A Cold Day In Mosul (24 page)

The courier abruptly repeated the message, word for word. What Ethan had mistaken for hesitance was in fact memorization.

"That's correct," Ethan said. "May Allah grant you speed."

The courier nodded, rubbing his nose. He turned around and strode away at a crisp pace.

Ethan departed in the opposite direction. He rounded a bend, jaywalked through the traffic, and then ducked into the backseat of a waiting Rio.

twenty-six

"D
o we have him?" Ethan said, donning a headset.

Maaz sat in the driver's seat, Sam rode shotgun. She wore a full veil, currently lowered, and had the laptop open before her.

"For now," she answered. On the laptop screen was the familiar top-down representation of the street, courtesy of the Predator far overhead. Two red dots flashed intermittently, moving westward: Doug and William, tailing the man. They would be dressed as males. "The footage?"

Ethan produced a microcamera from his breast pocket. He popped the micro SD card from the back and handed it to Sam.

"
Shukran
," she said. Thank you.

Ethan checked to make sure no one was walking past, then grabbed the abaya from the seat beside him and shrugged it over his clothes. He slid the hijab over his head and followed that with a veil. Two other women's outfits lay in a black pile beside him.

"Subject is ducking into the nearby mosque," Doug sent over the comm. "Pursuing."

"I'm going around back," William sent.

On Sam's display, the subject vanished inside the mosque. One of the red dots maneuvered toward the rear of the building, while the first red dot went directly inside.

"Don't lose him..." Ethan said, wishing he had volunteered to act as a tail instead.

He watched the first red dot zig-zag through the mosque, while the second halted behind the building.

"Visual reestablished," William announced over the comm. "He just emerged from the back of the mosque. He's crossing the parking lot, heading toward the road."

Sam zoomed in slightly; the subject appeared in the paved terrace behind the elaborate building.

William's red dot remained stationary for several moments, letting the subject acquire a lead, and then started moving again. Doug's signal emerged from the mosque a moment later and both operatives continued westward in pursuit.

"Maaz, drive forward two blocks," Sam told the driver. She didn't want to lose the comm signal.

Maaz obeyed.

"He's back on the main road," William sent, a hint of static on the line. "There's a muj checkpoint up ahead. I'm going to have to go around."

Ethan watched the red dots retreat. Sam meanwhile zoomed in, obviously wanting to keep the subject in sight while William and Doug took the long way around; she quickly reached the maximum zoom. The courier appeared little bigger than a bumblebee, and with his dun-colored clothes, it was difficult to tell him apart from the other pedestrians queued at the checkpoint. Sam temporarily lifted her niqab so that she could see the laptop screen better.

When the courier was through, Sam panned the camera, keeping the subject in view at all times.

"We're back on the main road," William sent. "Subject is in sight."

Sam zoomed out until she could see the dots representing Doug and William once more. She instructed Maaz to drive closer via a side street that avoided the checkpoint.

"Subject is heading into a busy souk," William said over the comm.

Sam lifted her niqab again. She was frowning. There was no way the Predator's camera could pierce the thick canopies that covered the marketplace.

The two dots pursued the subject into the souk. William was farther ahead than Doug.

"Update, please," Sam said.

"I lost him," Doug returned.

"William?" Sam said. His dot wasn't moving.

No answer.

"William? I'd appreciate an update."

His dot started forward once more. "Still have him," William said.

Sam exhaled in relief.

"He's emerging from the souk," William said. "And crossing the road. Looks like he's headed toward another mosque."

Sam had Maaz drive another two blocks closer.

"He's entering the parking lot," William said into the comm. His dot suddenly accelerated. "He's getting into a parked Elantra."

"Can you tag it?" Sam asked.

William didn't answer.

"Wil—"

"Got it," he returned.

Another red dot appeared on the display, heading westward at vehicular speeds. Sam zoomed in on the moving object, which appeared to be a Hyundai Elantra.

"Was he alone in the vehicle?" Sam asked.

"I believe so," William replied.

"Meet Doug in the front of the mosque. We'll be there in two."

