A Long Gray Line Page 8

  Mike had kept his scope on the house for the last ten minutes. “Absolutely nothing, Charles. I saw Bashi enter the residence. That’s it.”

  Mapother had made it clear he wanted Bashi alive. He was an important man within the Islamic State and Mike could only imagine the wealth of intelligence the IMSI could extract from him with a proper debriefing.

  “Would you know if he’d exited the house?” Mapother asked.

  If there was one positive thing about being perched high up on the rooftop of an apartment building, it was that he had a great view of the house and its surroundings. “Unless they’ve dug a tunnel, I would.”

  Then a shot rang out.

  “Someone just fired a rifle,” Mike said, his eye glued to his scope. “I don’t see any movement.”

  “I have to ask, Mike,” Mapother said immediately, “could it be something else?”

  Before Mike could reply, another shot split the air. Sounds like an AK-47 firing single shots. “Nope,” he said. “Someone is definitely shooting at something.”

  _________________________

  Charles Mapother turned off his communication device before he spoke. “What do you think, Jonathan?”

  Mapother trusted Sanchez’s tactical expertise. If he hadn’t been sideline by a bullet in the knee, there was no doubt in Mapother’s mind that Sanchez would still be Delta.

  “We can’t send them in there,” Sanchez replied without any hesitation. “They’d be killed.”

  That didn’t please Mapother but he agreed entirely with Sanchez’s assessment. “You understand that if we call the authorities, we lose our shot at taking Bashi alive, yes?”

  “So be it,” Sanchez said.

  “I’ll call ATJ Lučko and let them know,” Mapother said.

  ATJ Lučko was the Croatian anti-terrorist unit of the Croatian police force. They were stationed at the Lučko airport located fewer than ten miles away from Zagreb.

  “Should I ask Mike and Lisa to stay on station?”

  It was a difficult call to make. Mapother didn’t want his assets to be caught in a crossfire involving the Croatian police and the terrorists, but at the same time, he needed to know what was going on.

  “Yes,” Mapother said, “We’ll pull them out once ATJ Lučko is on final approach.”

  CHAPTER 28

  Zagreb, Croatia

  Al-Julani was speechless. Zaman Douaa’s first bullet had gone through Bashi like a hot knife through butter and lodged itself in the wall inches from where he stood. He looked at Zaman Douaa, not believing what he had just witnessed.

  Douaa shouted at Bashi, who was now on his back with his eyes wide open. “You shouldn’t have disrespected the Islamic State. The Islamic State doesn’t owe its existence to the Sheik.”

  Al-Julani used his sleeve to wipe away the blood from his face. “You did well, Zaman,” he said. “Now give me your weapon. I’ll finish him myself.”

  But Zaman didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, he kicked Bashi hard in the head with the toe of his shot. “See? See what happens to disrespectful shits like you?”

  “Your weapon,” al-Julani repeated, but louder this time. That seemed to bring back Douaa from the trance he was in. He looked at al-Julani, his confusion apparent.

  Al-Julani nodded to him. “I’ll finish him, I said.”

  Douaa obediently handed his AK-47 to him.

  The moment he took possession of the AK-47, al-Julani pointed the muzzle at Douaa’s chest and shot him. Douaa’s body flew backward.

  Al-Julani looked at his men. “Somebody is bound to have heard the shots. I see no reason why we should stay here.”

  His two remaining men nodded in agreement. “Our plan to attack the Israeli embassy is tactically sound, but I believe the element of surprise isn’t with us anymore,” he added.

  “Why can’t we go back to Ar Raqqah?” one of them suggested.

  Al-Julani agreed. “This is an option. What do you say, Vadik?” he asked the other.

  “We’ve wasted months,” he said, the anger in his voice apparent.

  “But we’ll live to fight another day and enjoy our new country,” al-Julani said.

  He knelt down next to Bashi and searched for the keys to the Mercedes. He found them in his jeans pocket. “Grab your weapon; we’re leaving now.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Zagreb, Croatia

  “I hear sirens,” Mike said. He wasn’t the only one to have heard the shots.

