Jihadi Bride, page 24
“Business,” Abu Yusuf said.
“We don’t want trouble. I just want to find my daughter.”
“And yet trouble is what you have found.” Abu Yusuf’s smile grew larger, and he pushed back from the table and stood. Then he placed his right hand over his heart and gave a slight bow to the three men as they neared the table. “As-Salaam-Alaikum, Khalid.”
The newcomers stood with one man in front flanked by the two with rifles. The lead man was tall and gaunt, dressed in tan cargo pants and a tan long sleeved shirt and he wore a black skull cap pulled tight to his head. He nodded at Abu Yusuf. “Wa-Alaikum-Salaam,” he said and then glared at Erik. “Get up.”
“Easy.” Erik held up his hands. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“No, there hasn’t,” the man said, and Erik took him to be Khalid. He spoke over his shoulder to the fighter on his left, a man with a wicked scar across his cheek. “Take him.”
The other man nodded at Walid. “What about the Kurd?” he asked in perfect English.
Khalid’s expression did not change. “Kill him.”
The man cocked his rifle and the metallic clank of the bolt going back and forth echoed in the room. Erik glanced at Walid and then back to the fighters. He had time to wonder where Chris and Mark were, and then the fighter with the scar had reached for his neck.
Erik twisted out of the fighter’s reach, and as the man paused to reorient, Erik grabbed his wrist and elbow and hyperextended his arm. Shock registered on the man’s face, and then Erik stood and threw all his weight into the man’s locked elbow. A loud snap pierced the room, and the fighter screamed, and his arm went limp in Erik’s hands.
In the corner of his vision, Erik saw the other fighter swivel his weapon in his direction. He took a step in the fighter’s direction and then Walid launched across the floor and grabbed the barrel of the rifle. The Kurd yelled and forced the rifle up and a loud shot filled the room.
Erik returned to his opponent. They might come out of this yet.
He held onto the fighter’s mangled arm and rammed his knee into the man’s thigh. The leg buckled and as the man collapsed, Erik smashed a fist into his throat and then kicked out the man’s remaining leg. The man fell to the ground, and hit his head on the floor with a loud crack and did not move.
Erik glanced around. Walid and the third goon wrestled on the floor with the rifle between them. Khalid had begun backing up to the entrance of the restaurant, his hands held low and ready at his waist as if he was unsure how the tables had flipped on him. Erik darted forward and feinted at Khalid’s head.
Khalid raised his hands and flinched back and then stumbled. Tottered on his heels and his arms began to windmill to recover his balance, and it was too good a chance to pass up.
Erik kicked low and fast, and the toe of his boot struck the inside of Khalid’s ankle. Khalid grunted as his ankle went over and his arms went out. Erik punched him in his now uncovered abdomen, and when Khalid doubled over, he smashed his forehead into Khalid’s face. The nose broke with a crunch and Khalid collapsed to the floor.
Erik took a moment to scan the room while Walid wrestled with the remaining fighter. Near the back of the room, Abu Yusuf and his companion stood by the kitchen doors, apparently intent on leaving. The rest of the room had emptied, and so Erik shuffled closer to Walid and waited for an opening to help. There it was. He tensed.
Light flowed into the room once again, and Erik whirled to face the door. More fighters entered the restaurant, four, six, all armed with rifles. One of the men stooped beside Khalid, thrust a hand under his arm and dragged him to his feet.
Erik looked for an escape, but the sole option was through the kitchen, at least fifteen feet off. More than enough time to be mowed down. He crouched and reached out to grab Walid’s attacker.
“Enough,” Khalid said in a nasal tone. He grabbed the rifle from the man who’d helped him up, leveled the barrel at Walid and his attacker and pulled the trigger. The rifle rocked in his hands, the heavy concussions of firing offset by the thuds of rounds striking flesh and bone. Within seconds, both men had stopped moving, their bullet-riddled bodies entwined.