When the Rio arrived, the waiting operatives squeezed into the backseat with Ethan.

"Well done, people," Sam said.

Doug and William shrugged on their abayas and niqabs. Seated just beside him, William elbowed Ethan a couple of times in the process.

"Damn it," Ethan said. He punched William hard in the ribs.

"Hey!" William said. "Not my fault. There's hardly any room. Can't you move over more?"

"Tell Doug that," Ethan said.

"I'm already crushing my balls enough as it is," Doug complained.

"Get settled, people," Sam said, her voice tight. "We have a long drive ahead of us. Subject is heading south, toward the city limits. Looks like he's making for Highway 1 southbound."

"The Baghdad-Mosul highway?" Maaz said.

"Yes. Do you know how to get there?"

"Of course," the driver answered.

"Good." She switched to English, probably so that Maaz wouldn't understand. "I'm calling in a Lancer. Just in case they give us trouble at the exit."

"Not that it'll help," Doug said. "We'll be too close to the enemy for the bomber to drop anything."

"Not if there's a chase," Sam insisted. She typed rapidly on the laptop.

The traffic was funneled through an intermediary checkpoint. Maaz showed the identity documents of himself and his sisters, and the militant on duty tiredly waved the vehicle through.

When the checkpoint was behind them, Sam retrieved her hidden laptop and repositioned the thick antenna near the window. She abruptly lifted a hand to her ear. "I read you loud and clear, Captain Brown. Stand by."

"Since when did you pass the JTAC qualification?" Ethan joked.

"I always preferred the term Forward Air Controller." Sam glanced at the display screen. "The courier just left the city, people. He's on the Baghdad-Mosul highway. Speed it up, Maaz."

"If you have that," Maaz nodded at the laptop. "Why do we need to pursue? Won't your computer tell you where he goes?"

"The Islamic State uses its own particular brand of tradecraft," Sam said. "Which they learned from Al Qaeda. They like to park cars under makeshift canopies along the roads, hidden from the eyes of our drones, so that when a courier arrives, the driver can switch vehicles. Multiple cars emerge from the canopy and drive off in separate directions, acting as decoys."

"Ah," Maaz said. "You need eyes on the ground."

"We do."

Maaz weaved between the traffic, which lessened as the vehicle neared the city limits.

"Okay, slow it down," Sam told Maaz when the final checkpoint out of Mosul loomed ahead. "We don't need them believing we're in a hurry."

Maaz queued the Rio at the back of the line. Sam hid her laptop and the satellite antenna in a special pocket she'd constructed within her abaya.

"It was easy enough getting into the city," William commented. "Makes you wonder how easy it's going to be getting out."

Ethan glanced at William; though he couldn't see his face through the veil, the tension was obvious in his voice.

Ethan bent forward and loosened the pistol hidden in the ankle holster under his abaya. Sam had refused to risk the pursuit without weapons, and had authorized everyone except Maaz to carry a concealed Glock 26 subcompact. The hope was that if the militants searched the vehicle, they wouldn't dare pat down or touch the "women" in any way. Of course, if the militants had a woman manning the checkpoint with them, the operatives could find themselves in a lot of trouble. Having Glocks on their persons would be the least of their problems: when the woman discovered they had certain genitalia that didn't belong on females, the shit would break the fan right off.

Ethan noted the two Iraqi Army M1114 Humvees parked on either side of the highway. A technical resided in the median strip between the incoming and outgoing lanes.

Ethan counted ten armed mujahadeen. In the outbound lane, one lurked in front of the Humvee there, while four more stood guard—two on either side of the queued vehicles. Another four operated the inbound lane. The tenth fighter manned the ZU anti-aircraft gun bolted to the bed of the technical parked between lanes. The latter's gaze was currently directed skyward, perhaps toward the bomber that circled far overhead. Thankfully no women were among them.

All of the militants wore black turbans, leaving their bearded faces exposed; as a whole, they were older than the usual teens Ethan had encountered at checkpoints in the past. And instead of AK-47s, they carried M16A4s. Veteran jihadists.

