Sleeper Cell Super Boxset (73 page)

The militants moved quickly from concealed positions, steadily advancing toward Craig. He pushed himself up and fired back, just to keep them at bay. They immediately fired back, shattering a large office window above him. Glass rained down on him in shards and slivers, but he kept moving. The weapons table was within reach.

Husein stayed low and flinched as heavy gunfire rang out. During a pause, he opened his eyes and saw a man rushing out of the hall in front of him where he had left Ma’mun. The man looked dazed and baffled. Their eyes quickly met, and the man wasted no time advancing on Husein with his large, hairy arms outstretched to the side and a look of fire burning in his eyes.

Husein held the barrel of the AK ready to fire.

“You!” the man shouted. “Chechen traitor!”

It was one of the escorts who earlier had taken him to the room to meet Ma’mun. The man advanced quickly, giving Husein little time to react. Husein pulled the trigger, blasting the man’s chin and jaw off his face.

Husein rolled out of the way just as the man smacked the floor. More gunfire continued from the militants, some of it now coming his way. His stomach twisted and tightened. He could barely bring himself to look at the mutilated man lying facedown next to him. There was blood on Husein’s hands and shirt. He tossed the rifle away, disgusted, and tried to wipe the spots of blood from his skin and the fabric of his clothes.

He felt a tightness of breath that sent him into a trembling fury. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself, and thought of being somewhere else: back home with his parents at the cottage they’d had when he was five.

From next to one of the destroyed work stations, Craig fired more rounds. The rifle clicked. He was out of ammo. He tossed the empty AK to the side and pulled the other one from his shoulder. The militants were shouting to each other, attempting to get organized. Craig wasn’t sure how many he had killed, but it wasn’t nearly enough. There were many different voices calling out to each other. Maybe Husein had been right about the number, fifty of them.

He charged the AK while lying flat on his back. He breathed in deeply, preparing to make the last move for the grenade. The sounds of boots running across pavement grew near. They were closing in, and time was running out.

Craig swung himself upward and fired at the advancing militants. He heard screams and immediately went for the grenades on the table. Shots rang out close by, blasting nearby computers into fragments. After the firing stopped, Craig jumped up and grabbed the first grenade he could get to.

Shots whizzed across the table, narrowly missing Craig’s head as he dove back to the ground. They were getting closer. The M67 grenade rested in his hand, ready to be launched. He looked ahead from under a desk. He saw pants legs advancing. Shots hit the wall behind him. They would stop at nothing to kill him.

Craig pulled the pin and jumped to his knees. He released the safety clip, and as the clip pinged on the ground, he reeled his arm back and threw the grenade into the air. He then fell to the floor with his hands over his head as he heard the grenade hit the ground and roll. Shouts of panic filled the air, followed by a deafening blast that blew up televisions, computers, and anything and anyone within range.

Debris flew over Craig’s head as his eyes remained shut. He waited while the ringing persisted in his ears. The shooting stopped. He rose slightly and looked back toward Husein. In the boy’s former place was a dead man, lying facedown on the floor next to the assembly machine. He peeked above one of the few desks still standing and saw charred tables, chairs, and electronics everywhere, lying in pieces. Blackened bodies lay flat on their stomachs, some missing arms and legs. A high-pitched smoke alarm rang out through the entire factory.

“Husein!” Craig called out.

“I’m here!” his voice cried from behind the assembly machine.

Craig stood up, slightly crouched, and held the rifle up. “Let’s move!”

He examined the weapons table and found that most of the rifles had no magazines in them. He grabbed one of the knives and moved on with caution. Husein crept to his side, low-crawling from his concealed position.

“Where’s your weapon?” he asked.

“I don’t want it,” Husein said.

“Go get it now! Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Husein looked hurt. He reluctantly crawled back and retrieved it.

Once they got situated, Craig fired several more shots, a test of sorts. He received no return fire, only silence.

“Stay close,” he said, moving quickly past the carnage. He stopped at a desk that had flipped over. There was a laptop lying on the ground, completely intact. Craig grabbed it and yanked it from its docking station. There was a sticker on the laptop with the name “Ma’mun” on it. A carrying bag lay nearby too. He stuffed the laptop inside the bag and stood up.

