Asset Seven

by James E Mack

  The honesty of the delivery and the instructor’s pedigree had struck a chord with Vic and he’d had cause to remember that one small vignette several times through the years as he’d found himself in sticky situations.

  Like this one.

  30

  ZAGROS MOUNTAINS IRAN

  Karim landed beside the boy and thrust his hands out as Affan raised the gun in reflex, disarming the youth and sending the pistol spinning onto the ground, clattering over the rocks. The boy’s wild eyes and look of terror changed to almost comical relief and he lunged at Karim, throwing his arms around him and holding him tight. Karim hugged the boy back hard, surprising himself with the depth of his own emotions. After several moments he released his hold and gently pushed Affan away from him. Even in the darkness, the whites of the boy’s eyes were prominent, and Karim ruffled his hair.

  ‘I told you I’d be back, Affan. I would never leave you little Palang. Never.’

  The boy nodded and wiped his eyes with his sleeve as Karim leaned forward and picked up the pistol from the ground and jammed it back into his thigh holster. He stood and made his way to his pack which he shrugged into before picking up his carbine and looking back at Affan.

  ‘Let’s go. There are too many people on this mountain for us to stay still. Keep close Affan.’

  With that, he led the way, carbine on aim as he picked a route across the treacherous, snow-covered rocks. His mind returned to the men he had just shot. Russians. Clearly General Shir-Del was taking no chances in his efforts to capture Karim. But it added another layer of risk and complexity to an already difficult situation for Karim. How many Russians are there? What technology are they using? More importantly, other than the two he had shot, where are the rest? His brain raced as he tried to consolidate his thoughts. The original plan was as good as dead. Between the Americans, the Russians and the Quds’ operatives, the mountain was turning into a chaotic battleground, compounded by the snow and darkness. Karim knew his only choice was to keep moving east towards the border and hope that he could somehow slip through the lines of those hunting him. He had no doubt that they would have positioned a blocking force of some kind ahead of him, but he would deal with that problem when he came to it. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder and felt a paternal pride as he saw Affan walking fast, determined to keep up with him. The pride changed to concern when he reminded himself of the dire situation that they found themselves in, the thought of anything happening to the boy filling him with anger. He shook his head and focused on the area in front of him, scanning for any movement, knowing that they only stood a chance if, as he had done with the Russians, Karim was able to kill them first.

  He thought about the information he was carrying, concealed in small thumb-drives in the toughened case secured in the inside pocket of his jacket. When he’d initially discovered he could access the files on the computers at Camp Palang, he knew he had to get the information to Vic. Knew that the lives that would be saved would be worth the danger and risk he would be under. But it hadn’t been as easy as he thought. All the files were read-only and each time they were opened, a record was logged of who had accessed them, at what time and for how long. Also, there were no ports for external devices to be inserted where the files could be copied. He’d initially considered doing it the old-fashioned way, with a notebook and pencil but this would have been time-consuming. He’d then had the idea to film the files, record the screen in front of him as he read the contents. Using a small camera, he’d done just that, accessing the files only now and then and recording the contents to the hard drive of his camera. He downloaded this content onto the thumb-drives that he stored at his exfiltration cache. To cover his tracks, he wrote exercise scenarios based around the information he had read on the files, a plausible cover story for his activities should anybody question him. But no one had.

  And here he was, dragging a boy across a mountain, pursued by Iranians and Russians as he tried to make it to the safety of his American Handler. A situation he’d never imagined in his life that he would find himself in. And should never have found himself in. But when a CIA officer had slipped him a slim file across the table of a Beirut café, Karim’s life had changed forever. The information in the file providing him with the only motivation he’d needed to turn on his masters and join forces with his country’s most hated enemy. He’d had no doubt that the information was true. Yes, the files could have been doctored, manipulated and designed to be authentic but Karim had known just by reading them that they were real. The timeframe, details and wording convincing in their authenticity. And the CIA hadn’t needed to go to any great lengths to snare Karim; they had him cornered the moment he sat down in that café in Rue Hamra. They’d known that he was either going to work for them or disappear into one of their Black Sites around the globe for a lengthy interrogation. But the information had been enough. The initial spark of anger within him soon a blaze of rage and fury that fueled his prime motivation for turning:

  Revenge.