Ethan felt his heart pounding in his chest. He told himself to relax. He'd gone through several checkpoints in the course of his tenure in the city. The current one was no different.

He noticed the vehicles ahead were all pickup trucks. As were the inbound. The outgoing truck beds were empty, but the ingoing beds were packed with either goats, chickens, or milk.

"Does anyone else feel out of place?" Doug remarked.

The Rio reached the front of the queue. Maaz opened the window, letting in the cold air.

"What is your destination?" the bearded jihadist asked. He looked like a brawler with that gnarled nose of his, probably the result of a poorly healed break.

Another militant stood near Ethan's shut window: a man with a bony, weathered face and a gray beard; his eyes were sharp, and Ethan had the strong impression he rarely missed any details.

Two more mujahadeen lurked beyond the doors of Sam and Doug.

"We are traveling to Athbah," Maaz said, a village about ten kilometers south of Mosul.

The fighter held out a hand. "IDs."

Maaz gave him the identity documents.

The man studied the papers and then crouched to examine the occupants.

"Why so many women?" the gnarled-nosed guard said.

"They are my sisters," Maaz said. "We are attending a wedding."

"Are you sure you're not trying to escape the city?" the guard said. "Perhaps to avoid having them married off by the Khansa'a?"

That was the female morality police. They were responsible for, among other things, arranging for the marriage of local women to foreign fighters. They often patrolled the streets with AKs, arresting women who broke sharia, and were almost always foreigners who had emigrated to the Islamic State. As such, they were treated much the same way Scientologists treated celebrities. A smart tactic, given that these were the women most likely to post on social media, feeding the Islamic State propaganda machine:

Look at how great the Caliphate is, how amazing we are treated. We can walk around with guns,
unchaperoned
. Come to the Caliphate.

Come kill with us.

"We plan to return the day after tomorrow," Maaz said.

The second fighter, still outside of Ethan's window, bent forward to peer inside with those sharp eyes of his. He knocked on the glass.

Ethan opened the window.

"Tell me your name, woman," the gray-bearded fighter said to him.

"She is mute," Maaz said hurriedly.

"What about you, then?" Gray Beard pointed at William beside him.

"She is also mute," Maaz said sheepishly.

"Are they all mute?" the fighter growled.

Sam leaned toward him and spoke through the veil. "Please, kind sir, we are simple women, who only wish to attend the wedding of our cousin. We will return the day after tomorrow. I swear, by the Quran, that this is so."

Gray Beard glanced at the gnarled-nosed militant beside him, then addressed the driver. "Pull to the side of the road."

"But—"

"The highway is closed to you. Do you understand?"

"But then why did you let the others pass?" Maaz said.

Gray Beard remained silent.

"Please," Maaz begged. "Just let us turn around and return to the city in peace."

The man lifted his A4 threateningly. "Pull to the side of the road."

Faced with the barrel of that assault rifle, Maaz had no choice: he drove to the designated area.

Gray Beard and a different fighter followed the Rio and stood guard on either side. The other militants remained behind to handle the next vehicle in the queue.

Ethan glanced through the rear window. The gnarled-nosed fighter was speaking into his harness.

"He's on the radio," Ethan said.

The fighter let go of his harness, walked away from the outbound queue, and crossed the median to the opposite lane. He strode past the line of civilian pickups, vanishing behind one of them. He returned a moment later with a woman in full veil who had been previously screened by the vehicle.

She carried an AK-47 over one shoulder.

The gnarled-nosed fighter pointed toward the Rio, and the black-clad head nodded.

"They've got a Khansa'a," Ethan hissed.

twenty-seven

E
than watched the Kalashnikov-toting black ghost traverse the median.

"Get ready to go hot, people," Sam said.

Ethan surreptitiously withdrew the Glock from his ankle holster, keeping it hidden beneath the door frame. He glanced at the veiled operatives beside him: like him, they had covertly readied their weapons.

"I got this," Maaz announced. He opened the door.

"Wait—" Sam said.

But Maaz had already exited the vehicle.