“Okay, let’s go.”

They moved toward the front exit, ignoring the dead bodies in their path—some ravaged with bullets, others burned from the explosion—while trying to be alert for any survivors or threats. “Keep a close eye out once we get outside.” 

Husein nodded. He glanced at the bodies as they passed them. Some were missing limbs, another was missing a face. He shuddered and tried to stay close to Craig. The double doors were close by, and when Craig was only a few yards away, he stood up and ran. Husein did his best to keep up. They pushed the doors open and were met by a black night sky. The muffled ringing of the smoke alarm continued from inside. Outside, however, there was nothing but silence.

Craig looked around and scanned the area. Two light poles illuminated a rock-filled parking lot that contained several vehicles. The warehouse was surrounded by a barbed-wire fence. Other, more dilapidated buildings made up the rest of the compound.

“What now?” Husein asked.

“I need to get to my family,” Craig said, looking around.

Husein said nothing.

“And you’re coming with me.”

“But—” Husein began.

“That’s all there is to it. Now let’s take one of these vehicles before more of them show up.”

“We have no keys,” Husein said, following Craig to the car lot, both of them still moving with caution.   

Craig turned his head slightly. “Don’t you watch the movies?” he asked. “There’s more than one way to start a car.”

Craig approached a white minivan, figuring it was big enough to ram through the closed gate. He punched the stock of his rifle into the passenger-side glass, behind the driver’s seat, shattering it. Craig reached his arm inside, unlocked and opened the door, tossing the rifle and laptop inside.

“Give me five minutes and we’ll be on the road,” Craig said to Husein. He unlocked the driver’s-side door from inside, ducked back out, and opened it. While Husein nervously kept watch, Craig stepped inside and ripped off the steering wheel cover. “Okay, let’s see if I can remember how to do this.”

Husein stared up into the sky. Nothing, it seemed, was different about the world. But he was no longer the same person. That much he was sure of. 

***

A second group of militants arrived hours later at the scene after concerns arose about losing contact with one of their most important strategic hubs in the country. They arrived in jeeps and trucks, driving through the gate that had already been busted open. After parking in a line, close to the warehouse, the men immediately got out of their vehicles, most of them in military fatigues. One man, exceptionally taller than the others, had an entourage of armed personnel surrounding him. He examined the exterior of the building carefully and told his men to proceed.

They advanced in a large group, their boots crunching against the unpaved gravel lot. Abu Omar Allawi had known that something was wrong when he hadn’t heard from his brother in hours. But even he couldn’t have imagined what lay beyond the doors of the warehouse.

Once inside, they were greeted by a bloodbath. A massacre. Their equipment had been ravaged and destroyed. There were no signs of life anywhere. Omar, a slender, tall man wearing a robe and head scarf, stopped his group. He scratched his trim beard and looked around the room, nearly speechless.

“I want this place searched top and bottom. Every inch of it. Now!”

The men immediately dispersed, leaving Omar alone with his personal security team.

Omar turned to Ghazi, his bushy-haired right-hand man. “We must find Ma’mun. That is our priority.”

“First we need to make sure it’s safe, my commander.”

Omar held up one skinny, robed arm in the air. “I can sense it. The presence of evil was here. This is a tremendous blow to our cause.”

“Yes, but the attacks must go forward,” Ghazi said. “The timing is critical.”

“I know that,” Omar snapped back. He scanned the bloody floor ahead. The crippled, maimed bodies of his fighters lying everywhere infuriated him. Rage and vengeance simmered within. But he hadn’t come close to exposing his true anger yet. Not anywhere near it.

The security detail, ten men in all, came rushing back to the open bay, stopping while trying to catch their breath. The man in front, dressed in black and wearing an assault vest, spoke. “More bodies are downstairs. The general. Qadar. And your American cousin. All have been shot.”

“And what of the prisoners?” Omar asked calmly.

“Nowhere to be found.”

Omar nodded with his mouth in a straight line.

“Where’s Ma’mun?” he asked. “Where’s my brother?”

“There’s something you need to see,” one of the other men said.

