Jihadi Bride, page 19
“Stop,” al Kanadi said. “Let her go.”
Mamdouh shoved her back into the chair and then merged into the shadows along the concrete walls of the bunker.
The woman’s chest rose and fell, and she stared at him through the harsh light.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” al Kanadi asked.
She swallowed and then grimaced and then shook her head.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “Do you know why you’re here?”
She waited and then shook her head again.
“I saved you. I stopped your execution.”
The muscles along her jaw tightened, and her gaze dropped to the floor.
“I’m sorry about your husband,” he said.
If he’d looked away, he’d have missed her shoulders slump, the effort on her face as she fought to straighten her back and regain her posture. His instincts had been right, she had plenty of fight left. “I forgive you for helping him. Fear makes people do strange things.”
“He was a good man.” Her voice was hoarse. “He didn’t deserve to die like that.”
Mamdouh darted forward and raised his hand.
Al Kanadi stood and caught Mamdouh’s arm in mid-swing. He met Mamdouh’s glare, shook his head. Willed Mamdouh to understand that physical pain would have no effect on this woman.
Mamdouh struggled for a few seconds and then relaxed and when al Kanadi let him go, he returned to his place near the wall.
Al Kanadi looked at the woman. “He put you in an impossible situation,” he said. “In fact, what you did took courage.” He sat back down. “Since you won’t guess who I am, I’ll tell you. I am Abu Noor al Kanadi.”
Her face twitched, and he knew that she’d heard of him. That would make things easier. “Do you know what I’m in charge of in the Caliphate?”
“No.”
“Deep operations, if that means anything,” al Kanadi said. “It is not enough to focus on our enemies in the Middle East, we must also engage our enemies around the world, and I have the honor of carrying out those operations.”
A frown passed over her face, and her gaze dipped.
“Do you have a question?” he asked.
She glanced up at him and cleared her throat. “Why should I care what you do?”
He laughed, unable to contain himself. Raised a hand when Mamdouh moved off the wall and shook his head. “So you can understand who I am and what I’m trying to accomplish,” he said, although he would keep the finer details to himself.
“Why?”
“Because I would like you to help me.”
“That will never happen.”
“Mamdouh would agree with you.” Al Kanadi nodded at his second-in-command. “He thinks I should have left you to die and he may be right. He’s a good judge of character.” Which was an understatement. Mamdouh had cherry-picked dozens of men from the old Iraqi regime, intelligence officers, scientists, doctors. Helped them see how their interests aligned with the Caliphate. But this woman was different and required a different touch.
“Then why are you wasting your time?” she asked.
“Because I believe I can help you find your purpose.”
Her eyebrows knit together.
“Sister,” he said, “we have both come from the West. We know the rot that is in Western society. It will collapse, we both know that.”
Her gaze flickered away.
“The West cannot defeat us. We can only be defeated by ourselves, because this war is a test of our faith. By Allah’s mercy, we will win, but to do so, we must be vigilant, which is why your husband had to die.”
She looked up, met his gaze. “You boiled him alive,” she said, and for a moment, he was glad Mamdouh was in the room. “You’re a monster.”
“It may seem savage, but I can assure you, it is strategy.” He rose and began to pace, his right hand rested on the pistol at his side. “Our actions, precisely because they’re savage, recruit more fighters to our cause, while at the same time demoralizing our enemies. So it is written in the Idarat al Tawakhush.” He paused and stared at her. “And we’re not alone in using harsh punishments. You think the electric chair is somehow more humane? Or lethal injections?” He resumed his walk around the bunker.
“It’s not the same.” Her gaze followed him. “And they’ll never stop fighting you.”
“Maybe so,” he said and knelt before her. “But they’ll never win and do you know why?”
She looked away, and he reached out and cupped her chin, forced her to meet his gaze.
“They’re not in it, to win it,” he said. “They prefer their material comforts and celebrity worship to real sacrifice, which is what it would take to defeat us.” It was a weakness he would exploit. “But you’re not like that, are you? You know all about sacrifice, the will to succeed.”
Al Kanadi remembered Army Staff College well. Long hours crammed in hot rooms to discuss decisive points and centers of gravity, sources of power from which a country drew strength. If the source of that power was destroyed, the country would collapse. In the case of the West, their source of power was the will of the people. It was also their greatest vulnerability. Western countries had no stomach for casualties, no skin-in-the-game, and so his strategy was simple. Take the attack directly to their people and tough out the difficult years until they realized how much it would cost to succeed and gave up.
“They think their wealth and technology protects them, keeps them from getting their hands dirty. It lets them inflict all manner of violence on the world without feeling the consequences of their actions. But they’re wrong.”