Khalid pointed the AK-47 at Erik. “On your knees.”
Erik met Khalid’s gaze, read the hatred and loathing on the man’s contorted face and hesitated.
Khalid came closer, eyes red over the mangled remains of his nose. “On your knees!”
If he let Khalid take him, he’d be tortured, and he was under no illusions how that would end. They’d break him sooner or later, and when they found out his background, he’d be in for a long, slow road to hell, never mind the information he might give up.
Khalid raised the rifle to his shoulder and pointed it at Erik’s chest. “I won’t tell you again,” he said, “get on your knees.”
Then again, if he died now, he’d never see Arielle again. At least alive, there was a chance, no matter how small. He whispered a silent apology to Stephanie, then dropped to one knee and interlaced his fingers behind his head.
Khalid stepped closer. “On your belly.”
Erik eased onto his stomach and pressed his cheek to the gritty ceramic floor.
Khalid knelt beside him and then pulled a knife from his robes and held the jagged blade in front of Erik’s face. “Take a good look,” he said. “You may be tough now, but you’ll scream when it happens. They –”
The front entrance of the restaurant erupted in an explosion of sound and light. Bricks and wood and dust cascaded into the room and Erik flung his arms over his head and curled into the fetal position and was covered by dirt and debris. He was aware of Khalid struggling to his feet and then a second concussion rocked the room and he saw Khalid ripped in half. Then the blast wave reached him and he hit his head and there was silence and darkness.
* * *
Guinea, Africa
22 May 15 – 1523 Local
Arielle fumbled the key into the Landcruiser’s ignition. She’d been lucky to find the key ring in the cup holder, but her hand shook. Above, the second story door opened and Nassir strode onto the landing. Arielle concentrated on the key, ignored Nassir taking the stairs two steps at a time. She grasped the key with both hands and then it was in the ignition. She depressed the clutch, stood on the brake and turned the key. The engine roared to life and she said a silent prayer to her dad for hours spent learning to drive stick.
Her door jerked open and fingers clawed at her niqab. She slammed the SUV into reverse and stomped on the gas. Gravel sprayed from the Landcruiser’s tires, and as the vehicle backed up, the open door hit Nassir with a thump. His fingers let go and then disappeared, dragged with the rest of his body under the vehicle. She spun the steering wheel so the Landcruiser faced the main gate and then ground the gear shift into first and stomped on the gas. The wheels spun, and the SUV sped off and fishtailed in the direction of the gate.
Up ahead, a guard poked his head out of the small shack beside the gate. He looked at the SUV and frowned, then stepped out of the shack, rifle slung from his shoulder. Arielle did not stop, now fifty yards from the gate, then twenty-five, close enough to see the thick padlock on the chain that held the gate shut.
At twenty yards, the guard raised his rifle, then thought better and threw himself backwards into the shack. Seconds later, the Landcruiser hit the gate dead in the middle. The gates flew open with a deafening bang and then she was through. Adrenaline surged through her body, and she yelled with joy. She drove on and then spared a glance in the rear-view mirror and was able to make out a group of figures near Nassir’s body.
Then the Landcruiser lurched, and she flew up, hit her head on the roof, her pursuit momentarily forgotten. The SUV slowed, and she wrenched the wheel to bring herself back on the road. She glanced at the dashboard and saw she had three-quarters of a tank of gas. She was going to make it. The road straightened, and she floored the pedal, checked the mirror again. The camp had faded into the trees, but she knew that meant nothing.
The chase was on.
A loud bang to the front drew her gaze. The SUV’s hood had come up and covered the windshield. She braked, and the hood slammed back into place. The front grill was bent in at the top, about where she’d hit the gate. Heart pounding, her foot returned to the accelerator as she stole glances in the rearview. Nothing yet, but they wouldn’t be far behind. She’d have to nurse the vehicle and hope the hood stayed down.
