by J Randall
They were joyous at repossessing the medallion and anxious to leave.
Sabah took a step toward the driver, intending to drag him into the factory first.
The driver’s misgivings about what the bearded stranger with the piercing eyes might be going to do caused him to look to the Imam for help.
Seeing the man he feared above all things, except for Allah, bound and helpless against the wall, the driver kicked out with his loosely tied leg and struck a stinging blow to Sabah’s thigh.
The pain was bearable, but the powerful kick caught Sabah off balance and knocked him back onto his buttocks.
“Finish him,” yelled the Imam, “finish him!”
Encouraged by the Imam, the driver pushed his back against the factory wall until he was able to ratchet upright into a standing position.
He took a step forward and lifted his leg for another strike, but Sabah sprang to his feet.
A pistol had materialized in his hand and he slammed its barrel against the driver’s head, knocking him to the ground senseless.
Sabah grabbed the driver’s feet and with little regard to the man’s pain or further injury dragged him forcibly into the building.
The Imam, who had been bound tightly, could do little more than squirm before he too was dragged into the building and dumped next to the unconscious driver.
Sabah closed the factory door and took the cell phone from his pocket. When he pushed the redial key, the last number called began ringing.
“Yes,” Mustafa Wazir answered.
“Do you want to see your imam alive?” Sabah asked matter-of-factly.
The answering voice sounded alarmed. “Who are you?”
“Who I am is not important. I have the imam and his driver. I’ll ask you just one more time—do you want to see him alive?”
“…Yes…What do you want?”
“I want the canisters. All of them.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the factory where your imam came to collect his prize, William Holden. You will come alone. If I see anyone with you or suspect you’re setting a trap, I will kill him. If you do as I say I’ll let him live and…allow him to collect his prize.”
Sabah glanced at the bound inspector collapsed against the far wall. “Do we have an agreement?”
“…Yes. I will bring the canisters.”
“How soon can you be here?”
“…I can be there in…forty-five minutes.”
“I expect to see you in thirty.” Sabah abruptly disconnected the call.
Squatting next to the cleric and indicating the prone inspector twenty feet away, he asked, “Did you use the agent on him?”
Sabah didn’t get an answer, but he had known the answer when he saw the cleric come out of the building wearing the gas mask.
The inspector had been stunned when the cleric sprayed the agent into his face, but revived almost immediately. He had heard the cleric move away and had opened his eyes, which he had clamped tight before the cleric pressed the valve. He watched as the cleric was seized at the door of the building. He thought he recognized the Israeli, but couldn’t follow what was happening.
The ropes around his arms and legs weren’t tied securely, but were wrapped surprisingly loosely. He had been tempted to get up, but decided to remain against the wall listening to the confrontation through the open door.
When Bill heard Sabah dismiss the cousins, he saw what was coming. And he wasn’t surprised when he was offered as a bonus in the exchange.
He felt confident that Sabah wouldn’t approach him while the remnants of the agent still hung in the air. Bill remained quiet and waited for the arrival of another cleric with the canisters.
He considered his options. They looked bleak.
* * *
When Sabah heard the sound of a vehicle approaching, he rushed to the dirty window and saw a car that seemed to have a single occupant. When it stopped near the building, Sabah pulled out his pistol and manhandled the cleric into a standing position.
He opened the door and stepped out with the cleric in front and the pistol pressed against his head.
“Did you bring them?”
“I have them here.” Mustafa removed a bag from the car.
“ All of them?”
“Yes, all that remain. We used some.”
“Set the bag down and step back!”
With the Imam between himself and the younger man, he took small steps toward the bag, keeping the pistol aimed at the Imam’s back and his eyes on Mustafa.
Sabah reached down, picked up the bag with his free hand and slid its strap over his shoulder. He took a quick look at the canisters inside then added the one he had taken from the cleric.
“You’ve kept your side of the bargain and now I’ll keep mine. You can have your cleric and William Holden. He’s in the building…though I don’t think he will be much use to you.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that, Sabah…If that’s your real name.”
Sabah heard the voice behind him and jerked around, amazed to see Bill standing in the factory doorway.
“Bill, you’re okay? I thought—”
“You thought the cleric had used the nerve agent on me…You were willing to trade me for the canisters.”
Bill raised a hand to stay Sabah. “Humor me for a moment.”
Sabah waited silently for Bill to continue.
“How did you find out that I’d be here?”
Sabah answered in the controlled manner and voice that he had cultivated working as an agent for the Mossad. “One of the cleric’s men is a member of our tribe. A few days after the cleric called his watchers off your compound, he put them onto watching most of the places you might go to inspect. Abdullah—that’s our tribe member—actually organized the watchers. If you were spotted, they were to subdue you and notify the mosque. We asked Abdullah to follow you so he’d be the one to detain you if the opportunity presented itself…We asked him not to hit you hard or tie you up too tight.”
Sabah saw that Bill wasn’t satisfied. “Abdullah called us before he notified the mosque.”
Bill took a step toward Sabah. “The tribe has the medallion and you have the nerve agent. Do you think I’m going quietly?”
