Agency Rules - Never an Easy Day at the Office (36 page)

“Jordan two years ago,” el-Yahad completed his sentence. “You look well. The Mullah must take good care of you.”

“Allah-hum-do-lillah, the brothers take excellent care of me here and in Jalalabad,” the Sheikh commented with a smile. “Please get some breakfast and join us,” motioning to the expansive buffet that had been prepared in his honor.

The next few hours were spent discussing activities at the facility, recruitment, training and financial status. Although he had heard most of the information from Nabeel, he wanted the Sheikh to give him a more detailed picture. The Sheikh tried very hard to avoid el-Yahad
’s difficult questions, but he persisted like a Rottweiler who had cornered a cat. He wasn’t going to give up without the answers he wanted.

“Nabeel used the term operational readiness while briefing me,” the General said. “What does that mean here and how can you make that pronouncement?”

“Operational readiness means that we have reached a trained efficiency to be able to select targets of our choice,” the Mullah explained.

“How are you judging that, Mullah sahib?” el-Yahad inquired. “Have you carried out any test missions?”

Both men looked at each other wondering who would provide the answer to that and the likely follow-up questions. The Mullah leaned forward to expand on his statement, but the Sheikh stopped him, shaking his head no. “What would you consider proof, General?” he asked.

El-Yahad stared at the Sheikh, wondering what he had stopped the Mullah from saying. In the process, he caught himself comparing the cracks and crows feet on his face with the man in the photograph he had seen earlier.
There are similarities, but is this the same man?
The Sheikh interrupted his thoughts, repeating the question.

“I can tell you from a military perspective that we don
’t use that term unless it has been tested,” the General qualified the earlier question. “What was the test?”

“We kidnapped and interrogated two men from their place of employment,” the Sheikh said with a smirk. “Sadly, both men died during the interrogation, a common occurrence during high-pressure situations, as you already know from your own experience.”

“What intelligence was gathered? How were these two men selected?”

“Both men had recently joined the cause. The skills Dawood displayed during training were more controlled and developed than any other recruit that we have had here. We felt that he had used Kaleem, a former student at Imam Shahid
’s madrassah, to infiltrate the camp,” the Sheikh explained, pulling a file from under the table and handing it to the General. “This is the intelligence gathered from Kaleem.”

The General pulled the file close, tapping his fingers on it a few times watching the Sheikh
’s movements closely. He pulled his glasses from their case, wiping them a few times before slipping them onto his face. He turned his gaze from the Sheikh to the neatly typed pages in the file, but something caught his attention on the second page of the transcript.

“Is this correct?” the General asked scratching the back of his head. “You kidnapped an intelligence asset and killed him? Are you stupid or just blind to what you may have done?” the General said, standing to move around the table.

“He didn’t admit to that during his interrogation…” the Mullah said before being interrupted by the General.

“Didn
’t admit? My God, you are stupid,” the General yelled. “The ISI puts every asset through extensive torture exercises to test their breaking point,” the General continued, anger boiling over remembering the interrogations that he had conducted and overseen of confirmed ISI operatives in Syria. “They don’t break!”

“He
’s dead. No one will find the body,” the Sheikh said. “We have been assured.”

The General froze in his tracks, not able to comprehend what the Sheikh had just said. “Are you telling me that someone else did the interrogation?” the General yelled.

“He is one of our assets,” the Mullah said confidentially. “He will never tell.”

“Where is this asset?” the General inquired. “
Can I meet him?”

“No,” the Sheikh replied. “His family told us he crossed into Afghanistan for the time being.”

“You are sure… this isn’t something that is
going to happen
, correct?” the General asked.

“He is in Afghanistan with our brothers,” the Mullah said, more confident that previously.

“Ok, that’s good. The farther he stays from Pakistani intelligence the better,” the General said before pausing a moment as a thought entered his mind. “Anything else?”

“Just one other thing, General sahib,” the Sheikh said. “But I fear this will upset you again when I tell you.”

The color ran from the General’s face.
Are my worst fears coming true? Did they do it?
“Did you kill the Prime Minister?” he asked fearful of the answer that was to come.

“Only tactical support, we didn
’t pull the trigger, as you would say,” the Mullah said.

“So what is it?” the General asked impatient with the drama. “What is going to upset me?”

The Sheikh rose from the table, crossing over to speak with el-Yahad privately. “We have killed two intelligence officers,” the Sheikh whispered in his ear, slowly moving around behind him.

“Dawood and…”

“You,” the Sheikh said as he slid the razor sharp blade across the General’s throat.

The General stumbled a few steps around the room, blood beginning to spurt from the cut, before collapsing on the floor. He tried to grasp his neck to stop the blood loss, but his efforts were in vain. With the blood rushing from his throat, he felt life slipping from his soul.

“General, can you hear me? This was not my decision,” he said almost saddened by what he had just done. “Moshe made this call,” he continued pulling his cell phone. He had gotten some blood on his expensive handset forcing him to wipe his hands and handset before dialing.

“Sir, it
’s done,” he said to the party on the other side of the call. “We’ll dispose of the body and all evidence… thank you sir,” he finished, hanging up the call and turning the phone off to avoid any attempts to track the location.

“Bashir! Hamza!” the Sheikh yelled through the door. “Bashir! Hamza!”

The two men entered the room to find the General lying lifeless in a large pool of his own blood. Their faces showed no shock or surprise to either the scene before them or the murder of General. The scooped the General’s body between them and carried it out. Another man stepped in with cleaning supplies to mop up the blood and wipe the walls where it had spurted. He moved quickly to sanitize the area and left as quickly and quietly as he entered.

