The Thin Black Line

by Simon Gervais

  “We can’t wait any longer,” Mike said, taking control. “I’m going in behind the shield. The rest of you, fall in behind me and we’ll move through this building following regular house-clearing protocols. Any questions?”

  There was none. By taking the lead, Mike had grabbed their attention, and they were now ready to follow him.

  “Now!”

  A trooper shot off the hinges with a Remington 870 shotgun and kicked the door open. Mike threw a flash-bang, waited until it exploded, and then followed the trooper in with the shield.

  ―

  Inside the house, Bin Alavi had wet his pants. He had dreamt so often of this moment, the day when he would become a martyr. Of when he would finally emerge from the shadow of his brother, Mohammad Alavi.

  But as he crouched in a corner, clutching his AK-47 in his sweaty hands, he was more afraid than he had ever been in his entire life. Why had his brother left him here with the others when he’d gone for food?

  Bin Alavi had always known that he was the weakest link of the group. It was no secret that his performance at the terror camps had been less than satisfactory. Even though he had tried to convince himself many times that Mohammad had chosen him for this mission for his valor, he knew now that he’d been fooling himself. The most important task his brother had assigned him during this whole mission had been to destroy a paper trail. A boy’s job!

  He had always thought that his brother would keep him out of harm’s way if the mission took a turn for the worse, so he was shocked when Ali Ghassan had told him to take up his position. “Just shoot anyone that comes through that front door.”

  Then the bullets had started flying, and that was when Bin Alavi had wet himself. He was glad that his brother, the great freedom fighter and explosives genius Mohammad Alavi, had not been there to see him. If he had, he would probably have shot his younger brother himself just to save face.

  When the infidels came crashing through the front door, Bin Alavi froze. The last thought that went through his head before he was stunned by a French flash grenade was Shit. The paper trail.

  ―

  When Mike Walton rushed through the front door, he was surprised to see a blubbering insurgent cradling an AK-47 in his arms like a baby. The terrorist, incapacitated by the thundering flash grenade that had just exploded, had no time to react as Mike raised his weapon and shot him through his left eye.

  Mike ordered the men to clear the first floor, which they did quickly. He could hear firing in the street, where several of the GIGN troopers had stayed behind to cover their entrance. Suddenly, the firing stopped. “We’ve downed three out here,” came a voice through his headset. “One from the roof and one from a third-story window.”

  “Understood,” Mike replied. “We’re clearing the first floor, but I don’t know how to access the upper levels.”

  “There must be a staircase around back that connects them all,” came the voice through his earpiece.

  “Roger that,” said Mike. “Send two guys around the back of the building to secure the exit. We’ll try to access the stairwell.” He didn’t want anyone escaping.

  ―

  Karim Irfan was so concentrated on his task that he didn’t notice the arrival of Ghassan coming to ask him if he was done yet. Irfan jumped at the unexpected voice behind him but recuperated quickly.

  “It’s taking longer than I thought,” he said, his fingers still working rapidly. “I need another three or four minutes.”

  “We don’t have three minutes!” shouted Ghassan. “The rest of the brothers are dead. I’ll buy you as much time as I can. Just make sure the bomb is ready!”

  Irfan nodded. Without taking his eyes from his work, he put on his ear protection to block out any further distractions.

  ―

  Mike burst into the back room with four GIGN troopers. Just as he had expected, he was met by a closed door that, once kicked in, allowed access to a staircase that led to the upper floors.

  “No hesitation,” he said, feeling the adrenaline pumping in his veins. “Don’t stop for anyone until the whole building is clear. Follow me!”

  Leading the GIGN operators up the staircase, Mike was met by a locked door on the second-floor landing. Unsure of what to expect, he stepped aside so that the second in line could shoot out the hinges of the door with the shotgun. Mike kicked in the door and lobbed in a flash-bang. Two seconds later the grenade exploded, and the man holding the type III ballistic shield rushed into the room. Mike was right behind him, his MR73 5.25-inch revolver poised in his hands.

  ―

  As Ghassan heard the GIGN troopers storming up the back staircase, he took cover behind the floor-to-ceiling brick pillar that Alavi had made them build for precisely that contingency. As Ghassan silently thanked his absent comrade for his foresight, he prayed that Allah would give him the courage he needed to sacrifice himself with dignity and to go down fighting. He stole a look at Irfan, who was working furiously in front of the Mac computer, lost in his own world of thought.

  “Here they come!” Ghassad yelled, more for his own benefit than Irfan’s. He hoped Irfan needed only a few more seconds to enter the codes into the computer that was linked to the bomb. Once entered, the chain of numbers would initiate an irreversible countdown that would lead to the detonation of the small tactical nuclear device twenty seconds later.

  Hurry up, Irfan. I won’t be able to hold them off for long…

  Ghassad placed his hands over his ears to protect them from the flash grenade he knew would be coming. Then he closed his eyes and opened his mouth to attenuate the impact of the blast.