Another corner and then she cleared the trees and broke onto the savannah. She applied more gas and then the hood flew up again, hit the vehicle’s roof hard enough to send tiny spider-web cracks through the windshield. With a quiet moan, she tapped the brakes, and the hood dropped back down. “No, no, no,” she said and pushed down the accelerator again. She stole another glance in the rearview and caught her first glimpse of pursuit, four vehicles at the edge of the tree line behind her. She focused on the road.
Ahead, a small clump of roofs appeared on the horizon. She sped up, but the hood lifted again. This time when she hit the brakes, the hood remained stuck to the windshield. She braked to a stop, flung open the door and leaned through the gap to push the hood down. It wouldn’t budge.
“Come on!” She jumped out and reefed on the hood with both hands. With a stubborn screech, it fell into position. She leapt back into the Landcruiser, jammed it in gear and began to move and then her chasers crested a hill behind her, a few car lengths away.
Foot on the gas, she swung the Landcruiser from side to side, but the hills had leveled out, and her pursuers took advantage of the terrain. On the left, a brown Hilux bounced up and down as it drew even with her. On the right, another brown Hilux pulled ahead, swerved onto the road in front of her and then its tail lights lit up, and it slowed.
She kept the accelerator down and rammed the truck, sent it skidding off the road. Tendrils of smoke emerged from under the Landcruiser’s hood, and the engine began to make a high-pitched whine, but she had no time to worry about that now. She glanced right, to another truck that had closed in on her and then she was blocked on all sides, the vehicles rubbing up against the Landcruiser as they pulled in tight.
She screamed and kept the accelerator on the floor, but the Landcruiser had begun to slow and then ground to a stop in a cloud of brown dust. She worked the pedals, jammed the gear shift into reverse. The engine roared, and the SUV rocked, and then another truck jammed in from behind and a man yelled at her.
There had to be something. There, in the leg space of the passenger side, she saw where Nassir had left his rifle. She clawed for the gun, her fingers on the greasy metal.
The driver’s side door ripped open, and hands grasped her neck, yanked her out of the SUV. She kicked and flailed, and the rifle tumbled out of her grasp and back into the passenger’s side of the vehicle as she was dragged over the hood of a truck and then slammed onto the ground. Her head hit the hard-packed track and stars filled her vision, bright lights followed by darkness and men’s yells.
So close.
She was being dragged by her foot. She wriggled onto her back, and panic filled her as the open door of a Toyota Landcruiser filled her vision. She kicked with her free leg, screamed as two men jammed her into the backseat of the SUV. One of them followed her in, sat on her while the Landcruiser did a U-turn and then headed back to camp. She gasped for air beneath the crushing weight, fought harder and then the vehicle had passed through the smashed gate and into the camp.
When the vehicle stopped, the door nearest her head opened and hands reached in for her, dragged her to land in a heap on the gravel. She renewed her fight, almost broke free of her captor before he regained hold of her arm.
“Where did you think you would go?”
Even in her panic, Mamdouh’s voice sent fresh ripples of desperation through her. She writhed and bit deep into the hand of the man who held her by the wrist. The taste of dust and grime made her gag, but she held on, and the man let go. She lashed out with all four limbs in a frenzy, took grim satisfaction each time a foot or hand connected.
And then she was free.
She braced herself on the ground, pushed to her knees and looked around. In front of her stood Mamdouh, flanked by three other men, all with rifles pointed at her.
Mamdouh glared at the men near her. “I said not to harm her,” he said and then extended a hand to Arielle. “On your feet.”
She raised her chin in defiance.
When she didn’t move, he reached under her armpits and pulled up. “You must be tired after your little escapade,” he said. “You should rest. You’ll need it for the next stage of the journey.” He gestured to the men behind him. “Take her.”
Their faces fierce, the three men shouldered their weapons and approached, pinned her arms as she writhed. “Leave me alone,” she said.
“You should be proud.” Mamdouh hovered beside the group as they walked closer to the inner compound. “You shall give your life for Allah.”
