Read Monday Night Jihad Online

Authors: Steve Jason & Yohn Elam

Monday Night Jihad (30 page)

BOOK: Monday Night Jihad
10.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Tara had given Mustang team some good information about this man, and Riley had used the daily hour-long drive to Barletta from the team’s base of operations in Bari to review the file. By now he nearly had it memorized.

Al-’Aqran, or “the Scorpion,” had been born Abdul Rahman Bey in the Iraqi village of Ar Radwaniyah, just outside of Abu Ghraib. In 1968, at the age of sixteen, Bey had joined the military just months before the bloodless coup that had put Ahmed Hassan al-Bakr and the Ba’athists into power. Saddam Hussein had immediately been made deputy president and had soon become the country’s strongman. As with many in the Iraqi military, Bey’s loyalty was primarily to Hussein. In 1979, Hussein took power by making accusations of disloyalty in the Ba’ath Party and arresting sixty-eight of its members while they were gathered for a meeting. Bey had been part of the team that executed twenty-two of those arrested.

By 1980, Hussein had become concerned about the radical Shiite influence that was spilling across the border from Iran and its newly installed leader, the Ayatollah Khomeini. These ideas didn’t fit well with Hussein’s vision of a secular state. So he invaded Iran on September 22, 1980. Captain Bey was part of the invasion force that entered Khuzestan that first day. He spent the next eight years fighting that war to a stalemate.

Tired and disillusioned, Bey had left the military. His loyalty to Saddam never wavered, but he was concerned about the president’s judgment and tactics. Iraq was a powerful nation, but it was not powerful enough to win a conventional war in the modern era of treaties and alliances. Much later, Bey had watched with interest, but not surprise, as the Western forces easily toppled Saddam’s government during the Occupation of Iraq.

The First Palestinian Intifada in 1987 had greatly intrigued Bey. A small group, outmanned and outgunned, had the boldness to take on the superior occupying Israeli force. But although they had courage, they didn’t have enough vision. Rocks were fine; bombs would be better.

That was when the Cause was born and when Abdul Rahman Bey was reborn as al-’Aqran—the Scorpion.

Unfortunately for al-’Aqran, it seemed his vision was greater than his skills; for a decade and a half, the Cause languished in international obscurity. It was during that period that he blew off part of his face while experimenting with explosives. What the counterterrorism community hadn’t realized was that what seemed to be incompetence was really just al-’Aqran biding his time while Hakeem, his ace in the hole, was growing in power and significance.

Finally, when the time was right, the Cause had struck. And when they struck, it was not for freedom in Iraq or in belated retaliation for Saddam Hussein’s execution. Instead it was to restore the honor of an era gone by. It was to remind the world that not all the Iraqi people were willing to lie down and be America’s lapdogs.

Riley closed the file and turned off the reading light in the van. Lord willing, by the end of today, this Scorpion would be in an American cage.

The plan Riley had devised was based on the old football misdirection play—make the opposing team think the action is taking place on one side of the field while you run the ball down the other. Great in concept; difficult in execution.

Al-’Aqran was vulnerable two times each day: when he left his house with his six armed bodyguards to walk to and from the al-Arqam mosque for the morning Fajr prayer service, and when he repeated the journey for the afternoon Asr service.

At first Riley had thought that this adherence to routine was either die-hard religious devotion or simple foolishness. His opinion changed when the team had spotted three men hidden on the rooftops between the house and the mosque. Each had a Tabuk sniper rifle, and at least one of them had an RPG-7 antitank grenade launcher. Riley had to assume the other two were similarly equipped. What had seemed to be foolish routine was starting to look more like a trap.

There was one other wild card in this deck. Every morning a man appeared on the roof of al-’Aqran’s house. Because of where he positioned himself, they could never get a good look at him. He would appear while the sky was still dark and would disappear soon after sunrise. He didn’t seem to be armed, but he was still worth keeping an eye on.

