by C. G. Cooper
It was the last thought the fat man would ever have.
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The Master was in the second vehicle of the four truck convoy. They were late. There had been trouble with a group of prisoners who’d somehow escaped from a holding cell. His men had spent the afternoon running them down with their trucks, he among them.
He was tired and didn’t feel like another meeting with the council. They always lasted late into the night and nothing ever seemed to get accomplished. The others wanted to be heard while the caliph sat listening, always patient.
Then, once the others departed, the caliph would speak to him alone. His verbal orders for The Master only. It was for the caliph that he came, not the others who always complained about his own increasing role in the regime.
He could see the lights of the temporary camp up ahead. The Master shook his head at the stupidity. It was a perfect target for aircraft if the Americans and their friends ever found the courage to act. Luckily, they hadn’t, and the army of ISIS still moved with relative impunity.
They were two hundred yards from the entrance, their vehicles slowing, when The Master felt the rumble, followed by a massive explosion inside the camp, a plume rising from its midst. The truck skidded to a stop, the shockwave hitting them a split second later. It wasn’t enough to do them any harm, but he could tell it was enough to destroy half of the camp.
“Tell the other vehicles to go and see what happened. We’re going back,” said The Master.
“But, Master, the caliph?” asked one of his deputies.
“If I am right, the caliph is dead. Now move.”
His deputy nodded and got on the radio as the driver turned around and headed back toward Mosul. The Master knew what his men would find. If he was right, he was the new caliph.
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The man who would soon no longer be Ali Kassab watched the inferno. There was no doubt that the ISIS leadership had been consumed. He said a silent prayer and pulled out the satellite phone he kept hidden under the cracked slats of his cart. There was only one phone number. He’d memorized it after reading it off the scribbled scrap of paper he’d found under his pillow days before.
He dialed the number, waiting anxiously for the man to pick up.
“Yes?”
“It is done.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I will see you soon.”
The call ended and Ibrahim Roubini threw the phone into the small fire he’d made in the crumbling stone hut. He waited until he was sure the phone was destroyed, and then went to prepare his cart. Now that the first salvo was fired, it was time to go home.
Chapter 15
Camp Cavalier
Charlottesville, Virginia
6:29pm, August 13th
Cal didn’t know whether to punch a wall or beat Valko to a pulp. Of all the things he should’ve known… He’d almost picked up the phone and given Gen. McMillan an earful, but something in Cal still drew the line at being disrespectful to a Marine general.
He’d returned to the pistol range after talking to Valko’s guys only to find the pile of spent rounds the Bulgarian had left. Asshole hadn’t even had the courtesy to clean them up. It only added to Cal’s anger.
He could’ve had someone find the guy, but Cal knew he needed time to think, to digest what he’d heard. The others would be looking to him, to see how he’d handle the situation. He had to be careful, deal with the Bulgarian one-on-one.
His mind swerved back to rage. How the hell could McMillan let a guy onto their team with a background like Valko’s?
Cal stomped into The Lodge, not really paying attention to where he was going. He needed a drink but couldn’t have one. It would set a bad example. Besides, they had more to do, including the infiltration later that night.
The other teams, especially the drinkers, had taken to spending their off time in the bar. Without looking, Cal figured correctly that everyone except for the Bulgarians were in the large room. There were plenty of comfortable leather chairs, well worn and big enough for the largest operators. Some of them were napping as he entered. He nodded to Fox and Kreyling, who were hunched over a table with a stack of bar glasses, maneuvering them like soldiers on a battlefield.
Stefano Moretti was sitting at the bar, chatting with Gaucho. The Hispanic was trying to pick up a few words of Italian, and was laughing at the way Moretti was teaching him. Gaucho looked up as Cal entered and held his greeting when he saw Cal’s face.
Cal found a chair in the corner, away from the others. Daniel watched him from across the room, always there. Cal ignored him.
As soon as Cal took a seat by himself, who else but Stojan “The Bloody Bulgarian” Valko walked into the lounge. Cal leaped out of his chair and approached Valko.
“You!” barked Cal, pointing his finger like a dagger at the Bulgarian.
Valko looked up, annoyance stamped on his features, but not really alarmed. “What?”
“You and me are gonna have a little talk…outside.”
By that time Cal was standing right in front of his target, not a foot between them. Valko went to step back but Cal caught him by the front of the shirt. On instinct Valko’s hand came down to grab Cal’s wrist, but the Marine was already moving, his left hand coming around to deliver a vicious hook.
It never connected. Something had stopped his arm. Cal pressed but his arm stayed where it was. He glanced to the left and saw MSgt Trent with his own massive arm wrapped around Cal’s bicep.
“Let him go, Cal,” said Trent.
Everyone else was on their feet.
“Stay out of this, Top,” growled Cal.
“Cal, I think—”
Before Trent could finish, Valko’s free arm whipped around, his fist aimed at Cal’s exposed head. Cal braced for impact, but once again, the blow never landed.
It was Georgi Levski, one of Valko’s guys who’d blocked the punch. Valko seethed, spittle running out of his mouth.
