by Conrad Jones
A lone fighter entered the cave, having made his way up the mountain trying to avoid the rock falls created by the Russian bombs. He was wearing Western trousers and a pair of battered Nike training shoes. On his head he wore a loose scarf, which looped, beneath his chin and round his neck, which was known locally as Lungees. A Kalashnikov hung from his right shoulder, and a canvas bag hung from his left. He spotted Yasser in the glow of the fire and carefully stepped over the sleeping Mujahideen fighters to reach him. He opened his canvas bag and handed Yasser a bundle of recent newspapers, which he had purchased at Grozny Airport two days earlier. Yasser nodded his thanks and kissed the man once on each cheek.
“Shukraan, As-Salaam alaykum,” Yasser said greeting the man, thank you, greetings and may peace be with you, was the rough translation.
“Our sisters have reached their destinations, and have all been contacted by our friends abroad,” the man informed Yasser whilst bowing his head to pay homage to his leader.
“You have done well brother,” Yasser replied. He filled a bowl with watery chicken stew, making sure that he found plenty of white meat. He handed the bowl of food to the man. Being handed food by a superior is considered a great honour in the Arab world. The man sat and ate his prize noisily. Yasser scanned the newspapers looking for information from abroad. The Chicago Tribune reported that Yasser Ahmed was spotted in Syria, and was the potential target of the Israeli Special Forces, Mossad, who were allegedly hot on his tail, which made him chuckle to himself. The Israeli special operations division is called the Metsada, and is involved in assassination, paramilitary operations, sabotage and psychological warfare. Reported sightings of himself always amused him, but the piece went on to report the more serious assassination of a legendary Muslim fighter in Damascus. Convicted murderer and terrorist Mohammed Ali Hammadi was a key member of the military wing of the Palestinian political group Hezbollah. He was the ringleader of the hijacking of TWA flight 847 in 1985, during which American diver Robert Stetham was executed and thrown onto the tarmac runway at Beirut Airport, in front of the world’s media . Through the 1980’s, long before the names of Osama bin Laden and al Qaeda were known, Hammadi was the most wanted terrorist on the planet. On 13th February 2008 his car exploded in the Syrian capital, Damascus, killing him instantly. Israeli’s Mossad and America’s CIA were blamed for the assassination. Half the world celebrated the death of a murdering terrorist, whilst the other half mourned the death of a legendary freedom fighter.
Yasser whispered silent prayers for the soul of his dead Mujahideen brother. He also prayed to his God for luck and support, the strength to fight on against the Christians and Jews. Yasser knew that the forces of Israel, Britain, and America would pursue him forever as they had perused Hammadi. There would be no court or court-martials, just the violent death and ensuing peace that a car bomb or bullet brings to its target.
Yasser read on with dismay, an article written from an interview with Sayyed Imam al-Sharif, who was one of al-Qaeda’s most senior theologians. Speaking from his prison cell in Saudi Arabia he was calling for his followers to end their violent Jihad against Christians and Jews. He was quoted as saying that the 9/11 attacks were a catastrophe for all Muslims, and that Osama bin Laden had betrayed the Taliban leader Mullah Omar in Afghanistan. The lapsed Jihadist called for the formation of a special Muslim court to try bin Laden and his deputy Ayman al-Zawahiri for their crimes against Islam. Yasser was aware that the popularity of bin Laden was waning, but he also wandered what tortures Imam al-Sharif had endured in his Saudi prison cell to have such a dramatic change in conviction.
Osama bin Laden and his deputy al-Zawahiri were blamed by many conservative Muslims for the American invasion of Afghanistan, and the defeat of the Taliban. They were also blamed for the insurgency that raged in the north of Pakistan and Kashmir.
On the 26th December 2007 former Pakistani Prime Minister Benazir Bhutto was assassinated in a suicide attack. She had just addressed an election rally in Rawalpindi when an al-Qaeda gunman shot her in the neck, before exploding his suicide bomb, killing himself and 20 of her supporters. Several al-Qaeda web sites claimed responsibility for the murder of what they called, ‘America’s most precious asset’. The pro-Western Bhutto had vowed to rid her beloved Pakistan from Islamic extremists, if she gained power in the upcoming elections. The Islamic struggle was gaining momentum across the globe. Yasser was going to up the ante and make sure that Islam was protected from the Christian, Jewish aggressors.
A two week old copy of the New York Times had front page coverage of the upcoming visit of the new President of the United States of America. Hilary Rice was going to address a women’s conference in Madison Square Garden. Much excitement was attached to the President’s visit, and Yasser smiled. He wandered what the headlines would read the day after her visit. He would enjoy reading them. The schedule they had received from their affiliates in New York was still intact, and the plan was running like clockwork. Yasser remembered the world-wide furore following his ‘Soft Target’ campaign and he knew this new wave would dwarf that in comparison. The current plan was to activate the Disney cell three days before the President visited New York. Hilary Rice had won the Presidency, on a tough on terrorism ticket. Yasser was counting on her stoic response to the imminent bombing, including not changing her schedule. Displaying a stern unaffected exterior to terror attacks weakened their effect, and strengthened the American people’s resolve. Yasser hoped that her bravery would cost her dearly. Everything seemed to be going to plan until he read the headlines of London based newspaper, the Guardian.