  “ATJ Lučko on its way,” Sanchez said. “But the regular police will be there before—”

  “Movement. Front door,” Mike said, cutting Sanchez off. “Three men. Armed.”

  Mapother jumped in. “You’re free to engage, Mike.”

  The men were pretty much dressed the same — blue jeans, loose fitting long sleeve shirts with white sneakers. Mike took the time to control his breathing and made sure that the butt of his M110 sniper rifle was firmly in the pocket formed in his right shoulder.

  Only when he knew he’d hit his target did he caress the trigger.

  _________________________

  Al-Julani was the last man out of the house. He wasn’t sure exactly how they’d get back to Ar Raqqah but he knew they couldn’t waste any more time getting out of the neighborhood. What an idiot Douaa turned out to be. Al-Julani wondered if the strain they had endured while living with the refugees had coerced his mind. Douaa had previously shown so much promise.

  And what about Mouin Bashi? He had lied to them. Al-Julani had sworn allegiance to the Islamic State. The Sheik commanded respect for everything he had accomplished, but al-Julani wouldn’t die for him.

  Al-Julani’s heart jumped when he heard the shot. He recognized it for what it was immediately and rushed to cover. A second shot rang out just as he dove behind a large tree trunk. He felt the bullet hiss right past him. The shot had come from the apartment building. That was the only place he’d be if he were the shooter.

  One of his men was sprawled in the driveway. From the look of it, he’d been hit center mass. He looked at al-Julani and tried to crawl in his direction but another bullet hit him in the back and he stopped moving.

  “Vadik,” al-Julani shouted, searching for his last man.

  “Here,” Vadik replied. “Behind the car.”

  Good. He was safe. His man had reacted quickly and it probably saved his life. Instead of freezing in place like most people would, he had dashed across the street and taken cover behind a vehicle.

  “The shooter is on the rooftop of the apartment building,” he yelled. “You’ll cover me as I get the van.”

  Vadik gave him the thumbs-up.

  _________________________

  “Al-Julani is one of the three targets,” Mike said adjusting his aim. “And I have one tango down.”

  His second shot had missed al-Julani by mere inches. The bastard had reacted much quicker than Mike had anticipated. These men knew what they were doing. They were real soldiers, well-trained. That meant they had probably figured out where he was.

  “Mike,” his wife said, “a Croatian police car just passed me. You have sixty seconds at the most.”

  “Copy, Lisa,” Mike replied. “Bring the car to the main entrance of the apartment building.”

  “On my way,” Lisa said. “Be careful.”

  Mike doubted he was in imminent danger, but he didn’t think the regular Croatian police officers that would show up at the scene were equipped or mentally prepared to engage two trained ISIS combatants.

  And where’s Bashi? God damn it! He pushed the thought of Bashi out of his mind. He had enough on his plate. What he needed to focus on was to keep the ISIS men pinned down until the officers showed up.

  Suddenly, the man who had taken cover behind a car got up and opened fire in his direction.

  Yep, they know where
I am.

  Fortunately, the man’s fire wasn’t very accurate, as he used long bursts instead of an aimed, single shot. His rounds went wide. Mike placed the reticle on the man’s chest and fired twice.

  “Two tangos down,” Mike said. From the corner of his eyes, he saw al-Julani sprint across the street toward the Mercedes Bashi had parked only a few minutes ago. Mike tried to aim the M110 at al-Juvani but he had already taken cover behind the vehicle.

  Damn! He was running out of time. He fired three rounds in the engine’s block of the Mercedes.

  “I’m here,” Lisa told him. “Where are you?”

  “I’m coming down,” Mike said, frustrated he couldn’t take another shot at al-Julani. He had just picked up his M110 when the distinctive sound of an AK-47 filled the air. Mike instinctively ducked behind the balustrade. In order not to appear at the same place, Mike crawled five meters to his left. By the time he risked a peep, the Mercedes van was already speeding away.