Levski said something to Valko in their native tongue. Valko’s eyes bulged and his face rushed red. There was a brief exchange that no one understood. Cal was still holding Valko’s shirt, Trent still holding Cal’s arm, and everyone else watching.
It was Nikola Popov, the skinny Bulgarian, who said something and put a comforting hand on Valko’s arm. That finally made Valko put his hands up, the Bulgarian looking almost contrite. Cal let go and backed away slowly, still ready.
“You wanna tell us what the hell is going on?” asked Trent, moving so that his massive frame stood between the two combatants. The others had moved closer, ready should the fight continue.
Cal glared at Valko. “You’re out. As of this second you’re gone.”
Valko returned Cal’s stare, looking like he might charge. His two men each had a hand on him, just in case. “What you think you know, eh?”
“You want me to say it here, in front of everybody?”
For some reason Valko’s body relaxed. All of a sudden he looked deflated, like he was giving up. His gaze dropped to the ground. “Say it. They find out soon.”
Cal paused for a moment, waiting. But he wasn’t going to give Valko a pass. “Tell them about your brother, Valko. Your twin brother who’s now a terrorist. Oh, and tell them about how he’s part of a little gang we all know as ISIS.”
There were murmurs from the others. They felt the same way Cal had when he’d been told. Furious. The tide had turned. Every face in the room looked to Valko, demanding an explanation.
“He is right. My brother left Bulgaria years ago and is now part of ISIS,” said Valko, his eyes still averted.
“Do you mind telling us why the hell you didn’t think this was worth mentioning?” asked Cal, ready to be done with the bastard.
Valko nodded. “It is complicated.”
“You were recruited to help us wipe these guys off the face of the Earth. And now you’re telling me that your brother is one of them? How are we supposed to trust you?�
�
Valko’s head snapped up, his eyes burning, the intensity returned. “My brother has brought much dishonor to me and to my country. It is my duty to fix problem. Would you not do the same?”
“I don’t know, Valko. Seems like you’ve been a world class prick ever since you got here, and that was before we knew your brother was a terrorist. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you shipped back to Bulgaria, or worse, locked up for questioning until this operation is over?” Cal had already made up his mind. Valko had to go. Too much of a liability and a liar on top of it. By the looks around the room, no one seemed to be taking Valko’s side, even his own men.
“I give you good reason, Stokes.” Valko paused and looked around the room, taking the time to make eye contact with each man. Then he said, “They call my brother The Master, and he is now caliph of ISIS.”
Chapter 16
Camp Cavalier
Charlottesville, Virginia
7:02pm, August 13th
It was like the air in the room was gone, everyone holding their breath. Shock, plain and simple. Not only was Valko’s twin brother a terrorist, he was also the leader of ISIS? How was that even possible?
Once he could get his mouth to move, Cal asked, “I thought the caliph was Abdu—”
Valko shook his head. “My government send message just now. There is new video with my brother.”
“Wait. You just said new video. You mean this isn’t his first?”
“No. You see video with buckets of blood?”
“That’s your brother?”
Valko nodded, his face still stern, but looking more like a boot lieutenant reporting in to a new unit. Nervous. Reading the vibe of the others.
Everyone in the room had seen the video of the lunatic pouring buckets of blood over himself and the soon-to-be chopped up priest. The damn video turned into a YouTube sensation before someone had had the balls to shut it down.
For the first time in a while, Cal didn’t know what to say. Daniel spoke up for him.
“Why don’t we take a look at the new video and see what Valko’s talking about.”
Cal was still speechless. How had this happened? He knew what he had to do. “Top, take Valko up to my room. Kreyling, I’d like for you and your men to accompany them.”
The Brit nodded, his eyes boring holes into Valko.
“I’ll be up there in a minute. I have a phone call to make,” Cal said, motioning to Daniel, who followed him out.
Cal got lucky. Even though Travis was out, Gen. McMillan was in a meeting with the president when he called. Two birds with one stone. There was shocked silence when Cal dropped the bomb about the Bulgarian’s brother.
“Cal, first let me say I’m sorry. If we’d known—”
“I get it, General. Don’t worry about it. I’ve had a couple minutes to think about it, and I think on some level I understand. Valko’s brother somehow turned into the spawn of Satan and the guy wants to do the deed himself. Hell, if I was in his shoes I’d pull every damn string I could to get the assignment,” said Cal.
“But that doesn’t excuse the Bulgarians for dumping this in our lap,” said the president. “I’m tempted to give their president a call.”
“I’d say we hold off on that, Mr. President,” suggest McMillan. “We’re making some strides with their new leadership and I sure would like to have them on our side if this thing with Russia doesn’t cool off.”
“Okay. So what do you suggest?” asked Zimmer, obviously not pleased.
“Let me handle it,” said Cal. “Maybe this is a blessing in disguise. I mean, who the hell could get us the goods on this guy better than his twin brother?”
“What do you think, General?”
“I think Cal’s right. What we have on the guy is slim. We don’t even have a real name for him other than The Master. The more information we can get the better.”
“Against my better judgment, I’ll go with your recommendation. I’m heading out within the hour, so if you need anything, Cal, please call General McMillan.”