The Sheikh returned to the table, snatching the General
’s open briefcase from the chair to remove the remaining files. Placing them around the table, he looked at Fazal still shocked by the attack. “Fazal… Fazal!” he yelled at his friend, barely drawing a reaction from him. “Fazal, we have a great deal to do. Can you assist me?”

Fazal reached forward grabbing the Sheikh
’s arm. “What the hell did you just do?” he asked confused.

“I did what needed to be done,” Atif said with steel in his eyes and iron in his voice. “My benefactors are not providing you with everything for a jihad. You are providing us the tools and network to wage a war against anyone and anything that opposes us,” he said gripping Fazal
’s hand so he could not pull away. “The General was a threat and expendable… don’t put yourself in the same position.”

* * *

It was the dead of night when the four Cobra helicopters climbed over the ridge around The Sanctuary. The area was already billowing smoke into the air from the coordinated explosions that disabled the anti-aircraft weapons and sniper posts. The Army snipers had taken up positions where their own had sat moments before. Some were firing rocket launchers and RPGs at the terrorists as they emerged from the tunnels within the mountains, other were providing cover fire to the explosives specialists so they could move closer to the compound itself. From the road, four additional transport trucks full of soldiers were streaming into the battle to engage with the few terrorists that evaded the sniper fire.

The Cobras moved in quickly, mounted automatic weapons blazing clear a path. They moved into support positions to allow the two Hueys to land, where the commandos scattered out shooting anything that moved. Empty, they leapt back into the air and retreated back over the ridge. With the main compound surrounded, the explosives specialists set the charges along each wall to create breach points. The Cobras opened fire into the compound picking off the security guards on the balconies and below on the ground. Seconds later, four simultaneous explosions lit up the night sky as the walls came tumbling down. Two of the Cobras had to pull back due to the blowback from the explosions, but they re-engaged minutes later. The commandos breached the boundary and entered with rounds shredding bodies where they stood. The air filled with the stench of sulfur and burning flesh.

Kamal led the core strike team into the house, picking off the security guards as they stepped out of the shadows to engage them. The ground floor provided no real resistance since most of the guards had moved outside to attempt to keep the soldiers from entering the building, making the progression inside that much easier. When they reached the second floor, the scene changed as Mullah Fazal’s family emerged from the various rooms screaming.

“Get down on the ground!” Kamal yelled in Pashto. “On the ground or we will fire!” His orders brought three to a standstill, but three others rushed at the security forces. Two of the commandos opened fire, shooting out their legs in the hope that would stop the progression. They barely heard the “Allah hu Akbar” shout before the hall filled with fire as one of the attackers detonated a suicide vest. The strike teams had tried to take cover, but because of the small-enclosed space, many now had pink mist and body parts to pick from their visors and uniforms once the campaign was completed. “Clear the rooms,” Kamal yelled to the second team behind him. “No heroics boys. If anyone disobeys, put a round in their head immediately.” Kamal
’s attention was diverted for a second as another strike team entered the house hearing the explosion. “Taimur,” Kamal called down to his colleague. “Clear the rooms and join us on the third floor. We are going to breach.” He tapped five men on the shoulder as he passed, “Come with me!”

They took up positions outside the bunker security door, waiting for reinforcements to join them from below. With all the firing outside the boundary, things inside are eerily quiet, Kamal thought to himself, swinging his rifle around his back and pulling the Glock from his sidearm. With two bullets, he shattered the surveillance camera into thousands of miniature pieces. “Now you see what we see,” Kamal yelled at the security door. He signaled his explosives team to set the charges. “Just like the training mission, Tariq,” Kamal said to the team leader, as he passed his right side.

This same assault team had been running training drills in the mountains of Khyber for the past two weeks. Each facet of the assault was simulated with Rangers brought up from Punjab and Karachi. Working across ten different locations, the teams developed a clear understanding of how quickly they had to move and which points they needed to control. Every drill culminated with a meeting where each team shared how it could be made more efficient and effective. The next drill incorporated the most viable feedback. Everything had been in preparation for this.

With Kamal leading the core strike team on ground, Haroon oversaw the entire assault from one of the Cobra
’s flying above, relaying instructions and information to them via the wireless. Kamal felt Bilal’s tap on his shoulder. Captain Bilal Adnan led the Beta strike team that had entered with Kamal’s team. “All clear below, Captain,” Bilal said. “Two floors cleared. Seven extracted, sixteen dead.”

“Women and children?” Kamal asked, remembering the five-year-old on the second floor.

“Three children, four women located and extracted,” he said, pausing a moment. “Five women, nine guards neutralized. One no gender, just pink mist and body parts.”

Kamal looked over at Bilal with shock and surprise, “
Five women?” he asked.

“Three had vests, two came out firing,” Bilal said. “I have two injured on our side, extracted by Captain Aleem
’s team.”

“What
’s Aleem’s status?”

“Aleem is down one, KIA,” Bilal said. “They are extracting and moving up to support.”

Kamal glanced around quickly taking a headcount, as he slipped his Glock back into his sidearm and swung his rifle back around. “Tariq! Blow the door,” he called.

“Fire in the hole,” was the last thing he heard before the explosion ripped the door from its hinges, filling the stairwell with smoke and shrapnel. The men inside opened fire with the two strike teams answering with deadly precision. The hall was full of smoke and firing for a few minutes, but slowly the firing came to a halt.

“In pairs, clear the rooms,” Kamal hollered to his men. “Watch your six!” he said, as they groups entered the corridor looking for stragglers. Throwing open doors, the sound of gunfire erupted intermittently, starting and stopping as the targets were spotted and neutralized. It was Bilal and Sheraz that hit the door with the Sheikh and his security detail inside. Kamal turned around just as the sound of automatic fire broke out and watched Sheraz crumble to the ground.