  “Al-Julani is driving off in the van,” Mike said over his comms. “Fuck!”

  _________________________

  Al-Julani knew Vadik had been hit when the sound of his AK-47 died mid-burst. Al-Julani made himself as small as he could as he hid behind the engine block of the Mercedes. He heard three distinct clunks when bullets hit the hood of the vehicle. He couldn’t stay there forever, though. The sirens were getting close. He had to make a move. Now.

  In one swift movement, he got up and let loose a long burst from his AK-47 toward the rooftop of the apartment building where he believed the sniper to be. He then hurried inside the van and prayed to Allah the van would start, and that he wouldn’t get shot while trying.

  It did. And he didn’t get shot.

  Half-surprised to still be alive, he pressed the gas. The van bumped into the Kia parked in front but al-Julani cranked the wheels and the Mercedes sped away.

  CHAPTER 30

  Zagreb, Croatia

  Lisa was getting a bit tense. The police would be there any second now and Mike was still on the rooftop. When she heard him say that al-Julani was driving off, she reacted immediately.

  “In which direction?” she asked.

  She got angry when he didn’t reply right away. She knew he didn’t want her to go after al-Julani alone but she was their only shot at stopping him. For all she knew, he was going to drive a truck full of explosives into the Israeli embassy.

  “Which direction is he going, Mike?” she repeated.

  “West,” he said, “He’s heading west.”

  She made a hard right on the next street and went through a red light to make a left on the next one.

  Shiiiit!

  She was driving in the wrong direction up a one-way street. She swerved to miss an oncoming car only to find herself on a collision course with a taxi. She pressed the gas pedal and veered left as the right side of her front bumper scratched against the taxi’s.

  “For Christ’s sake, Lisa, what are you doing?” she heard Mike say as the taxi honked.

  From the apartment building, he probably had a bird’s eye view of what was going on.

  “Do something useful, Mike, and tell me if you see the Mercedes,” she said, squeezing the steering wheel so hard that her knuckles turned white.

  She saw a side street and went for it, barely avoiding a large delivery truck.

  Holy crap! That was way too close.

  “Anything? Mike?”

  “It’s about five hundred meters in front of you,” Mike replied. “He’s turning right on a small street, and…and he seems to be slowing down.”

  Lisa opened the glove compartment and grabbed her P226.

  She was ready.

  _________________________

  Al-Julani cursed his bad luck. The Mercedes’ engine was dead. The bullets had caused more damage than he had originally thought. Good news was that he had gotten away from the scene. The police were probably cordoning off the area.

  He had to ditch the van and steal another vehicle. He needed something smaller and less cumbersome than the Mercedes. He climbed out of the van and scanned in search of vehicles that would fit the bill. He spotted at least half a dozen cars that did but he doubted the owners had left their keys in the ignition. He had only hot-wired a car once and didn’t think he could do it again.

  The sound of an engine accelerating made him turn around. A car was approaching. Perfect.

  He’d try not to shoot the driver right away. A hostage might become handy.

  _________________________

  Lisa didn’t slow down until she was twenty meters away. She saw al-Julani waving at her to stop. He was standing next to the Mercedes van, a big smile on his face. She came to a stop next to him and lowered the passenger window.

  “Could I—” started al-Julani, but he stopped mid-sentence when he saw Lisa. She was pointing the P226 at his head.

  “You have a problem with your van, Samir?” she asked.

  Al-Julani’s eyes opened wide. Lisa’s round hit him just under the left eye and mushroom in his brain.

  “Tango three down,” she said driving away.

  CHAPTER 31

  Zagreb, Croatia

  The moment Mike witnessed Lisa drive away from al-Julani’s body, he packed his rifle and took the elevator to the ground floor. He was once again impressed with how Lisa had performed under stress. She had made the right decision at the right time and had successfully completed her mission because of it.

  He exited the building about the same time she showed up.

  “Where to? she asked.