  After a lifetime of believing his parents had died in a terrible accident, Karim had learned the vile truth from the contents of a slim folder given to him by a CIA officer in a café in Beirut. That the accident had been a state-sponsored cover-up to hide the massacre of dozens of civilians by a team of Quds Force convinced they had discovered an Israeli spy. That when their ‘spy’ had gone to ground in the factory, the workers had protested the local man’s innocence and refused to give him up. Locked and barricaded the doors to prevent the Quds from getting their man. The decision had been made to kill everyone inside, take no chances that the ‘spy’ had accomplices that the Quds were unaware of. Kill all the rats while they were trapped in one location. According to the file, the Quds had intended using the massacre as an example to other, unpatriotic individuals of the consequences they could expect. But Tehran had balked at this; the murder of over seventy people based on little more than a suspicion, too harsh even for their appetites. The possibility that such a massacre could actually encourage rebellion rather than quell it fueling the necessity to cover the atrocity up with a banal story about a tragic accident where all lives were lost. Witnesses to the incident were arrested and killed to deter the threat of the real story spreading. And it had worked. Karim and, he assumed, the other living relatives of those killed in the factory completely believing the glorious Republic’s version of events.

  A strong gust of wind buffeted him and brought his attention back into the present. He had to keep moving, make fast progress east in the hope that the General and his hunters would drop the pursuit at the border. Unlikely, he knew but even slim hope was better than none. Karim’s thoughts turned to Vic and what the CIA officer would be doing to help Karim’s exfiltration. The possibility that Vic was already dead entered his head and he began exploring his options if this turned out to be the case. Karim would have to make it into Iraq and then find a way of connecting with US Forces in the country in order to get his information into the right hands. He couldn’t trust the Iraqis, knew from experience the networks and support that Iran had established at every level of that country’s infrastructure. But all that would come later; he and the boy needed to make it off the mountain and into Iraq before anything he’d thought about became even a remote possibility.

  A quick glance over his shoulder satisfied him that Affan was keeping up and again, a respect for the boy’s tenacity and endurance sent a wave of affection coursing through Karim. And with it a renewed determination to keep the boy safe and the only way he could do that was to get him into Iraq where the attributes he admired most about the orphan would stand him in good stead. Give him the chances he would never have in Iran. As his head swam with contingencies and back-up plans to ensure their survival, Karim realized that he needed to know one way or another if he had any support left on the mountain or if he and Affan were alone. Looking ahead, he spotted a cluster of rocks and made his way towards them, making sure the boy followed.

  Kar
im knelt and removed his backpack, pulling a small mobile telephone from one of the pouches. He pressed the power button and looked around as the device booted up, remembering how close he had been able to get to the Russians and wary that his adversaries may pull the same trick. Looking back at the phone he stabbed at a series of keys and watched as the satellite connections came online and the call was initiated. He put the phone to his ear and listened to the dial tone repeating over and over. After some time, he sighed and was about to terminate the call when an American voice punched through the cloud of static and made him smile with its remark.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re still alive.’

