by Ethan Jones
“Needed to be sure I was talking to the right man. Now, what happened to Hamid?”
“Uh . . . Hamid is dead,” Behrooz said in a cold voice.
“Dead? How?”
“Ambush. Government dogs fired on his convoy.”
Justin cursed under his breath. “Were you there when it happened?”
“No, but I heard from his close friend, who survived the battle. He told me about Hamid’s deal with you. I can—”
“Why isn’t his friend calling me?”
“He can’t. He’s gravely wounded.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was saying, Hamid’s friend told me about you needing to cross the border with Iraq. If that’s still the case, I can provide help with that.”
“Guide us into Iraq?”
“Yes, all the way to Dereluk. I know the region very well, and I know the government troops and Turkish dogs’ movements.”
“And rebels’ groups?”
“Those too. And the price remains the same.”
“When will you be available?”
“Right away. We’re not far from the border. We can be at the meeting point in thirty minutes.”
Justin drew in a deep breath. “Let me consider this, and I’ll get back to you.”
“All right, but don’t take too long. We don’t have much time, as the army is moving into the area.”
“You’ll have my reply in five minutes.”
“Good.” Behrooz hung up.
Vale glanced at Justin. “It seems we have a new guide.”
“I’m not sure. I don’t know this guy from a hole in the wall.”
“But he seems to know Hamid, and he knows about us.”
“Yeah, I don’t know if that’s good or bad.” Justin sighed and shook his head. “But if Hamid is really dead, we’ll need a new guide. This Behrooz character—the guy on the phone—might be our next best thing.”
Vale nodded. “What do we do?”
“Check what we can verify.” Justin tapped his phone. “Behrooz said Hamid is dead, and one of his close friends seriously wounded. Let’s see if that’s true.” He scrolled through his phone log. “Dial this number and see what they know about Hamid. This man is his first cousin, and they’re very close.” Justin held the phone up for Vale.
“Got it.” Vale began to dial the number.
“I’ll call another of Hamid’s friends, and then one of my contacts.”
He spent the next couple of minutes on the phone, then he compared notes with Vale. Justin could get in touch with both men, and they verified Behrooz’s story. Some of the details were contradictory, in terms of the number of casualties and the enemy. Hamid’s cousin insisted it was government forces who fired upon and killed Hamid, while Justin’s contact claimed it was a local fighters’ group with ambiguous loyalties. Regardless of who was right, everyone agreed that Hamid was dead.
Justin cursed the situation, then asked Vale, “If it were just you or you were in charge of this op, what would you do?”
“I’d use this guy, Behrooz. He seems to be our best option, now that Hamid is gone. But I’d be extremely wary of Behrooz until he has proven himself. Keep my eyes open at all times.”
Justin nodded. “My exact thoughts. No point in wasting more time to return to our base, only to give this another try tomorrow or in a few days.”
“Yes, and the situation on the ground is getting worse.”
“Yes. I’ll call Behrooz.”
Justin dialed Behrooz’s number and arranged for a new plan. Since both Justin and Vale mistrusted Behrooz, they agreed to meet him at a new location, about a mile further to the west. The hills on that side were even more barren, offering good visuals for Justin and Vale at a considerable distance. Behrooz was to meet them as soon as possible, but no later than thirty minutes, and drive them to Musayri, not Dereluk as originally planned. Justin would compensate him handsomely for the extra distance of about ten miles toward the northwest. If Behrooz encountered any delays, he was to call them right away, and to come escorted by only two other men.
Behrooz objected strongly to the last request, insisting a larger force was necessary in case they ran into hostiles while en route. But Justin would not have it. If Behrooz was as good a guide as he claimed, he would find a way to avoid clashes with any rogue forces operating in the area.
Justin and Vale silently trekked through the night’s blackness to the new rendezvous. They set up two separate positions, atop opposite hillsides over the meandering dirt track, covering three hundred and sixty degrees. They hid behind scarce scraggly shrubs and switched to radio communication while they waited.