  “Rijeka would be nice,” he said. “I’ve already called the pilots to let them know we’re coming.”

  They drove in silence for the most part of the first hour. Mike was replaying in his mind the events that had led them to Zagreb.

  “Charles, are you listening?” Mike asked.

  “Jonathan here, Mike,” Sanchez replied. “Mapother is on the phone with DNI Phillips. He said I should tell you job well done.”

  Mike looked at Lisa and asked, “You got that?”

  She smiled and gave him the thumbs-up.

  “Anyhow,” Sanchez continued, “can I pass along a message to the director?”

  “How’s Frank?”

  “Yeah, sorry, I should have let you guys know sooner,” Sanchez said. “He’s gonna make it.”

  Lisa placed a hand on his lap. He squeezed it gently. “That’s good news, Jonathan. That’s real good news.”

  CHAPTER 32

  Split, Croatia

  It was too bad, really. It would have been nice to see the Israeli embassy in rubble. But it was evident that wasn’t going to happen. Not now. Not after what he had seen on television. What bothered him the most was how Bashi’s team had been picked up. Something in the back of his mind told him the same group that had been after him in Benalmádena was here in Croatia. The Sheik hated playing defense. Whoever was after him, he’d find out. And he’d make them pay.

  Dearly.

  The remaining cells were being picked off one by one, but already, the ISIS fighters were claiming their innocence and demanding to speak with public defenders. And as usual, the media were chastising law enforcement officials for their aggressive actions against the twelve refugees they had arrested so far. With the terrors threats now confirmed, the stock markets continued their dive to new lows.

  The Sheik smiled. Allahu Akbar.

  Working with the Russians would bring a set of new challenges but many opportunities too. And, there were a couple of people he was actually really looking forward to seeing. It had been way too long since his last visit to Russia. Overdue didn’t even begin to cut it.

  His phone vibrated in his hand. He looked at the call display. His car had arrived, courtesy of the Embassy of the Russian Federation to the Republic of Croatia.<
br />
  As he climbed in the back of the waiting limousine, he noticed that a well-dressed man was already seated at the back. It wasn’t until he was properly seated that he recognized who it was. He tried to speak but couldn’t. Seeing this, the other man said, “Hello Father, nice to see you too.”

  A note from Simon Gervais:

  Following the publication of my bestselling debut novel The Thin Black Line in April 2015, I received countless emails asking me to bring back Canadian Security Intelligence Service agent Zima Bernbaum in my next novel. If you haven’t read The Thin Black Line yet, stop right here and come back once you’ve read it. She has an incredible story and you’ll be pleased to know that she’ll play a much bigger role in my upcoming novel A Red Dotted Line. In the meantime, here’s what Zima has been up to recently:

  Part I

  Ottawa, Canada

  Zima Bernbaum heard someone knocking on her door. She looked up from the novel she was reading in time to see Joachim Persky entere the room. Persky was the deputy assistant-director of CSIS —the Canadian Security Intelligence Service.

  “How are you feeling, Zima?” he asked.

  “Can’t wait to get out of here,” she replied, looking around the private hospital room CSIS had put her in. “The food ain’t that bad though.”

  Persky smiled. Zima liked him. He was a good man that had risen through the ranks because of his hard work and dedication.

  “Any day now, or so I’m told,” he said.

  Zima hoped so but she was mature enough to know her body needed time to heal. She had nearly lost her life, and she would have if it hadn’t been for Shane’s sacrifice. A member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Emergency Response Team, Shane had thrown himself on top of her a millisecond before a bomb planted by AbdelKarim Kashmiri —one of the Sheik’s team leaders— exploded ten meters away from them. Kashmiri had died in the blast, but so had Shane.

  What she couldn’t understand was the reason why Shane had sacrificed so much to save her. She could feel warm tears prickling her eyes as she thought about the wife and the three-month-old son Shane had left behind. It tortured her soul to know she wouldn’t be able to pay back her debt. She owed them so much.