A late-model Fiat Punto had been parked for the last three days fifteen feet down and across the street from al-’Aqran’s house. Riley had chosen this car to be the diversion. As al-’Aqran was returning from his morning prayers at the mosque, this little Fiat would blow sky-high. The explosion would do three things: First, it would create confusion on the ground. Second, it would draw out the rooftop snipers, who would then be dispatched by Mustang team’s own rooftop snipers—Khadi Faroughi and Billy Murphy. Third, the confusion would allow the rest of the team to burst out of the house where they would be hiding along al-’Aqran’s route, dispatch the bodyguards, and taser the Scorpion. The team would then carry their prisoner around the building and out back to where the vans were waiting. If all went well, ten minutes after the car blew, they would be on the SS16aa highway cruising back down to Bari.

Scott had sent the surveillance photos of the bodyguards to his crew in the ROU. He had hoped one of them might be Hakeem. But the crack investigation group had been able to identify each guard as long-standing in the European theater, thus making them expendable.

It was 5:13 a.m. when Mustang team’s two cargo vans turned down Via Agostino Samuelli, one short block west of Via Nazareth. Matt Logan, the team’s demolitions expert, slipped out of the second van and headed toward the parked Fiat while the rest of the team gathered in the rear of the second cargo van.

At 5:25 a.m., they heard three rapid knocks on the rear door, followed by two more. Kim Li opened the door and Logan jumped in.

“Done. A lot of flash, a lot of noise, a lot of smoke, but not a large blast radius. Should be zero collateral damage unless someone is actually in the car. Speaking of which, I also disabled the car’s ignition so we don’t have anybody driving off in the thing.”

“Good work,” Riley said. He turned to Khadi and handed her the detonator. “You know what to do. As soon as they’re in front of the building, set this thing off. Murph will pop snipers one and two, and you’ll catch three.” Then he turned to Murphy. “Either one of you misses your target, we’re toast. Got it?”

They both nodded, and Khadi gave him a smile.

Khadi was beginning to fit into the team dynamics, and Riley was glad to see it. She would probably never fully understand the loyalty and devotion these men had for each other, but she was a professional. Riley knew his own strength of character, his competency, and his willingness to lead by example all combined with some X-factor to make him a man his teammates would follow to their graves. He didn’t expect Khadi to go that far, but he was pleased that she seemed willing to do whatever it took to get the job done.

“Okay, it’s time to get in position. You be careful,” he said to the two snipers, but his eyes were locked on Khadi’s. “Now go.”

Murphy and Khadi jumped out of the van, each carrying a case that held an M24 SWS.

Riley stared at the doors as they closed. Was he doing the right thing sending Khadi out to kill someone? It wouldn’t be her first time, he knew, and she had been trained to do this. In fact, she had the second highest shooting accuracy on the team—right behind Murphy. She was the right person, but was it the right thing?

His concentration was broken by Scott’s voice softly singing, “Riley and Khadi sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i—”

The song was interrupted by Skeeter’s large hand gently clipping the official team leader on the back of the head. Nervous laughter filled the van.

Riley surveyed the team silently. Wartime created strange relationships. Could there be any other situation with the power to bond together such different personalities and backgrounds? When men struggled together, suffered together, bled together, killed together, and grieved together, a connection was made that often went deeper even than blood.

“Men,” Riley said, “when I left this life a few years ago, I thought I had left it for good. When I came back, it wasn’t because I sought it out. It sought me out. I was living out my day-to-day just like you guys were. Then these little men with their big bombs came into my life and called me out. Well, since they called, I feel I’m obliged to answer.

“These terrorists took the lives of so many and destroyed the lives of so many others. One of the lives they took was my close friend Sal Ricci. Two of the lives they destroyed were those of his wife, Megan, and his baby daughter, Alessandra.” Riley took a picture of Meg and Alessandra out of his pocket and passed it around. “This is to remind you that these men’s victims are not just faceless statistics. It’s easy to get lost in the numbers of the casualty reports. But when you look at that picture, you’re looking at the faces of the victims. And when we go out there this morning and the bullets start flying and the blood starts spilling, remember this woman and this little girl.”

They all sat there silently looking at the floor of the van, processing what Riley had said.

Then a quiet voice began singing, “Kumbaya, my Lord, kumba—”

Another Skeeter slap to Scott’s head shut down the song.

“Come on, Skeet! You’re going to give me a concussion before we even leave the van,” Scott said, rubbing the back of his head.

Skeeter feinted like he was going to hit again, causing Scott to flinch. Everyone laughed and then started rechecking their gear.