And waited.
Justin listened, but could hear nothing but a high-pitched howling. He was not sure if it was a hyena or a jackal or a dog trying to imitate a wild beast. There was no gunfire, which Justin interpreted as a good sign. He finished the last of his coffee, and wondered for a moment if he had made the right decision. He nodded to himself, then focused his entire attention on the dirt track, watching and waiting for their guide.
As a black Toyota truck appeared at the bottom of the valley, Justin held his rifle tighter. He aligned the rifle’s scope with the windshield, but he could not make out the driver’s facial features. The distance and the darkness hid him from Justin’s eyes. But he noticed another man in the front passenger seat and a third in the backseat. Behrooz had kept at least that part of the deal.
The Toyota followed the track’s narrow curves, climbing toward Justin. He kept his eye on the scope, and his finger was gently caressing the trigger guard. “I’ve got three men, but can’t tell who’s who.”
“Same here. Too dark.”
Justin blinked to clear his eyes, then waited until the Toyota had reached the valley’s midpoint. It was the location Justin had given Behrooz. When the truck reached it, the driver stopped the truck, and all three men climbed out, as per Justin’s instructions. Two of them, dressed in black pants and jackets, stayed closer to the truck, while the third began to look around. He was wearing a brown-and-green camouflage pants and jacket and a black headdress. All three men were armed, but held their weapons over their shoulders, in non-threatening positions, again as per Justin’s instructions.
Justin whispered, “Vale, I’m going down. I’ll let you know when it’s clear.”
“Copy that. Got you covered.”
Justin climbed to his knees, then to his feet. He kept his rifle in the low ready position. The strap was around his shoulder, and he had his finger on the trigger. In a split second, Justin could open fire, if that became necessary.
As he approached the Toyota, the men noticed him. The two nearest to the truck swung their weapons down. They were not exactly pointing them at Justin, but they would do so at the first sign of a threat.
The third man cocked his head at Justin, but did not touch his weapon.
“Salam alaikum,” Justin greeted the men. Peace be with you.
“Alaikum wa salam.” Peace to you too. The man replied with a respectful nod. “You are Hall, I suppose?”
“And you are . . .”
The man shook his head. “Just like Americans, Canadians are so suspicious. I’m Behrooz, the man you’re expecting.”
Better alive and suspicious, then trustful and dead, Justin thought. “And what did I tell Behrooz about where he’s taking us?”
The man snorted. “Behrooz is taking you to Musayri. Now, can we go? We don’t have all night.”
Justin nodded. “Vale, it’s clear,” he whispered on his throat mike connected to the radio communication gear.
“Copy that.”
He began to descend the steep hillside, his boots crunching on the coarse sand.
Justin drew closer to Behrooz and extended a hand. “My name’s Justin. Glad to meet you.”
Behrooz’s smirk remained on his full-bearded face. “I’m Behrooz, if you’ve decided to believe that.” His voice dripped with scorn.
“Don’
t take it personally. It’s standard procedure.”
“It’s your standard to mistrust everyone who’s trying to help you?”
“Until proven otherwise.” Justin shrugged. “You said we were in a hurry, so let’s go.”
“Fine.” Behrooz kept his eyes on Vale, who had reached the bottom of the hill. Then he headed toward the truck. “Justin, as you’re my guest, sit with me in the front.”
Justin had intended to take the backseat along with Vale, so they could keep an eye on their guide and his men at all times. But Justin did not want to insult Behrooz even more by refusing his offer. So he said, “Sure, thanks.”
Behrooz did not introduce the two gunmen. Like him, they had full beards and rugged features, with deep wrinkles in their broad foreheads. They looked in good physical shape and did not say anything, but returned Justin’s traditional Muslim greeting. They kept their attentive eyes on Justin and Vale and their moves.
