A Long Gray Line Page 2

  “If you haven’t spotted Bashi by then, you’re done,” Mapother said.

  The next day, Mike and Lisa deployed two sticky cameras to cover the entrance to Bashi’s apartment building. They set up their equipment—the laptop and their communication devices—in an apartment three blocks away from where Bashi was supposed to be hunkered down. The apartment where Mike and Lisa were staying belonged to an IMSI undercover asset who had joined ISIS four months prior. He was the only asset the IMSI had in ISIS-occupied territory. His real name was Frank McArdle but here in Ar Raqqah, he was known as Mustafa Kuftaro. Mike had never met the guy before but Mapother told him he was a former NCO with the 75th Ranger Regiment that had gone through the IMSI training program a couple months before he and Lisa did. He was a low-key fighter, tasked with transporting ISIS combatants in and out of the different war zones.

  “Most guys know who I am and they leave me alone,” McArdle had told them when he picked them up in Lebanon. “I always carry cold water and juices. They like that.”

  “What about cigarettes?” Lisa asked.

  McArdle shook his head. “Can’t do. You get caught smoking here in Ar Raqqah, you’ll be given forty lashes.”

  “Didn’t they behead one of their own commanders for being caught with a cigarette in his mouth?” Mike asked.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me,” McArdle replied. “They’re savages. Never seen anything like it.”

  _________________________

  The three of them were eating a weak soup made of vegetables and cereal grains when a small gray SUV stopped in front of Bashi’s apartment’s building.

  “We have movement,” Lisa said, her eyes on the monitor.

  She watched four heavily armed men climb out and go up the stairs.

  “Bashi isn’t among them,” McArdle said. The IMSI had no photos of the Sheik’s associate but McArdle had assured them he would recognize the man. He had also drawn a sketch of the man.

  “Where the heck is he?” Mike asked, his voice betraying his impatience.

  Lisa was getting worried too. Their window of opportunity was closing fast.

  “He sometimes disappears for days,” McArdle said. “What do you want to do?”

  “You know any of them?” Lisa asked.

  “The tall one’s name is Zebar. Nobody really knows what he does, but he’s somewhat of a big deal around here.”

  Lisa looked at her husband expectantly. He shook his head. “We’re waiting for Bashi. He’s the one we’re after.”

  “Frank says he’s a big deal, Mike,” Lisa said, hoping her husband would change his mind.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Mike replied. “Bashi’s the one with the connection to the Sheik. We wait.”

  Lisa was about to push the issue but McArdle’s phone started to vibrate. He signaled them to stay silent.

  She couldn’t hear what the caller was saying but McArdle hung up without saying a single world.

  “I gotta go,” he said. “I have no idea how long I’ll be gone.”

  “Do you know where?”

  “I got to pick up a couple of guys. They’ll tell me.”

  “Can we reach you if we need to?” Mike asked.

  “Call me on this,” McArdle replied holding his cell phone. “But only if it’s an emergency. And let me speak first. I’ll let you know if I can’t reply.”

  “Understood.”

  Lisa watched McArdle gather his stuff. It really took someone special to do what he did. She prayed silently for him.

  “Take care,” she said.

  He waved back and with that, he was out the door.

  CHAPTER 5

  Opatovac Refugee Camp, Croatia

  Samir al-Julani felt the smartphone vibrate in his pocket. He didn’t pick up. There was only one person who knew his number and no words between the two men needed to be exchanged in order for al-Julani to know what he had to do.

  It was a relief, really. Traveling with the hordes of refugees hadn’t been a pleasant experience. In al-Julani’s opinion, the refugees were all cowards. Unfit to live. They could have stayed in Syria or Iraq and helped the Islamic State in building a strong and fearless society where they could all live under Sharia law. But they had run instead. Run directly into the arms of their enemies. For what? A false promise of peace? Free food? Free accommodations? Al-Julani couldn’t stand them anymore. If they weren’t fighting for Islam, they’d die by his hand.

  But Zebar Selam’s phone call changed everything. He and his team had been activated. Breaking free of the camp wouldn’t be a problem. He had an escape plan ready. Al-Julani headed to the cafeteria where his men were waiting for him. The cafeteria was a large open-ended green tent where a number of picnic tables had been set up. His men looked at him expectantly as he grabbed a seat in between two of them.

  “We leave tonight,” he said. “We have our orders.”

  He sensed a wave of excitement pass through his men. As brave as they were, it wasn’t difficult to see they were fed up with living amongst weaker men. Together, they would help shape the future of the Islamic State. Soon, they would show the world that the Islamic State could strike anywhere it wished. At anytime.

  CHAPTER 6

  Ar Raqqah, Syria

  Mike Walton had no idea how long he’d been napping but he woke up instantly when he felt his wife’s hand on his shoulder.

  “That’s Frank’s SUV,” she said. She turned the monitor toward him so he could see.

  She was right. It was indeed Frank’s truck. It had stopped in front of Bashi’s building. What the hell?

  One of the ISIS fighters they had seen enter the building earlier appeared next to the truck and opened one of the rear passenger doors. Mike couldn’t be sure —the video feed wasn’t of the greatest quality— but he thought the man smiled as three young women exited the vehicle. The man exchanged a few words with the driver. Mike couldn’t confirm if it was Frank or not, but the SUV left soon after.

