohamed said. "Emir Suleman was passing the courthouse when I announced the capture later in the day, and he recognized the two captives bound before me as associates of yours."
"Associates?" Ethan said. "I have many associates in this camp. I did not know it was a crime to befriend those we fight with. May I ask the names of these associates?"
"Abu-Wafeeq and Abu-Aadil," Mohamed answered.
Ethan feigned puzzlement.
"Don't try to pretend you don't know them," Mohamed said. "Emir Suleman says you met with them in camp the first day of your arrival."
Ethan glanced at Suleman. So the man had followed him. Ethan hadn't run a surveillance detection route that day, and looking back, he wished he had.
"He says you often conferred with them in Raqqa as well," Mohamed continued.
Suleman had been spying on him for a long time, then. He had probably been trailing William and Aaron, too, which is why he 'happened' to be passing by the courthouse earlier.
Ethan let anger seep into his voice. "I convened with them, certainly, and considered them my friends at the time, but I swear to you, I thought they were foreign fighters like me, here to wage jihad for the Caliphate. I had no idea they were spies. I'm very disappointed in Abu-Wafeeq and Abu-Aadil, if what you say is true. My tongue has been too loose in their company. I trusted them. Trusted." He moved his gaze between Suleman and Mohamed. "Though what really hurts, what really stabs at my warrior's spirit, is that you suspect me of complicity. Me! I, who have come here to lend my Dragunov, and my life, to the cause! I, who have killed in the name of the Caliphate, and Baghdadi, Prince of the Faithful! I, who have saved the life of my fellow mujahadeen!" If necessary, he could call upon Abdullah to testify for him in regards to the latter.
"Ask yourself," Ethan continued indignantly. "If I were truly a spy, would I do all of these things? Would I?"
Mohamed reverently produced a cloth-bound book. "Would you swear to your innocence on the Quran?"
Ethan pretended to hesitate, like any devout Muslim would when presented with the gravity of such an oath.
Suleman's face darkened. "If he is an infidel, then swearing on the Quran means nothing to him."
Ethan rested his palm on the sacred book. "I swear I am not an infidel."
Mohamed nodded. "Do you swear you are not a spy of the Assad regime or the Americans?"
"I swear I am neither."
Mohamed swiveled toward Suleman. "You didn't find any evidence on his person? The USB stick? Range finder?"
Ethan was suddenly relieved he'd stowed those items on the way to the sharia court.
Suleman snarled at Ethan but didn't otherwise answer.
"Emir!" Mohamed said.
Suleman reluctantly shook his head. "There was no USB stick or range finder."
"And what of his belongings in the barracks?" Mohamed said. "They have been searched?"
"Just a moment." Suleman spun around, speaking into his two-way radio. When the muffled response came he faced Mohamed once more. "His belongings have been searched. There is no evidence." He sounded extremely disappointed.
Mohamed regarded Ethan thoughtfully. "I am satisfied of his innocence."
Suleman bit his lip and for a second Ethan thought the militant was going to contest the judge, but then he looked away.
"May I go?" Ethan asked.
Mohamed nodded. "Suleman will escort you to your unit. I apologize for the inconvenience."
Ethan stood, but then paused. "May I make a request?"
"You may, but whether I grant it is another matter entirely."
"I feel that my honor has been sullied by these former friends of mine," Ethan said. "As a form of redress, when the time comes, may I be given the privilege of executing them?"
"They will likely be executed in Raqqa," Mohamed said. "So your request is unfortunately impossible." He waved a dismissive hand. "Allah yusallmak."
Ethan followed Suleman into the main camp. Before reaching the Wolf Company barracks, Suleman said over his shoulder, "The judge may have set you free, but I know in my heart that you are involved with the infidels. Though you swear on the Quran, your shifty eyes betray you. I will be watching you, Abu-Emad. And when you misstep, I will be there with my rifle to send you to hell."
When they arrived at the house, Suleman gave back the combat knife, radio, and cellphone. Ethan made a mental note to perform a thorough malware check on the Android later.
Suleman slid the Dragunov down from his shoulder and returned that too, along with the spare ammunition.
"What about the M24?" Ethan said, eying the powerful sniper rifle resting over Suleman's other arm.
"Mine now," Suleman said, turning away.
Asshole.
Almost everyone was still asleep. Ethan, feeling incredibly sapped himself, moved to his spot and lay down to catch more Z's. His belongings were shifted, he noted.
He closed his eyes, feeling guilty because William and Aaron were likely being interrogated at that very moment, but there was nothing he could do until dark.
He had difficulty falling asleep. He tried not to think about what was happening to his friends, but he couldn't quench the images. There would be some light torture performed at first, maybe some pulled nails or genital electrocutions. But when they were shipped back to Raqqa, the interrogations would begin in earnest. Broken bones. Chopped fingers. He shuddered at the thought.
Ethan wondered how long it would be before they divulged his cover, along with the identities of the assets they'd collected since arriving in Syria. Several people would disappear throughout the region over the next few weeks if Ethan failed.
No pressure or anything.
He was awakened for prayers at sunset, and afterward ate the cold chicken and rice that Raheel had fetched for supper.