Once they had all climbed in, Behrooz turned the Toyota around. He began the drive down the trail, the truck bouncing over the dips and the rises of the broken terrain. His eyes flitted from the trail to the sides, as he studied every corner, seemingly expecting something or someone to pop out at any time.
Justin said, “What exactly happen to Hamid?”
Behrooz shrugged. “It’s not clear, and I wasn’t with him. But from what I hear, Hamid and his men came across an army squad. See, the government has started to patrol the border, aiming to curb the flow of men and weapons. But, as you can see, it’s not working out very well.” He grinned, with a hint of cockiness in his voice.
“But Hamid wasn’t as lucky, although he was pretty careful. Did he trust the wrong people?”
“No, it seems to be bad luck. He took the wrong turn somewhere and ran into the patrol.”
“So, wrong place, wrong time?”
Behrooz gave Justin a curious glance, trying to determine the meaning of his words. A moment later, Behrooz said, “Yes, very unlucky. But that’s not going to happen to us.”
Justin shrugged, wondering how Behrooz was going to control and influence their luck. “What do you do?”
“I’m a guide and a finder.”
“Finder?”
“Yes, I find things for people. Passports, identity cards, loans. Sometime I find people who have gone missing.”
“I see.”
“Is Musayri your final destination?”
“Why?”
“I can take you to wherever you want in Iraq or Syria.”
“Really? Raqqah?” Justin asked, referring to the ISIS de facto capital and an impregnable stronghold.
Behrooz smirked. “Within reason. And you have no reason to go to Raqqah, right?” His voice clearly expressed his doubts.
“No, not today. And not tomorrow either.”
“So where are you headed?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“I can make plans for—”
“Your services will no longer be needed once we reach Musayri.”
Behrooz nodded but a look of uncertainty remained on his face.
He’s a man used to getting his way, Justin thought. Well, not this time. “What’s the situation in the area?”
Behrooz shrugged. “It depends on who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
“I think it’s only a matter of time before the army overruns the area. The Turkish offensive has almost destroyed the Peshmergas and other rebel groups in the area. ISIS fighters and their supporters have also fled. Well, mostly. They’re bound to return, unless the government moves in, which they’ve started to do.”
Justin nodded. Behrooz’s words confirmed intelligence received from various security agencies. “Foreign operatives in the area?”
“Besides you?” Behrooz grinned.
His two associates chuckled.
“You’re mistaken. We’re journalists working on a cover story for The Times.”
“Right. And that’s your writing instrument?” Behrooz gestured toward Justin’s rifle on his lap.
“What can I say? They were out of pens at the store.”
Behrooz laughed. “You’re funny, Hall.”
“Call me Justin.”
“Okay, Justin. Yes, foreign operatives. Well, there are a couple of ‘journalists,’ which means they’re CIA. And a few Turkish MIT officers, since the Turkish army has held most of the area for a long time.”
Justin nodded. Milli Istihbarat Teskilati, the Turkish intelligence agency—better known as MIT—was known to operate overtly in most of Northern Iraq since the Turkish army began its operation Nineveh Shield. The goal of the wide offensive was to clear the area of Peshmergas—which Turkey had branded as terrorists—and foreign volunteers supporting the Kurdish cause and pushing for a free, independent state. The Turkish president had promised further military action, or “very good surprises for all terrorist groups,” even deeper inside northeast Iraq.
Behrooz continued, “And there’s a dozen or so foreign fighters among the Peshmergas. One can never know if they’re idealists, coming to Iraq for ‘combat tourism,’ or if they’re secret agents.”
“True that.”
The truck came to a large deep pothole right in the middle of the trail. Behrooz drove to the edge, trying to avoid it. The right wheel climbed over the sloping hillside, then slid over the sand.
Behrooz cursed the trail, then jerked the steering wheel. But the left wheel sank into the pothole. The truck rattled and threatened to tip over. Behrooz cursed the truck, then stepped on the gas. The truck roared and jerked forward, trying to climb out of the hole. Behrooz flattened the gas pedal, and the truck bounced out of the hole. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, then looked at Justin. “Those things are deadly, eh?”