  “He’s bringing the girls up,” Lisa said. “Two of them looked very young.”

  Mike could see his wife was worried. They both knew of the atrocities ISIS was capable of. These girls were going to be raped. He couldn’t fathom what pushed these young women to the mercy of the Islamic State. Some of them had no say in the matter, of course. They were born at the wrong time, in the wrong place. But what about all these Western young women traveling from Canada, England, France and even the United States who were joining ISIS? Why were they so drawn to the terror group? Whatever the reasons were, it made him sick. One thing was clear though. ISIS propaganda was designed to charm people who felt like outsiders in their own homes. These young women imagined the Islamic State to be a world in which there was no poverty or inequality and that it was ruled with fairness by clear-cut, divine laws that worked to the advantage of all.

  Islamic utopia.

  Unfortunately for the Western women falling for this—Mike had read there were more than a thousand—their vision made no allowances for the ambiguity of traditional Islamic legal interpretations. By the time they realized they had been lied to and taken advantage of, it was too late. They were stuck in ISIS land. The Islamic State’s well-oiled social media propaganda machine was efficient and terrifying at the same time. If Mike could play any role in stopping, or at least diminishing the magnetism the Islamic State had on some women, he’d do whatever it took.

  He dialed McArdle’s number and put the call on speaker phone so Lisa could hear the conversation.

  “I knew you’d call,” the undercover asset said. “And yes, it was me.”

  “Any word on Bashi?”

  “He’s out of town.”

  Damn! All these risks they had taken… All for nothing.

  “You know what they’ll do to these girls, right?” McArdle asked.

  Of course, he knew. So did
his wife. Her eyes were burning with anger. She’d never look at him the same way if he didn’t move a finger to save these women. But as good an operator as she was, Mike was convinced she didn’t fully understand the big picture. They couldn’t jeopardize their exit strategy by going after an unknown number of ISIS combatants. Plus, they couldn’t risk compromising McArdle.

  Lisa grabbed his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh. “Mike,” she said, her voice a whisper. “We can’t leave them. I’ll go by myself if I need to.”

  Mike sighed. Maybe I’m the one who doesn’t understand the big picture.

  Lisa was right. Again. There was no way he could live with himself knowing he’d left these women behind. Mapother would throw a fit, but that was fine by him.

  “We’ll get them out,” Mike finally said to McArdle.

  “I was getting worried. I’ll be there in a minute,” the former Ranger replied before he hung up.

  Mike turned toward his wife and they shared a long look of understanding. “Thanks,” she said. “For Melissa.”

  Yes. For Melissa.

  CHAPTER 7

  Ar Raqqah, Syria

  Mike climbed out of the SUV a block away from Bashi’s apartment.

  “If everything looks good, I’ll meet you at the front entrance,” McArdle said.

  “Sounds good,” Mike replied. “If you aren’t there in three minutes, I’ll walk back to your place and we’ll call it off.”

  McArdle nodded and drove off.

  They had left Lisa in charge of monitoring the video feed coming from the two sticky cameras. She had bitched and moaned about it but had nevertheless accepted her role. It was much easier for two men to move around Ar Raqqah then it was for a woman.

  “Nothing to report,” his wife said over their secure communication network.

  “Okay, thanks,” Mike said. “I’m heading toward the target building.”

  Seized in the Spring of 2013 by jihadists from the Al-Nursa front, a terror group affiliated with al-Qaeda, ISIS gained control of Ar Raqqah a few months later. It was believed that the hills surrounding the Islamic Caliphate capital were the location where the beheadings of journalists James Foley and Steven Sotloff took place. With a population just over two hundred and twenty thousand before the Syrian civil war broke out, Mike had no idea how many people remained in Ar Raqqah. Looking at the dusty streets and half-demolished buildings around him, he couldn’t blame anyone trying to leave this godforsaken place. But there was a big difference in between what someone wanted and what the person could do. McArdle had pointed out that the Islamic State made it very difficult for civilians to leave the city.

  “They’re using the civilians as shields against the airstrikes,” McArdle had explained. “These pour souls are caught between the iron fist control of ISIS and the bombardments from above. It fuckin’ sucks.”

  Mike’s blood ran cold as a group of four men wearing black clothes from head to toe turned the corner fewer than ten meters in front of him and walked toward him. One of them was armed with a Kalashnikov while the three others had sticks in their hands. Mike’s Arabic was basic at best and he didn’t dare reach for his MK23 pistol holstered in his back.

  Hoping for the best but preparing for the worst, Mike decided he’d strike first the moment any of them tried to speak to him. He’d need the element of surprise if he wanted to have the slimmest chance of surviving an encounter against four men. His beard wasn’t as long as he wanted it to be but he hoped his clothes would convince them he was a combatant too. A gray coat over a black t-shirt and a pair of camouflage pants was pretty standard attire for the fighting men of the Caliphate.