Prominent Russian Jewish oil tycoon, Roman Kordinski, was arrested and charged with offences under the terrorism act. The article gave a brief summary of the facts that were released to the press, which did not allude to any kidnap plot. The reasons behind the bombings appeared to be racially motivated, in that they was orchestrated to cause racial violence, between immigrant Muslims and the wider Indigenous British public. The ensuing civil unrest, which included riots, racially motivated vigilante attacks on people and property, were a welcome distraction. The law enforcement agencies were so focused on the bombs and the aftermath that organised crime families were given free rein to operate unchallenged. It was alleged that several huge consignments of drugs were smuggled into the country during the nationwide unrest, which had followed the bombs. The price of heroin and cocaine had dropped to its lowest level for decades, indicating that massive shipments had arrived under the radar, whilst the law enforcement agencies were busy addressing internal issues.
The story was like waving a red flag to a bull. Yasser had Roman Kordinski on his hit list a decade ago, when he was still Moscow’s leading Mafioso. He epitomised everything Yasser was fighting against. Decadence, greed and the exploitation of Islamic nations by Western Christians and Jews were the root cause of his struggle. Since the early Crusaders arrived in Jerusalem they had done nothing but exploit the region for financial gain, controlling trade routes and looting religious treasures. Then came the discovery of oil, God’s gift to the Arabs. Chechnya could never be recognised as an independent country by Russia because of rich oil reserves. Decades of war between the Muslim countries of Iraq and Iran were caused by the oil rich region of southern Iran called Khuzestan. Both regimes claimed sovereignty over the region because of the oil reserves beneath its sand. Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait was fuelled by his desire to capture and control its rich oil fields. Iraq was virtually bankrupt following years of armed struggle with Iran, so Saddam targeted Kuwait as a new income stream. China and Britain’s contributions to the corrupt government of Sudan runs into billions of dollars every year, because it has huge oil reserves beneath its’ deserts. America’s repeated incursions into South America, Grenada and conflict with Venezuela are all oil related. The war for the Falkland Islands between Britain and the Argentine Junta were ultimately because of the potential oil reserves close to its shores. The small islands are situated thousands o
f miles away from Britain in the Southern Atlantic Ocean, yet they still claim sovereignty over them. Would any one bother if they were just volcanic rocks in the middle of an ocean on the other side of the world? Yasser didn’t think that they would.
Roman Kordinski was being held in the English city, Liverpool. Yasser was there before during the ‘Soft Target’ campaign. He lost his sister there, when she was mistakenly shot by British Special Forces. She was wearing a crash helmet and the snipers thought she was Yasser. There was still a score to be settled in Liverpool and Yasser had just the plan to send a little message. If Kordinski was being tried there, then he would be in one place every day for months. His only protection would be British police, who would be concentrating on foiling any escape attempt. There was an ‘Axe’ cell already in Britain, because he had originally planned to target London, using a Chechen Black Widow. His plan had just changed.
The Russian aerial bombing subsided outside, and Yasser knew that it would be followed up with ground troops looking for evidence of successfully killed Mujahideen. The Russian troops would be here in a couple of hours. There was enough time to set a dozen booby traps around the cave areas, and remove all evidence of them ever being used by rebel forces.
“Wake up my Muslim brothers,” Yasser shouted standing up and clapping his hands to rouse his men, “we leave for Kizlyar in an hour.”
Chapter 48
Kizlyar/Tank/ Special Forces
Two dust covered Mujahideen characters approached a road block, which was two-hundred yards away from the hospital facility in Kizlyar. They were wearing local dress, and looked like they had spent weeks in the mountains, unfed and unwashed. They wore Lungees scarves around their heads and tucked them around the neck area. On their heads they had Pakols, a type of turban, and long baggy Chapans, long cotton coats that were covered in dust and dirt. The guard at the road block eyed them suspiciously as they approached. The rebel on the left had black shiny skin, similar to natives of Sudan or North Africa. His teeth were blackened with decay, and he was leaning heavily on an improvised wooden crutch, limping badly. There was a blood stained field dressing wrapped around one foot. The other had slanted eyes and olive skin, indicating that he was of Tajikistan or Far Eastern origin. He carried his companion’s weight on the opposite side of where the crutch was. The guard looked at his face beneath the Lungees and cringed. The man with the slanted eyes wore a patch over one of them. His forehead and cheek were badly burned and blistered, the skin was hanging in flaps, and the injury ran down the neck beneath his clothing. The guard recoiled at the sight of the wound and allowed them to pass through to the hospital.