“No problem.”
“And, Cal?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t do anything stupid,” said Zimmer.
Cal laughed. “I’ll try.”
The call ended and Cal looked over at Daniel.
“What do you think?”
Daniel nodded. “You made the right call. Let’s go see what Valko has to say. We can always lock him up if we have to.”
It wasn’t just MSgt Trent and the Brits guarding the Bulgarian in his spacious suite when he arrived. Every other man assigned to the mission was in the main room, facing the large flat screen TV mounted to the wall. Neil was fiddling with a set of wires and a laptop.
Gaucho joined Cal and Daniel when they walked in.
“Any news, boss?”
“Yeah. I’ll tell everyone in a minute. I see you kept the others from coming?” asked Cal, somewhat annoyed at having a crowd in his room.
Gaucho shrugged. “Can you blame them?”
“No.” Cal knew he would’ve done the same thing. Their mission hinged on the information they would hopefully gather from the Bulgarian. They were curious, but also as resentful as Cal about Valko’s blatant omission. The warriors wanted to see what decision Cal would make, like Roman citizens waiting to see the thumbs-up or -down from the emperor. “What’s Neil doing?”
“He found the video. We waited until you got here to play it,” said Gaucho.
The television flickered to life and a still shot of the black and white ISIS flag popped up on the screen.
“Play it,” said Cal, moving to stand behind where Valko sat sandwiched between Trent and Kreyling on the couch.
The video began and the face of The Master, Valko’s twin brother, appeared. Now that Cal looked closer, he could see the resemblance. The similarities were there if you knew that the man in robes and thick beard was related to the gruff Bulgarian sitting in front of the television.
The Master began in his adopted tongue, the translation in yellow letters across the screen. “Today some of our greatest warriors have returned to Allah’s side. In an act of treachery, they were murdered by the infidels of the west, sending them early to bask in Allah’s grace. We pray for their loss, but we stand stronger than before. Our blessed army grows larger by the day. Beware to the infidel who steps in our path.”
The Master paused, his face becoming more solemn. “I have been chosen to lead our cause, in Allah’s name. As the new caliph of the Islamic state, I promise to bring Allah’s will to the world. To the murderers who killed our brothers, I say this — you are no longer safe. We will find you and kill you. To those who think to oppose us, do not. For those who wish to join us, you have only to ask. The caliphate of Islam is made of brothers from around the world. Iraqis, Syrians, Egyptians, we come to Allah’s call. Jordanians, Saudis and Indians coming together. Even our brothers from the West heed Allah’s call.”
The camera zoomed in closer, The Master’s eyes now burning with intensity. “So you see, we are everywhere. Allah’s warriors, waiting and watching. To the infidels, I give one final warning. This battle does not have borders. We come closer each day to striking the heart of your impure world. To my brothers living under the hateful eye of the infidel, I say rise up! You do not need to be with us to be with us. Find others and throw off your chains of bondage. Because if it is Allah’s will, it is Allah’s will.”
The video went back to the image of the ISIS flag.
“So that’s your brother?” asked Cal.
“Yes,” said Valko, his mood unreadable.
“How about you tell us his story. I’d love to know how the brother of an elite Bulgarian operator ended up being the most wanted man on Earth.”
There were nods around the room. Everyone wanted to know.
“Can I have drink first?” asked Valko.
Cal couldn’t see anything wrong with a little liquid courage. Hell, their night op was probably shot
anyway. Who was going to be able to keep their minds on task if the Bulgarian problem was still out there? Cal walked over to his well-stocked bar and poured three fingers of scotch in a rocks glass. He gave it to Valko, who downed it in one gulp, handing the glass back to Cal.
Valko nodded his thanks and began his tale.
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The Master was born Kiril Valko minutes before his identical twin brother, Stojan. Raised in a strict military family, Kiril and Stojan were inseparable from birth. Their childhood was full of adventure as they moved from one military installation to the next. By the time their father made sergeant in the Bulgarian army, Kiril and Stojan were five years old.
Their mother worked in officers’s houses to make ends meet and the two brothers were often left alone. They played war, Kiril insisting on being the shining knight while Stojan took up the mantle of the barbarian horde.
By the time they were ten, the boys saw less and less of their father. Stojan found out later that the elder Valko had been selected for the 68th Special Forces Brigade, something he wasn’t supposed to know. The unit kept him away for months at a time, always unscheduled.
While Stojan tried to emulate everything his father said or did, his brother went for books and immersed himself in schooling. They still played together, but things started to change. They were twins, but they had differing outlooks on what their worlds would become. Stojan wanted to be a soldier while Kiril yearned to be a scholar or maybe even a professor.
The day after the boys turned thirteen there was a phone call for their mother. She was out buying food, so Stojan answered. The man on the other line said it was important to speak to Mrs. Valko right away, that her husband had been hurt.
It turned out that Senior Sergeant Valko (equivalent of a U.S. Army Sergeant First Class) had shattered both legs in an alpine skiing accident. They went to see him in the hospital, but he’d yelled at their mother until she’d ushered the twins away in tears.