Like the Predator team, each man carried a P90 submachine gun and a Heckler & Koch handgun. The only additional weapon the Mustang team members had was a Taser X26 holstered to their hips.

It was six o’clock; dawn would break in about fifty minutes. The time had come.

The house they now entered had been chosen because its front was on Via Nazareth and its rear was on Via Agostino Samuelli. It was a long two-story house inhabited by one man in his late fifties and two women whose ages seemed to fall on either side of his. The team had never seen anyone entering or leaving the home before 9 a.m.

Logan, Li, and Scott crept up the stairs to the bedrooms while Riley, Posada, and Skeeter looked around downstairs.

There was some rustling upstairs followed by the sound of glass or ceramic breaking. Then all was quiet again. Riley finished sweeping the first level, then went upstairs. There he found that the three occupants had been bound and gagged and brought into one bedroom. They lay scrunched together on a bed.

“Nice work, guys,” he said. “Scott, do your thing. And be nice.”

“You got it, Pach.”

Scott went over to the three and said, “Mi dispiace. (I’m sorry.)”

The three didn’t seem to accept his sincerity.

“Non vi faremo del male. (We’re not going to hurt you.)”

Again their eyes expressed fear and doubt.

Scott reached over to the fabric that had been used to gag the man and gently pulled it down. The man looked like he wanted to scream but thought better of it when he saw Li fingering his P90. Scott asked him, “C’è qualcun’altro in casa? (Is there anyone else in the house?)”

In response, the man let out a flood of angry, fearful words, and Scott quickly replaced the gag.

“What’d he say?” Riley asked.

“He doesn’t like your mom.”

Riley affected a hurt expression. “He’s never even met her.”

“Okay, let’s try this again,” Scott said. “C’è qualcun’altro in casa?” He nodded his head up and down and then shook it side to side.

The man shook his head side to side.

“I’d call that a no.”

“Good job. Logan, Li, make sure they’re secure, then meet us downstairs.”

“Shouldn’t we bring them down with us? Be a whole lot safer,” Logan said.

“No, I don’t want them caught in the cross fire in case we have bad guys chasing us. You secure them well enough, and we won’t have anything to worry about.”

“You got it, Pach,” Logan acquiesced.

Downstairs, Skeeter and Posada had taken chairs from the kitchen table and placed them by the front windows. There they settled in for the long waiting game. At one point, there was a flurry of excitement as al-’Aqran and his entourage passed by on their way to the mosque. Riley watched their prey through a slight part in the curtains. This was the man who was ultimately responsible for what had happened at the Mall of America and at Platte River Stadium.

It was all Riley could do to keep himself from putting a bullet in the man’s head right then. All in good time.

Khadi looked up the street from her rooftop perch to see if she could spot Murphy. She couldn’t, which was good. If she couldn’t see him, then chances were the bad guys couldn’t either.

From her vantage point, she watched two of these soon-to-be-dead men. Her target was eating breakfast—some kind of nasty-looking sprout sandwich that had been wrapped in wax paper.

She wished things would start soon. The longer she looked at this guy, the more real he was becoming. It was hard to think that this man would shortly be violently killed, and that she would be the one pulling the trigger. No matter what the man had been involved in, stopping a beating heart was not a concept she took lightly.

In spite of her contemplations, she had no doubt that she would go through with it. First of all, the man would not give a second thought about doing the same to her. And most important, her team was counting on her. If she missed her shot, it was very likely that this man would kill one or more of her friends. She was determined that this would not happen. She would not let her team down. She would not let Riley down.

Her attention turned back to the mosque across the street. Suddenly the doors opened and people began filing out. There they were—al-’Aqran and his henchmen.

Henchmen, she thought. Sounds like a word from Batman. Scott must be rubbing off on me.

The group of men walked slowly down the street, joking back and forth. Al-’Aqran obviously put a lot of confidence in his snipers.

When they were three houses from the detonation point, Khadi stole a glance at her target. She saw that he had picked up his rifle and was watching the group. There you go, genius. Keep your eyes on your boss instead of your surroundings.

BOOK: Monday Night Jihad
10.46Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Illusions of Happiness by Elizabeth Lord
A Nail Through the Heart by Timothy Hallinan
Doug Unplugs on the Farm by Dan Yaccarino
Impetuous Designs by Major, Laura
Asesinato en Mesopotamia by Agatha Christie