Sabah raised the pistol. “There’s nothing you can do, Bill.”
Bill watched the scene that now played out as if viewing a slow motion movie.
He saw the Israeli lift his arm—and the weapon in his hand—and he expected his own life to end.
But a fine red mist exploded from Sabah’s head and Sabah’s body was propelled forward.
A split second later, Bill heard not the sound of a shot, but a loud pop, then saw both clerics fall to the ground.
He dropped to the ground beside Sabah, frantically searching for the shooter. He expected to be hit with the next bullet fired.
Squinting at the face of the Israeli, Bill didn’t recognize him as the man he had just been talking with. The silent bullet had exited the Israeli’s face and ripped it away.
Bill glanced at the two clerics, but saw no blood flowing from their robes.
Bill stood up and stepped to the clerics’ bodies. He knew that if he had been a target he would already be dead.
He rolled the clerics over and tried to find the wounds that had dropped them, but didn’t see anything.
He removed the bag of canisters from the dead Israeli and found what appeared to be a hole in the cloth. He guessed that the bullet that killed the Israeli had fragmented on impact. He peered into the bag and spotted the destroyed canister.
To the listless bodies of the two clerics he intoned, “Allah be merciful.”
He put the two clerics in one of the cars they had come in then remembered the driver tied up in the factory. He was tempted to let him leave with the two clerics, but knew it would perpetuate a cycle of violence against the inspectors.
He took a canister from the bag and entered the building. Reciting part of a verse from the Bible, he sprayed
the hapless driver. “An eye for an eye.”
He checked the interior of the factory before he gathered up the driver and draped him over a shoulder. He carried the inert man outside and propped him in the car with the clerics.
Bill was lifting the body of the Israeli into the other car when he discerned the hulking frame of a man wearing a desert camouflage uniform lumbering in his direction.
There was something about the way he walked…“Robert, what are you doing here?”
“Covering your ass, Bill. Are you okay?”
Bill looked into Bob’s eyes for half a minute. “How did you know they would be here?”
“I didn’t. Last night I was talking to Chuck and he told me you had a problem yesterday. I guess he sort of let it slip about the places you were gonna visit.”
Bob hesitated. “It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. I left the compound before you and I been waiting for you to arrive. If everything was quiet, I was going to the next place and wait. I got a little nervous when the guy hit you with the shovel and you didn’t come out of the building, but it was too late to do anything. After all those other guys showed up I was really getting jumpy. When they grabbed the cleric I began to breathe a little easier. Seeing him come out with the gas mask I figured he must have sprayed you.”
“Robert, I owe you big time.”
“You don’t owe me anything. That sorry son of a bitch was gonna shoot you.”
“Where did you park?”
Bob grimaced and shook his head. “I’m afraid I owe someone some money. I went to get my jeep, but someone must’ve stole it.”
“Actually, I guess that solves one of our problems.”
Bill toward the cars the clerics had come in. “We need to get rid of those and I guess we’ll have to do it one at a time. Put your gear in the Toyota—you can use it to follow me.”
CHAPTER 62: RETURN TO NEW YORK
THE INSPECTORS abandoned one of the clerics’ cars in the suburbs of Baghdad miles from the weapons factory and pushed the second into the Tigris before returning to the BMVC compound.
Bob mumbled something about being hungry but agreed to shower and change clothes before meeting Bill in the canteen.
Bill showered and changed before going to the communications center and making his first call.
“Sir, William Holden here.”
“William, good to hear from you. How’s everything in Baghdad?”
“I believe I’m ready for the leave you offered me the last time I was in New York. Loose ends were tied up today and I have the gift you wanted me to pick up. Sixteen of them.”
“If I send transportation, can you be ready by tomorrow?”
“I’m ready to leave tonight, but I can wait until tomorrow.”
“Was it bad?”
“Bad enough. I’ll explain when I get to New York. I’m bringing one of my inspectors with me—I owe him my life and the UN owes him a debt of gratitude.”
“That’s fine, William. I’ll see you when you arrive.”
“Good-bye, sir.”
“Good-bye, William, and thank you.”
Bill dialed the second number, not sure whether it would be answered.
“Hello,” a voice answered in Arabic.
“Medhat?”
“No—Hilal. Is that you, Bill?”
“Yes, Hilal. I didn’t know whether I could still reach this number.”
“Medhat is headed back to Saudi Arabia but he left the phone in case you called…We were very lucky today. Lucky you didn’t spot Abdullah following you and you didn’t go to a place where one of the cleric’s people was keeping watch. Abdullah told me if I talked to you to apologize for hitting you with the shovel.”
“If you see him, Hilal, tell him apology accepted.”
“Did Sabah give you the cleric?”
“Sabah played his part, though it didn’t turn out as he expected.”
“Is he gone?”
“I’m afraid you won’t see him again,” said Bill, picturing the watery grave into which he had pushed one of the cars.
“I for one won’t miss him…I want you to remember that we appreciate everything you did. The tribe owes you a great debt. The story of the medallion’s return will be recited in houses and around campfires for many years. Every member of the tribe will praise your name and deeds.”