  Mike senses were on high alert but he continued walking. He made an effort to control his breathing and wondered if he should make eye contact or not. He decided against it and stepped aside to let the men pass. They didn’t stop but Mike could feel he had aroused their curiosity. Maybe I should have looked at them in the eyes after all.

  As he kept going toward Bashi’s building, he spoke in the small microphone attached to his lapel. “Group of four men, one of them armed, walking eastbound.”

  “Are you clear?” Lisa asked.

  Mike didn’t want to look back and said so to his wife.

  “I got a visual on them, Mike,” came in McArdle. “You’re good. They entered another building right behind you.”

  Good. “Copy,” Mike said, not allowing himself to relax one bit. He was still in the danger zone. “I’m fifty meters away.”

  “I’ll park the truck about one hundred meters west of the entrance,” McArdle said. “Wait for me.”

  “Will do.” He had no intention of going up without a backup anyway.

  CHAPTER 8

  Ar Raqqah, Syria

  Zebar Selam looked at the lifeless body tied to the table. Her head was twisted unnaturally and a small pool of blood had formed under her left ear. But more importantly, the spasms had ceased. Zebar let his left hand wander on the soft naked skin of the woman he had killed while his right hand slid inside his pants.

  The two other girls who were tied together on the floor had started to cry again.

  “Jealous?” he asked them as he stroked himself. “You’re next, so stop crying.”

  Khaled and his friend had left the room to get the two other ISIS combatants with whom they were sharing the apartment. Zebar had also given them permission to call four more fighters who were living close by. They had fought well over the last month and they deserved a little gratitude, courtesy of the Islamic State.

  As long as I’m the first one, they can do what they want with her. Plus, they have two other live ones.

  It felt really good to know that there were no consequences to his actions. Where else in the world could one rape and murder without any chance of retaliation from the authorities. Here in Ar Raqqah, he was like a God.

  He let his pants slide down to his ankles and positioned himself behind the dead woman. He then lifted himself on the table and lay down on top of her. It would be his first time with a dead one, and knowing he was the one who had killed her excited him to no end.

  Allahu Akbar!

  _________________________

  Mike Walton had his back on the wall, his eyes on McArdle. The former Ranger really did look like an ISIS fighter. Infiltrating a group like ISIS wasn’t something Mike would have signed up for. He would have gotten caught right away. Of that he was sure. There was no way he could veil the anger and hatred he felt toward them. They were cowards. He despised everything they did and it showed. Even Lisa had told him that he’d better not look at any ISIS fighters in the eyes because they would see right through him. But McArdle was of a different breed. Mike could tell. The guy was a born undercover operative and would have been a great asset for any police organization. Mapother was lucky to have him.

  “We’re good?” McArdle asked.

  “We need one alive,” Mike said. “This is our last lead to the Sheik.”

  “I’ll lead the way,” McArdle said, like a true Ranger. “They know me and that might give us an extra second or two.”

  Mike couldn’t argue with the man’s logic. He screwed the sound suppressor to his MK23. McArdle already had his Sig Sauer P226 in front of him. Even though Mike was a big fan of the P226, here in Ar Raqqah, he felt the need for something with a little more knock-down power. The MK23 was a bit heavier and less wieldy than the P226 but Mike was happy with the tradeoff. If the need to engage a target farther away materialized, he was confident the MK23 would do the job with better accuracy.

  Mike touched McArdle on the shoulder to let him know he was ready.

  “We’re starting our assault,” he said to Lisa.

  “Go get these bastards,” she replied.

  Tough girl. With Lisa, there was no “be careful, honey.”

  After a quick look behind him,
Mike followed McArdle up the stairs leading to Bashi’s apartment. The apartment was on the first floor and Mike hoped there’d be no children or innocent bystanders in between them and the door they wanted to go through. He kept his MK23 at the low ready, close to his body. He scanned his rear one more time halfway up the stairs.

  Clear.

  His relief was short lived as Lisa’s voice crackled in his ear. “Four men are approaching from the east. They’re forty meters or so away.”

  Mike and McArdle had reached Bashi’s door.

  “I think they might be the same ones you came across, Mike,” Lisa continued. “At least one of them is armed.”

  “Copy that, Lisa,” Mike replied. “Four men approaching from the east.”

  “Damn it!” McArdle said. “Door’s locked. They never lock their door.”

  Shit! They were running out of time.

  “How secure is it?” Mike asked. His back was now to McArdle and his MK23 was pointing down the stairs.

  “Very. There are two deadbolts. We won’t be able to gain access unless someone opens it from the inside.”

  That wasn’t good. Mike didn’t want to stay too long in the staircase. It was the only way out of the building and they were bound to arouse suspicion if one of the tenants saw them.

  “Ten meters away,” Lisa warned them.

  There was no way they’d gain access to Bashi’s apartment before the men marched by. Chances were they would simply keep walking but Mike didn’t want to be caught in the open if it wasn’t to be the case.

  “Let’s move up to the second floor,” he said to McArdle. “Now.”

  The way the building was configured, there were two apartments per floor and their doors were facing each other. Mike had just turned the staircase’s corner when he heard the building’s door open.

  “They’re coming your way,” Lisa’s voice came in.

  “We’re good,” Mike whispered back. For now.