  31

  ZAGROS MOUNTAINS, IRAN

  General Zana Shir-Del raised his face to the swirling snow, opened his mouth wide and screamed to the skies beyond the darkness. Rage, grief and frustration in equal parts fueled his bellow as it echoed around the rocks that he and his remaining operatives were taking shelter amongst. As he lowered his head to the cold rock face, he surrendered to the dejection that flooded him. Eight. He was now down to eight men. Eight survivors from a force of twenty-five. Seventeen of his Palang trainees and staff now seriously wounded or cold corpses on the slopes of the freezing mountains. He’d severely underestimated the traitor Ardavan, had not been prepared for the astonishing attrition the former Quds operative had been able to inflict upon Zana’s forces. And with the help of the Americans, the traitor was as good as gone. They’d succeeded in pinning Zana and the survivors to the side of the mountain, the Quds’ operatives in panic and disarray as grenades exploded among them and they tried to determine what was happening and who had been hurt or killed. By the time Zana had taken charge and all troops were accounted for, even he was stunned by their losses. And shocked at the brazen way some of his best men’s throats had been slit as if they were nothing more than halal goats and left to freeze on the cursed mountain. He’d ordered that the dead remain where they fell, unwilling to risk the sacrifice of any more of his men to booby-trapped bodies or watchful Americans monitoring the corpses through the scope of a sniper rifle. Having led his small band of numbed survivors to the shelter of the rock formation, the full impact of their loss had been immediately apparent in their lack of numbers.

  His self-pity was interrupted by an insistent tapping on his shoulder and Zana looked up to see the signaler trying to get his attention. He took in the younger soldier’s countenance of exhaustion and shock before asking him what he wanted. The signaler cleared his throat and indicated with his hand to the glowing screen of the device he was holding.

  ‘It’s one of the mice, General. Very strong signal showing two people, moving initially but now static almost on top of the sensor.’

  ‘Show me.’

  The signaler turned the screen so that Zana could see the display. As he watched, the younger man interpreted the diagrams and symbols on the screen, explaining and emphasizing the relevance of the message.

  ‘They are only twenty meters over there sir, and still in the same position.’

  General Shir-Del looked in the direction the signaler had indicated, willing his eyes to pierce beyond the veil of driving snow and darkness. His apathy receded as a cold hatred took hold, clearing his mind and allowing him to focus. Two people. Could it be the traitor Ardavan and his companion or was it more likely to be the Americans? He wasted no more time on the question, the answer being of no significance to his decision. Americans or Ardavan, he was going to kill them. The blood of his brave Quds operatives would not be the only drink that the mountain took from him this night. Turning to the band of huddled forms sheltering among the rocks, he stepped closer and barked at the dejected group.

  ‘Stand up straight and listen to me. We have underestimated our opponents and we have paid dearly. We have lost our brave, loyal colleagues to the traitor Ardavan and the American whores who came to claim him.’ He thrust his arm out and pointed into the darkness. ‘But only twenty meters away and hiding among the rocks just as you are, two of our enemy believe themselves safe. Believe that we are done, defeated, running away from them even as our comrades’ bodies freeze on the earth around us.’ He paused and leaned in, making eye contact with each individual. ‘But we are not done. We are not defeated, and we are not running away. We are going to make our way over to those rocks and kill whoever is there, Ardavan or Americans, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that whoever is there killed our comrades in cold blood, and I will not leave this mountain alive while the opportunity exists to avenge them. I would rather die with honor, avenging our brave warriors, than live with the worm of shame in my heart for the rest of my life if we don’t do this. And I know each and every one of you feels the same way.’

  There was silence as the men stared back at him but he could see his words had got through to most of them; their backs a little straighter, their eyes meeting his where moments before they would be lowered and focused on their feet, chests pushed out a little farther. He gave them no time to reconsider or re-evaluate.

  ‘Let’s go. One line, close together, each man only an arm apart. We walk till we meet them then we start shooting and we don’t stop until these snakes are dead. Follow me.’

  With that, he grabbed the signaler and raised his eyebrows in query. It took a brief second for the younger man to understand the General’s meaning but then he got it, checked his screen one more time and nodded at his superior officer.

  ‘They are still there. Same place and direction.’

  Around Zana, the remainder of his diminished force closed up and formed a line, staring into the darkness, awaiting the final word from their leader. Zana nodded to himself, shouldered the stock of the carbine into his shoulder and stepped forward.