“Al Kanadi said I could go free,” she said.
“And so you shall,” Mamdouh said. “If you survive.”
She spit at him, missed, and the whole time she was dragged forward.
“At the very least, you should accept your fate,” he said. “We will not fail.”
She screamed, strained at the hands that carried her through a chain-link door into the inner compound. She caught sight of one of the red hazard signs and began to cry.
Mamdouh called after her. “When we meet next, you shall be carrying our message to the West. And we will find ourselves one step closer to judgment.”
Then the door closed.
* * *
Kisik, Iraq
22 May 15 – 1744 Local
Chris watched the ruined front of the building through his binoculars. The door and a portion of the front wall had caved in, but otherwise, the structure remained standing. Outside, one of the three Caliphate vehicles that had rolled up was a smoking shell, and the two Caliphate soldiers that had been posted by the main door lay prone on the ground, dead from the unnatural bent of their limbs. The drivers of the other two vehicles were alive, but not for long. For now, the biggest threat was whoever had survived inside the building.
“Think I should fire again?” Mark asked.
“Light up another vehicle, then we’ll send up the Pesh,” Chris said. “Karzan, get ready to move,” he called over his shoulder to the Kurdish section commander. “Time to mop up.”
“Not sure what I’ll hit,” Mark said. He loaded another warhead into the RPG-7 and raised the launcher to his shoulder. “This thing ain’t real accurate at this range.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Chris said. “Another round in the building is fine too. Just too bad we don’t have more of those thermobaric rounds.” He turned to the Kurdish commander. “Get your asses in gear, we’ve got you covered.”
The Peshmerga loaded into their trucks and sped out from behind the building as Mark pulled the trigger. The warhead sped through the air in a cloud of smoke and heat to hit one of the remaining trucks. Smoke erupted from its engine compartment, followed by dust from the building beyond.
“You missed,” Chris said.
“Like fuck I did,” Mark said. “The round over-penetrated.” He laid the RPG-7 down and then picked up his McMillan TAC-338 sniper rifle and settled the bipod on the edge of the roof. Seconds later, a shot rang out. “Another one down.”
“Ease up, Pesh are almost on site,” Chris said. On cue, the Kurdish vehicles roared up and stopped short of the Caliphate vehicles. Ten figures dismounted, followed by the tacca-tacca of machine guns opening up on the remaining driver. “Those fuckers are crazy. All they know how to do is frontal assault.”
“You think our man inside the restaurant made it?” Mark asked.
“Don’t care,” Chris said. “Doesn’t look like al Kanadi’s here, so the best we’ll walk away with is killing his men.”
“Did you really think he was going to show?”
“I gave it 50/50,” Chris said. “Better odds than what we’re used to.”
“He must hate you a lot,” Mark said. His rifle swung to the side. “Hold on. Vehicles coming from the south.”
“Where?” Chris scanned out another two hundred yards beyond the restaurant, where two dust balls had appeared over a hill. “Can’t make them out. You got a bead on them?”
“Wait one,” Mark said. “Shit – first one’s a suicide car.”
“You sure?”
“You shitting me? Truck covered in sheet metal? I’m sure.” Mark squeezed off a round.
Chris raised a small hand-held radio. “Karzan? This is Chris, come in.”
“Bad news, there’s a second one.” Mark threw down the rifle and grabbed the RPG-7.
“Karzan, this is Chris. You’ve got vehicle-born suicide bombs approaching from the south, over.” Chris stood and waved his hands. “For fuck’s sake, look behind you!”
The first vehicle rounded a corner into the town and sped toward the restaurant, where the Peshmerga were engaged with the remaining Caliphate fighter. At some point, the car bomb had been a truck before it had been covered in layers of welded steel plates, orange with rust. A metal cone protruded from the front of the box-like structure, a primitive ram, but effective considering the massive amount of explosives the truck no doubt carried.