Her gaze dropped. “It’s not –”
“I’ve seen it.” Heat flared in his voice. “I served in Afghanistan. Iraq. I fought their wars. They made things worse, not better.”
He wanted to roll up his right sleeve, show her the tattoo of a dagger in front of crossed swords, the emblem of 5th Special Forces Group. He’d seen Afghanistan become a forgotten war, aid money funneled to warlords who worked to prolong the conflict. He’d seen the idiocy of Iraq, where every action gave birth to the next threat, the dismissal of Baathist officials that led to the Sunni uprising, and then to the Caliphate. So stupid, so predictable. He’d lost faith, retired in disgust, and like many veterans, smothered his idealism with alcohol, then drugs, then prison. It was behind bars that he’d accepted there was no God other than God and that Mohammed was His messenger. And then he’d followed the call back to the Middle East.
“The West is corrupt,” he said. “This war is good for business, and the corporations don’t want change. No, they want the money to keep flowing so they can make their annual bonuses.”
She shook her head, and her eyes grew moist. “More violence is not the answer.”
He nodded and then stood. “I used to think so, too,” he said. “But sometimes it’s easier to burn everything down and start from scratch. The West will not leave us alone because we challenge the status quo and so they have to taste defeat. After that, perhaps they can be saved.”
“I won’t participate in an attack.”
“I never asked you to,” he said. “All I’d like is for you to take a trip.”
“Where?”
“Canada.”
She shook her head. “I would be arrested.”
“You haven’t done anything illegal.”
“I helped recruit, I –”
“And showed unique talent, but it can’t be tied to you.” He leaned close. “What I’m asking is important. I need to deliver a message. It must be carried by a person, and I’d like you to accompany the messenger.”
She closed her eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“Look at us,” he said and gestured to himself and Mamdouh. “A woman’s presence will soften our edges so that the messenger can pass through security,” he said, his voice quiet. “And you have the perfect narrative. Ran away to the Caliphate, found love, then lost it all. Heart-broken, you return home. Not so far from the truth, is it?”
She turned her face from him.
He felt her defenses weaken and he leaned in, moved to brush her cheek with the back of his hand. Too late, he saw her hand dart out for the pistol on his belt. He had time to curse and then he found the barrel of his pistol pointed in his face. Mamdouh left the wall, and al Kanadi shook his head and kept his gaze on the woman. “Well done,” he said.
“I hate you.” Her eyes were moist, but she did not blink. “I will not help you.”
“All I ask is for you to deliver a message.” He wondered if he should take the pistol. Kill her now and end this. But he sensed an opportunity, if he could appeal on a different level.
“I should kill you,” she said and drilled the pistol’s muzzle into his chest.
“Did you know my wife recently arrived in Raqqa?”
She blinked.
“I’ve been trying to get her and my sons here for years. We spent so much time apart.”
“So what?” The pressure of the pistol against his chest lessened ever so little.
“If I’m to die, my last wish would be to see my family again.” He peered at her. “Do you have anyone like that?”
She said nothing except a tiny gap of space opened between the pistol and his chest.
“Your father, perhaps?” he asked, and when a spasm crossed her face, he knew that his words had found their target. “I can make that happen. All you have to do is agree to travel.”
Her eyes dipped, and the pistol began to drop, and now the greatest risk was that Mamdouh would step in and ruin everything when he was so close.
“What happens when I’m done?” she asked.
“That’s up to you,” he said. He had her, he knew it. “It will be difficult to start your life again, but not impossible.”
“What happens if I say no?” she said and raised the pistol back up to his chest.
“You die,” he said. “But we’ll make it quick. It’s the least we can do for your courage.”
Her breaths were quick, ragged. She glanced at Mamdouh, then back to him. Remained silent and then nodded and lowered the pistol.
He bent and took the gun from her hands. “Thank-you.”
Mamdouh held up the hood and the woman recoiled.
Al Kanadi raised a hand. “A precaution, nothing else. You will, after all, eventually speak to authorities in the West.” His gaze was intense as he watched the hood descend over her head. “You will be a great carrier of our message. Go with God.”
She submitted, and Mamdouh brought her to her feet, marched her to the door and handed her over to two men who waited outside. Before he walked out, he looked at al Kanadi over his shoulder. “She has too much spirit left.”
Al Kanadi smiled. “Then break her.”
* * *
Ottawa, Ontario
15 May 15 – 1445 Local
Erik checked several bullets off his to-do list and then bit the end of the pen while he considered the remaining items. Not many more. He looked up and scanned the food court of the World Exchange Plaza yet again, went back to his list and the next time he looked up, he caught a glimpse of Stephanie across the other tables, red leather tote bag over her shoulder. He waved to catch her attention. “Thanks for coming,” he said as she neared his table.
“No problem.” She moved to sit down.