  ‘With me.’

  His men either side of him, Zana strode in the direction the signaler had indicated, the visibility limited to a mere body-length before them. He knew they could literally stumble upon their quarry but also knew that he had the upper hand; he knew where his quarry was, but the quarry didn’t know where Zana and his men were. A touch on his elbow brought his attention back to the signaler who indicated with his hand a slight change of direction and then held up his fist before spreading the fingers out twice for the General’s benefit. Zana understood: ten meters. He felt his adrenalin surge with each step and could now make out the rock formation in front of him as he brought the carbine up on aim, bent his knees slightly and continued forward. The rocks curved naturally downhill and Zana followed this contour around one of the larger boulders and was just about to glance over his shoulder to check on the progress of his men when a body loomed out of the darkness immediately in front of him. The fraction of a second that it took to overcome his startle response was quicker than that of the other man, and Zana squeezed the trigger and felt the recoil in his shoulder as the rounds left the carbine and tore into the unidentified individual in front of him, propelling the body back into the darkness and out of sight.

  32

  ZAGROS MOUNTAINS, IRAN

  With one arm, Karim half-dragged, half-leaned on the boy. He choked and sputtered before spitting a thick stream of blood out of his mouth and onto the rocks beneath him. A ricochet on a rock face sent splinters of stone into his cheek and he recoiled from the stinging sensation, too high on adrenaline to fully register the pain. Their pursuers were close, so close he could identify individual voices as they closed on him and the boy. Only the darkness and falling snow stopped the hunters from seeing where their quarry was running. His breathing was becoming more ragged; wet, heavy rasps as his oxygen-depleted body struggled to balance intake with requirement. They were in deep trouble. He was badly wounded and knew he wouldn’t see the hour out, had seen enough men with similar wounds over the years to diagnose his own without false hope or pity. Had he been alone he would have turned and faced his pursuers, taken as many of them with him as he could. But he wasn’t alone. He was with the boy.

  As they careened over rocks and skidded on
ice, Karim risked a glance at the orphan. Affan’s face was the very definition of terror; wax-white even in the poor light, eyes wide and the mouth a yawning rictus sucking in as much air as he could to feed his exhausted muscles. They couldn’t sustain this for more than a few minutes and Karim knew this was nowhere near enough. He reached into one his pouches and removed the fragmentation grenade, almost falling as he struggled to adjust his balance. He didn’t ask the boy to stop, merely used his teeth to pull the pin before lobbing the grenade behind them. With the five-second delay and the cover of the rocks around them he knew they would be safe from the lethal shrapnel when it exploded but it should give their pursuers something to think about. It seemed to Karim that they had only taken a couple of steps before the flash and bang erupted behind them and he heard the shouts of their hunters. But he and the boy were good. Affan, to his credit, not even acknowledging the distraction. But it was only a temporary delay to the inevitable. Karim knew the General was too close to give up now. He had the taste of his prey and was beyond the point of recall, only a matter of time before Karim and the boy lay dead at his feet.

  But that didn’t mean they had to make it easy for him.

  Karim pulled on the boy and forced him to stop. Affan stared at him, wild-eyed as he shook his head and reached out to grab Karim’s blood-soaked arm. Karim ignored the boy and retrieved the last two grenades from his pouch, pulling the pins from each and clasping them tight in his fists. He turned with difficulty, emitting an involuntary yelp as a lance of pain assailed his chest and lungs. With his good arm he lobbed the first grenade in a high arc into the darkness then repeated it with the second, the ting of the fly-off levers pinging into the darkness barely audible above his labored breathing. Moments later, two consecutive flashes followed by muted concussions confirmed the grenades had worked. Whether or not they’d had any effect on his hunters however was something he couldn’t know. No matter. He’d only wanted to buy time. He knew that whatever time he’d bought would be very short; even if he’d wounded them, the General would force his men to close for the kill regardless of casualties.