Bill was surprised and couldn’t reply.
“What will you do now?”
“I’m returning to New York tomorrow.”
“Will you come back to Iraq?”
“To be honest with you, I’m not sure.”
“Thank you, Bill. Remember what I said, if you ever need our help.”
“I will, Hilal, and thank you.”
“One more thing. Remember the book you asked Medhat to translate when we met at my house?”
“Of course.”
“The writing in the book was the inscription on the medallion.”
“A prophecy?”
“No, I don’t think so. It was inscribed as instructions for Muhammad’s followers who were to remain in Mecca while he made the Hegira. But all of his faithful followed him to Medina, so it was never used. Fatima, Muhammad’s daughter, gave it to my tribe for helping him escape.”
“Hilal, that’s an amazing story!”
And it reminded Bill of something he wanted to ask.
“Hilal, do you know who...Al Mahdi is?”
Hilal hesitated, not expecting this question. “Our Islamic faith tells us he is the twelfth Imam in the succession from the Holy Prophet Muhammad, literally ‘the Guided One.’ It is said that when the believers are oppressed in every corner of the world Al Mahdi will return. He will fight the oppressors, unite the Muslims and bring peace and justice to the world under Islam.”
Bill made his last call using the cell phone he had taken from Sabah.
He spoke in Arabic, telling the man who answered where he could collect the missing clerics. Then he disconnected the call without answering any questions.
He met Bob in the canteen and they ate quietly, neither man speaking until they finished.
“Robert, tomorrow we’re going to New York.”
“What for?”
“I talked to Mr. Bittermann a little while ago and he insisted that we take a couple of weeks off, on the UN.”
“New York’s gonna cost a lot—I don’t know if I can afford it.”
“Robert, not to worry. The guestrooms are great—I stayed in one the last time I was there. And the canteen has a menu you can select from—all you can eat and the UN picks up the tab. They’ll give us a car and driver to take us around. You might even get a chance to visit some of the museums.”
Bob’s eyes lit up. “Really? And the UN’s picking up the tab?”
Bill nodded. “Mr. Bittermann told me not more than twenty minutes ago.”
“I better go pack my bag. Are we taking the M-40A1 back?”
“I’m afraid so. The boys at Langley expect it.”
Bob frowned. “Okay. I’ll clean it tonight. See you at breakfast.”
“Okay, Robert, see you at breakfast.”
* * *
Gloria felt the vibration of her satellite phone. “Hello…yes. Did everything turn out okay?…I’m glad. Thanks for the update.”
She sat down and lit a cigarette. She was already feeling the emotional low of completing a mission.
Tomorrow morning she would return to the hotel, check out and catch a bus to Amman, where she would arrange flights to New York.
She thought about Bill Holden and what he had done to secure the agent.
Before she went to bed she called Walter Terrance and briefed him.
She hoped that she and Bill would meet again soon.
CHAPTER 63: NEWS AT THE INSTITUTE
“HEARD ANYTHING FROM SABAH?” the Chief of the Collections Department asked Armin.
“No…He was a good man—I don’t believe we will be hearing from him.”
The Chief of Collections sighed and nodded his bald pate in resignation. “And our contact in the mosque?”
“I’ve received a written message. The mosque got an anonymous call and was told where the imam and a couple of other people could be picked up. When the mosque saw them, they realized that the three men had been sprayed with the nerve agent.”
The Chief of Collections swallowed. “And…did the contact learn what happened to the canisters?”
Armin adjusted his tan eye patch. “He said that a young cleric had taken all of them when he left the mosque to go to the imam, but they weren’t in the car where they found the three men.”
“Are we going to pull our man out of Baghdad?”
“I asked him if he was ready to come home. He said he could do more for our cause in Baghdad than in Israel.”
“I suppose that’s true, but I’m still amazed at the accuracy of the intelligence he gives us, especially with him being deaf.”
Armin smiled. “He reads lips.”
CHAPTER 64: BRIGHT LIGHTS/BIG CITY
AT ELEVEN THE NEXT MORNING the Bombardier Learjet Gulfstream was met at La Guardia by a team from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention who were trained in handling chemical and biological agents.
The sixteen canisters, including the damaged one, were collected and secured in a Level 4 container for shipment to Atlanta.
Bill and Bob were driven by stretch limousine to United Nations headquarters in Manhattan.
* * *
The Executive Chairman shook Bill’s hand when he entered the office.
“William, you can’t imagine how happy I am to see you!” Bittermann pointed to a cloth-covered settee and they sat down.
“Thank you, sir.”
“The canisters are on their way to Atlanta as we speak. I was a little surprised that there were only sixteen, including the one from your encounter in the cave. Add that to the nine in Turkey and the two from the Mossad, and that’s barely over half of what was reported missing.”
“That was all they had at the mosque. I’m sure that if they had more they would have gladly traded them for their imam.”
“They wanted him that badly?”
“Yes, sir.”
Bill recounted Robert Tilden’s part in the operation and explained what he wanted to have happen for the man who had saved his life.