“Ahlan Wa Sahlan,” said the guard welcoming them. “Keep to the left to avoid the mines.” The road beyond was little more than a dirt track pitted with bomb craters.
“Ahlan Wa Sahlan Beekum,” said the fighter with the eye patch, and the black skinned man just nodded his head in acknowledgment. The cratered road turned to the left through scrubland, which was pitted like the surface of the moon. Shell holes of every conceivable size could be seen stretching into the distance. The hospital facility came into view and it looked starkly out of place in this landscape. It was a modern style two storey building fabricated from a metal framework, which was filled in with breeze block. The roof was long and low with just the slightest slant to it, and made from a corrugated metal sheet design. The left hand side of the building was still under construction. It looked like it was an afterthought.
The injured men hobbled through the entrance into the building. The reception area was chaotic and smelled of disinfectant and vomit. Injured fighters were strewn all over the large entrance hall and staff in once white overalls rushed about prioritising the casualties. There was a wide open area past the reception, which held a modern cafeteria type facility. There looked to be about forty seats there, which were all full of Mujahideen sitting in groups, drinking hot sweet tea and eating luxury items like chocolate bars, and pieces of fruit. Rifles and machineguns were discarded to lean against walls and pieces of furniture. The two new arrivals went unnoticed as they headed to the left, through swinging fire doors, and into the unoccupied sterile corridor beyond. They continued along the corridor quickly. The black skinned man’s limp was suddenly much improved, and the two moved much quicker. At the end of the corridor was a deserted nurse’s station, and behind that was an empty office. The nurse’s station looked like a long reception desk, but there were no telephones or clipboards to be seen anywhere. There was a film of pinkish dust that covered the surfaces, which was in fact sawdust. The part of the hospital they had entered had only recently been built and had never been occupied or utilised. Half seemed to be completed and other sections were still under construction, but there didn’t seem to be any particular pattern to the building progress. They stood in the empty office and crossed to the window. The floor was still just a concrete base and the walls were yet to be plastered.
Grace Farrington put down her fake crutch and removed a small transmitter from her dirty clothing. Chen lifted the eye patch from his face and placed a thin wire antenna to the window ledge. Chen’s blistered scar was a compound called Collodion which is widely used in the film industry to create horrific looking burn injuries. Nightmare on Elm Street’s Freddie Kruger was the result of its stunning effects.
“Pilgrim one, we are in the building,” Grace said into the transmitter, “the hospital has around seventy unexpected guests. There is at least a battalion of Mujahideen in the casualty area.”
“Roger that Pilgrim one,” Tank replied from an armoured Land Rover one mile away, “do you think you can extract the target without being identified Faz?”
“That depends on the condition of our patient when we find her,” Faz replied, “we will progress to stage two and establish coms shortly.”
The two Task Force agents replaced their disguises and headed back into the empty corridor to find Jeannie Kellesh. They had argued black was blue with Tank and Major Stanley Timms about their plan. Faz and Chen were correct when they said that they were the only ones who could walk into the facility undetected, with the help of some special effects. A full frontal attack was out of the question, without endangering the target’s life and losing men. Tank was furious and tried to scupper the plan at every opportunity, but the more he tried the more determined Grace became, and it did make perfect sense. Inserting two of the best special ops agents in the world into the hospital facility to provide reconnaissance, and possibly extract the girl without firing a shot was an opportunity not to be missed. Major Timms noted the over protective response from Tank, and decided that the issue of his alleged personal relationship with Grace must be dealt with following the mission. One of them would have to leave the Terrorist Task Force.
Faz and Chen limped through a series of unfinished corridors that they had studied from stolen plans prior to the incursion, which were provided by MI6. Anything in the former Soviet Union could be purchased for the right price. They reached a door with a round glass porthole fitted to it, and they peered into the corridor beyond. Medical staff buzzed around a modern hospital ward, which was decked out with hi-tech fixtures and fittings. The staff wore clean starched uniforms, which were very different from the employees at the front of the building.
“Pilgrim one, we are in the private sector of the building,” Faz whispered into the coms. “There is no sign of our patient yet.”
“Roger that, Pilgrim one, have you found access to the first floor yet? It should be directly to your left,” Tank replied through their ear pieces. He was following their progress via minute trackers fitted into their shoes and clothing.
Faz nudged Chen toward a stairwell on their left and they limped toward the doorway maintaining their disguise. The doorway had no frame fitted to it yet, and a strip of yellow tape formed a cross to prevent anyone entering. The stairwell on the plans had not been built yet. There was just an open concrete shaft.
“Pilgrim one, there is no
access to the primary stairwell,” Faz whispered into the coms, “it hasn’t been built yet, we need an alternative route Tank.” Her request was answered by static in her ear. The seconds dragged while they waited for a response.