“Yeah, don’t want to get stuck or blow a tire,” Justin said.
“We have a spare in the back, but still . . .” Behrooz said.
Vale asked, “We were talking about foreign operatives earlier. Have you seen anyone from SAS?”
“You mean the British Special Air Service?” Behrooz replied.
“Yes.”
Behrooz shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”
“What about them?” Justin asked, indicating the other two gunmen.
“Let me check.”
He asked his associates in Arabic, in a dialect Justin could barely understand. He had learned Arabic during his long stint in Egypt and had been told by more than one native Arab speaker that he had taken on the local dialect’s flavor. And his skin tone and overall appearance allowed him to blend in naturally among the population of the region.
One of Behrooz’s associates shook his head, while the other hammered out a long string of words.
“No,” Behrooz said. “No SAS agents.”
Justin cocked his head toward Behrooz. “All those words mean ‘no’?”
“In essence.”
“All right. What about Mossad?” Justin asked.
“Zionist pigs,” Behrooz spat out the words. “They wouldn’t dare tread on our land.”
His associates shouted expletives Justin could understand despite the different dialect. He refrained from pointing out the obvious, that the Israeli foreign intelligence service was far from inactive in Iraq and Syria. Quite the contrary; Mossad was suspected to be behind the recent assassinations of a few high-level rebel commanders in northern Iraq. The men were suspected of ties to Iran and Hezbollah, a terrorist organization that Israel considered one of its archenemies.
“How about Russians?” Vale asked. “Have you seen army intelligence operatives?”
Behrooz opened his mouth, but then he seemed to think about his reply. He shrugged, then said, “I may have, but I’m not certain. My memory fails me.”
Justin sensed something in Behrooz’s uneven voice. Its tone simmered with a certain amount of greed, quite subtle, but sufficient for Justin to notice it. “Try to remember. It’s important, and it will be worth your time.�
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Behrooz nodded. “I’ll have to check with a couple of people. Make some calls.”
“Go ahead,” Justin said.
“What, now?” Behrooz shook his head. “It will have to wait until we’re in Musayri. Then I’ll let you know, before we part ways, of course, after I receive my payment.” He stressed the last word more than necessary.
“But of course.”
They exchanged only a few words over the next fifteen minutes. The landscape changed little—swaths of semi-desert punctuated by the occasional scraggly shrub or tree—but it seemed to be getting flatter. Once in a while, they came to abandoned cinderblock sheds or scorched vehicles. Behrooz navigated without headlights, allowing only for the moonlight to guide them. The truck’s engine made its constant rumble as Behrooz drove at a steady slow speed. The noise could be heard only a few dozen yards away.
When they came to a place where the trail forked in two directions, Justin glanced at his phone. He had pulled up a GPS-enabled map and was following their advance. The map indicated they had crossed into Iraq about two miles back, although Behrooz had not mentioned it. There were no markers or any other landmarks. I hope he did notice it, but thought it wasn’t a big deal to point it out.
“We’re going left,” Behrooz said and steered the truck in that direction, the path snaking between a couple of steep hills.
“Wait. Musayri is to the west, so we need to go right,” Justin said.
“Yes, if we were heading straight to Musayri. But we’ve been warned about army movements on the road to Musayri. So we’re going around.”
“Warned?”
“Yes, we were warned by friends, just a couple of hours ago. It’s going to take a bit longer, but we’ll get there safely. Trust me.”
Justin frowned. His teeth clenched almost involuntarily. Every time he heard someone say “trust me,” something in the pit of his stomach began to sizzle, alerting him. At the back of his mind, the word woke up his survival instincts. His hand tightened the grip around the rifle, and he peered through the windshield, then the side window. Justin noticed nothing suspicious, but that did not make him feel calmer. “Are you sure this is the safest path?”
Before Behrooz could answer, a bullet slammed against the front of the truck.