They led Omar to the room down the hall where Ma’mun lay, his sightless eyes staring at the ceiling. He had been stabbed to death. The security team recoiled at the sight. Omar stared down at his brother but displayed no emotion. He demanded that they move Ma’mun out of the room.

“Get him out of here, now! Ma’mun will not lie a single minute longer like a dead animal on the ground. Wrap him up at once and prepare to transport him.” The team scrambled to comply, looking frantically for something in which to wrap Ma’mun. Ghazi leaned closer to Omar and spoke quietly.

“It is not safe to be here for much longer. The authorities could be on their way any moment.”

Omar looked at him with a deadly stern expression. “We don’t leave until every piece of sensitive information is gathered and taken from here. In the meantime, post guards outside. Tell them to shoot anything that moves.”

“Yes, my commander.” Ghazi ran out of the room and began instructing everyone on what they had to do. “Collect everything. We need to make sure it’s all accounted for. The bodies must be collected as well. Sensitive items, information, weapons. All of it.”

Omar strolled slowly down the hall, flanked by three men of his security team. He thought of the prisoners. They were eating away at his mind. Ma’mun had told him about them: an American FBI agent and a Chechen boy. Malaka’s nephew. It seemed impossible that they could do such a thing.

The sleeper cells had been blessed with unprecedented success against the enemy so far, but now they faced a major setback. He felt for his brother, missing him dearly. Rage consumed him as he excused himself from the security detail, returning to Ma’mun’s small office.

He left his guards standing outside and closed the door. The barren office only had a few files on the desk and nothing more. Omar grabbed the files and proceeded to go through the drawers. Inside, he found a framed picture of him and Ma’mun as teenagers, attending school together. He smiled and placed the picture facedown on the surface of the desk. He pulled the next drawer open and found a wallet, cell phone, pistol, and handheld radio with the name “Craig” written on it. Omar remembered the name: FBI Agent Craig Davis.

He tried to turn on the cell phone, but it was dead. He set everything neatly on the desk and took a seat to get his thoughts together. He looked through the wallet and examined Craig’s driver’s license, staring at the smiling picture. He flipped through and came across a picture of Craig, a woman, and a child smiling near a Christmas tree. If he killed a thousand more people, it wouldn’t be enough until he got to Craig. He made the decision then and there.

A banging came on the door. Omar’s head shot up. “What?”

“Information, Commander Allawi.”

“Enter,” he said.

Ghazi walked into the darkened room. “The prisoners escaped. We know that for sure now. We recovered a camera. In the footage, the American breaks free and kills everyone.”

Astonished, Omar’s eyes widened. “Escaped? How is that possible?”

“I do not know,” Ghazi said. “Satan was at work here.”

“What of their location? The escaped prisoners could be anywhere. Likely at the agent’s home.”

“A team already went to the American’s house at Ma’mun’s behest yesterday, but didn’t find them. They’ve been watching it since.”

“And?”

“Nothing,” Ghazi said.

“That’s because they are hiding,” Omar said, rising from the seat. “They are hiding, and we must find them.” He handed Ghazi Craig’s cell phone. “Charge this immediately.”

Ghazi took the phone. “There’s more,” he said.

“What now?” Omar asked, frustrated.

“We’re missing a laptop. Not just any laptop either. It belonged to Ma’mun.”

Omar’s voice remained calm. “Are you sure?”

“We did an inventory. Even with an accounting of all the broken equipment everywhere, Ma’mun’s laptop is nowhere to be found. It was pulled from its docking station.”

Omar walked around the desk, past Ghazi, and opened the door. “We move now. Assuming this American has this laptop, it will destroy plans for our next phase.”

“Exactly.”

Omar got right in Ghazi’s face. “You will find this man and his family, and you will bring them to me.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Omar walked out of the room without saying another word. The back of his black robe floated in the air as he whisked past his security team and into the open bay where the Islamic State had faced its first crushing blow.

They left the warehouse, clearing out any hard evidence of their presence, and traveled in a convoy to their secret headquarters, hours away. Ghazi sat in the passenger seat of his van. Parvez, his quiet driver, kept his eyes on the road and his thoughts to himself. Ghazi felt as angry and blindsided as he was sure Omar did. But they could not show weakness. They were in the middle of a war, and casualties were a reality.