  Ghassad opened fire when he saw the first GIGN officer appear. Then, aware that the trooper was holding his ballistic shield a fraction too high, Ghassad aimed his second round lower, shattering the attacker’s right tibia.

  ―

  The weight of the ballistic shield caused the shattered right leg of the trooper in front of Mike to collapse, sending him reeling back headfirst down the staircase. Nearly knocked down the stairs himself, Mike never paused but climbed over the downed man, firing his MR73 in the general direction where he thought the threat was coming from.

  As Mike peeled left, the man directly behind him peeled right to secure his corner. That’s when Mike first saw that their target was using a homemade brick wall as fire cover thirty feet away. From behind the pillar, the terrorist opened fire on the GIGN trooper who had peeled right and hit him twice in the groin just beneath his body armor before hiding back behind his man-made cover. As Mike looked for a shot, he saw the GIGN trooper slide slowly down to the ground, his severed arteries leaving a trail of blood down the wall as he collapsed.

  As the final two troopers entering the room attracted the terrorist’s fire, Mike pointed his weapon at his now half-exposed target and pulled the trigger twice. His two rounds entered the right side of the insurgent’s neck just as the troopers were hit in their trauma plate by the insurgent’s last salvo. Exactly six seconds after they had breached the door leading to the staircase, Mike Walton shot at point-blank range one more round into the terrorist’s forehead.

  One of the troopers who had been hit in the body armor was finally able to catch his breath. “What’s that in the corner?” he asked, raising his weapon in the direction of a light source in the farthest corner of the massive room.

  Mike realized that the light was coming from a computer screen and that a person was hunched over a laptop concealed under a dark blanket. What the…? he wondered as he fired the final round of his revolver into the man’s back.

  The computer screen gave just enough light for Mike to see the figure slump and then topple lifelessly to the ground.

  ―

  Less than ten minutes had passed since LeBreton notified Bleriot that his team’s position on Cours Massena had been compromised. Once the firefight was over, Mike had sent one of the tro
opers to get LeBreton. He quickly made his way to Mike’s location on the second floor of the safe house.

  “What the hell…What is this?” LeBreton muttered, commenting on an object beyond the dead body of a terrorist. “It looks like a wired stainless steel garbage can.”

  “That, my friend, is a small nuclear device,” Mike answered calmly.

  The DCRI agent looked at him in pure disbelief. “You sure?”

  Mike checked his Geiger counter again. “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said before pointing toward a red USB cable. “This computer and the device are connected by this wire. My guess is these assholes were trying to slow us down to give themselves enough time to blow us all up.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening in France,” said LeBreton. “I don’t—”

  “Can I make a suggestion?” asked Mike, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “You should order your team to evacuate the neighborhood. This bomb is still hot and dangerous.”

  LeBreton was about to turn around when Mike added, “In the meantime, I’ll stay behind with two other volunteers from GIGN. We’ll be looking for intel.”

  “Shouldn’t you leave as well? You just said this thing could blow up anytime.”

  “I’ll be right behind you,” replied Mike.

  CHAPTER 30

  IMSI Headquarters

  New York

  Director, you better come to the control room. We have alarming news from Mike Walton,” Anna Caprini said.

  Mapother stood up from behind his desk and strode into the “bubble,” where he found Caprini perched over a bunch of documents.

  “Was the raid successful? ”

  “Mike indicated the operation was a success in that they neutralized all of the hostile targets, but that it came at a very high price.”

  “How high?” Mapother asked.

  “He estimated the DCRI lost one man during the mission and that the GIGN lost at least eight.”

  “My God,” exclaimed Mapother, shaking his head. “GIGN is renowned for executing raids like that.”

  “Nobody seems to know what went wrong,” Caprini replied. “For whatever reason, they were rushed into the operation, and they weren’t fully prepared.”

  “My guess is that the bad guys, whoever they were, were somehow expecting them,” said the IMSI director. “I mean, you just don’t take out eight GIGN troopers like that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis. “They’re as tough as they get.”

  Mapother’s mind was racing through the gears. He knew that somewhere in France, somebody’s head was going to roll following the thorough investigation that would surely follow this fuckup.

  “And that’s not the worst of it, sir,” said Caprini. “Mike discovered a small tactical nuke in the house.”

  Mapother was astonished.

  “Fortunately for everyone, the device was not armed yet,” she added.

  Mapother let go of a breath. “If the targets had advance notice that GIGN was coming, don’t you think they would have tried to detonate that damned nuclear device before they arrived?”

  “Maybe they did try, and it failed for some reason,” Caprini suggested.

  Mapother considered this. Suddenly, he returned his attention to his assistant. “You said they neutralized all of the hostile targets. Did Mike and the rest of the GIGN capture anyone alive?”

  “Negative, sir. The number of terrorists killed is uncertain at this time. But Mike reported that one person exited the house before the raid began and hasn’t been accounted for since. He also said some correspondence was seized from the house, but nothing’s in the system yet. I’ll let you know when I receive any updates.”