“Don’t get comfortable,” he said and got up. “Let’s walk and talk.”
Her brow crinkled. “And where are we going?”
He waited until she was beside him, then started walking. “To a notary.”
“A what?”
“A notary.” He ignored her frown. “It’s like a quasi-lawyer, they –”
“I know what a notary is,” she said, and her tone suggested she wasn’t impressed he’d been about to explain it to her. “Does this have anything to do with the package Jordan asked me to give to you?” She patted her handbag.
“It might.” He sighed. “And by might, I mean yes. I need you to witness a power-of-attorney.”
“Isn’t that what a notary does? And where’s your attorney?”
“I was hoping you’d be my attorney.” He led them to an escalator.
“Slow down. For what?”
“Property and personal care.” He held up a hand. “Don’t worry, I doubt you’ll have to do anything.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Erik, what are you talking about?”
He took a deep breath and met her gaze. “I’m going after Arielle.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I’m going to Syria.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“While I’m gone, I need someone to act on my behalf –”
“Is this some joke you and Jordan dreamed up?”
“It’s not as crazy as it sounds.”
“What a relief,” she said. “Because it sounds very crazy. You can’t go to Syria.”
“I leave in two days.”
Stephanie closed her eyes and rubber her temples. “You’re an intelligence analyst on a team that tracks and prevents high-risk travelers from going to places like Syria. You can’t go there.”
“Technically, I’m not on the team.”
“Technically,” annoyance crept into her voice, “you’re suspended. And don’t change the subject. Why are we even talking about this?” She dug for her phone.
He placed a hand on her arm. “Please, listen to me,” he said. “I’m going to find her.”
She hesitated and met his gaze. “Erik, this isn’t the solution.”
“It is.” Now that he’d got to it, his calmness surprised him. A part of him understood her argument, would have said the same thing in her position, but the farther he went, the more he knew this was the right decision. “I can do this.”
She folded her arms. “How are you getting there?”
“The First Middle Eastern International Brigades.”
“Mercenaries?” Her face scrunched as if the word caused her pain.
“They’ve been helpful,” he said. “They have a Canadian unit, the Pearson Battalion.”
“And what do they get out of this?” she asked. “They don’t care about you.”
“Stephanie, I know all that, and it doesn’t matter,” he said. “They’re in contact with rebel units on the ground. They can get me closer to Arielle, and I’m taking that chance.”
She blinked and looked away. “And what’s your plan when you get there?”
“I’ll fly into Northern Syria and link up with some rebels near Kobane. That’s near where she crossed at Akçakale. From there, I’ll start asking around. Something will turn up.”
“If that’s even where she crossed the border.” The words came out in force and she glanced around the plaza, glared at the few people who’d turned to look at them. “You’ll be looking for a…a…mais tu chercherais une aguille dans une botte de foin,” she said.
“If you have a better plan, I’d love to hear it.”
She held her hands in front of her lips, her eyes closed. “You could get killed. Or captured.”
He nodded. “You’re right.”
“But that’s not going to stop you.”
“Again, what’s the alternative?”
“Mon criss de câlice, to not be so stupid for starters.” Her voice caught, and her hand flew up. “Why didn’t you ask Jordan to go along with your maudit plan? Or your family? Why did you pick me?”
“Because I trust you the most.”
She blinked several times. “What do I tell Wiggins? Did you think about the position that puts me in?”
“I did, and I’m sorry,” he said and reached for her hand. “Stephanie, my whole life I’ve thought things through, balanced risks against rewards. None of that prevented this.”
“It could stop it from getting worse.”
“She’s my daughter,” he said. “What am I fighting for if not for her?”
A single tear traced a line down Stephanie’s high cheekbone. A second tear formed and she wiped it off, squeezed his hand. “I’m scared for you,” she said. “What if she’s not who you remember?”
He rubbed her hand. “You know, we used to do this thing with her at bedtime. We’d ask her what her low and her high was for the day, and then Audray would tell her she was our favorite person in the whole world.”
“Not favorite daughter?” Stephanie’s voice was soft.
“Too small a sample size,” he said and smiled. “When it was my turn, all I’d say was, ‘and in space.’ Because who knows, right? Maybe there’d be some kid in outer space somewhere, and then she might not be our favorite anymore. So Audray would say, ‘you’re our favorite person in the whole world,’ and then I’d always say, ‘and in space.’”
She squeezed his hand again.
“When Audray died, so much changed, but not that. I said it to her every day, even when it embarrassed her. And I never got a chance to tell her that before she left.” He glanced away, blinked his eyes dry, then met Stephanie’s gaze. “In the end, it doesn’t matter if she’s different. I want her to know she’ll always be my favorite person in the world.”
“And in space.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. And in space.”