  “Has this gone public yet?” Mapother asked, pacing the length of the room.

  “No, sir. The French have been able to keep a lid on it, for now at least.”

  “They’ll try to keep it quiet for as long as they can—especially now that the threat is nuclear.”

  “I don’t see any reason for them to go public with that information until they can clearly pinpoint how the device got into their country. It would only cause pandemonium,” Caprini conceded.

  “And, Lord knows, the world can’t handle much more of that,” added Mapother gravely. “Please forward this new information to Jonathan Sanchez. He’ll need every bit of support we can give him.”

  Anna nodded. “What about Mike?”

  “His job is done. I want him out of there,” Mapother replied.

  “I’ll advise Support Six to provide assistance, but he told me he had one more lead to follow.”

  “Damn it. He should know better than that. Did he explain?”

  “No. I have no idea what he’s doing.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Gendarmerie Nationale Headquarters

  XVI District, Paris

  Zima Bernbaum, aka Marise Martin, was sitting in the director general’s office taking notes. She couldn’t believe what was happening today. In the back of her mind, she wondered if the mayhem had anything to do with General Claudel’s mysterious visitor. She had finally received news from Ottawa confirming the validity of their doubts regarding General Claudel. The drives she had pocketed from his residence had been analyzed. They showed correspondence between the general and a man named Abdullah Ahmad Ghazi, an accountant with known links to the Sheik. The name Peter Georges was also mentioned, but no one seemed to know who that guy was. Zima asked herself how CSIS would communicate the newfound information they’d learned about General Claudel. Would he be arrested? If so, when? Maybe they were already too late.

  General Mathias Deniaud slammed the handset of the phone into its cradle.

  “Merde,” he said.

  The general was at the end of his rope, and she couldn’t blame him. He’d held the office of the highest position in the French gendarmerie for less than a month, and today not only had a minister from an allied country been assassinated, but word of new disasters on an unprecedented scale were rolling into the office hourly.

  Deniaud was competent enough, administratively speaking, but he was also known for his tendency to become overwhelmed by anything related to operations in the field. How he’d managed to climb the ladder within the gendarmerie was a mystery. Rumors indicated that he had called in a few favors—namely, his awareness of a previous security leak within the French National Assembly that he’d kept quiet until such time as he could be compensated with a hefty promotion. This time had arrived last month.

  “Marise, if you’re not terribly busy, would you mind putting on some coffee?” General Deniaud asked. “I have a feeling that this long day is going to turn into a long night.”

  Zima sent him her most disarming smile. ”Of course, General,” she responded, pouting her lips slightly.

  “And please contact my deputy, General Claudel, and inform him that I require his presence immediately. He’s probably still at his office. If not, send somebody to pick him up at his residence.”

  “Anything else, sir?”

  “Advise my driver to remain on stand by. I’ll be going to see the minister within the next two hours.”

  “Consider it done, General,” said Zima.

  “Thank you, Marise. You can go home whenever that’s finished. It’s been a long day for everyone.”

  “Very considerate of you, General. Thank you.” She got up and walked out of Deniaud’s office. She would have liked to stay; whatever Deniaud wanted to talk about with Claudel could be important. As she ruffled her hair and reapplied her lipstick, Zima wondered how she could listen in. She should find out what was discussed between the two men.

  A few minutes later, she returned to the director general’s door and knocked softly.

  “Come in,” she heard her boss say through the door.

  “Your coffee, sir,” said Zima.

  “Thank you, Marise,”
replied the general. He was behind his huge desk reading documents.

  As Zima set down the tray on the far corner of the general’s enormous desk, she placed a small but powerful listening device under the lip of the desktop. Her expert hands performed the task in less than two seconds, and she was out of the director general’s office in less than ten.

  Once back at her desk, she contacted General Claudel’s office and Deniaud’s driver, just as she’d said she would. Then Zima turned off her computer screen, put on a light jacket, and exited the French gendarmerie headquarters.

  When she was safely in her vehicle, she reached inside her purse for her personal cell phone. She dialed a local number. “Good evening.”

  “Good evening, Xavier. This is Marise.”

  “Ah, Marise. What can I do for you?”

  “I had a stressful day at the office,” Zima said. Aware that they were on an unsecured line, she chose her words carefully. “I was wondering if you and Étienne would be available for a night out. My treat.”

  “That’s sounds wonderful. Should we meet at your place first?”

  “That would be nice. See you then.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Paris, France

  As Zima Bernbaum got out of her car and stepped into the chilly evening air, her thoughts flew ahead to the discussion she would have with her two colleagues, Xavier Leblanc and Étienne Perrin.

  She knew they were playing a dangerous game, but agents from the CSIS were trained to be fearless. Agents caught in Syria, Iran, Yemen, or similar countries could expect to be executed. That was the nature of the work, and they more or less accepted it as an occupational hazard. But her country’s standing would be damaged if they were to get caught spying on friendly nations—particularly if they were caught spying on their federal police services.