Chapter Seventeen
Five miles west of the Jordan-Iraq border
Seventy-five miles southwest of Rutbah, Iraq
The curtain of dust veiled the black Nissan SUV from Justin’s eyes for a few seconds. Then it re-appeared as it came around a bend in the broken reddish semi-desert terrain. Justin stepped on the gas of his black Toyota truck as the tires spun over the sandy trail. The two-vehicle convoy was headed toward the Jordan-Iraq border, staying away from the main route—Baghdad International Highway—and the small villages along the way and the Tarbil border crossing. Under the cover of night’s blackness, the team was hoping to cross into Iraq unnoticed by Jordan’s border protection forces. Jordan had mobilized its army a few months before to counter Islamic terrorist groups that had resurfaced in Iraq’s Anbar province. Twice the insurgents had attempted to capture the border crossing and had attacked the border town of Karameh. They had been unsuccessful, and skirmishes had died down, but there were new reports of clashes as recently as the previous week.
Justin glanced at the glove compartment. There was a letter there that the CIS documents section had prepared. It looked very authentic, with forged seals and stamps of the Ministry of Interior of Jordan, permitting the bearer to travel freely through the area. If the convoy was stopped, the document was their last hope to avoid being thrown in jail, or worse. While the permit would withstand initial scrutiny by border guard patrols, it would not hold out against a careful examination. Justin could only hope that scenario would never unfold.
“You look worried,” Carrie said and shifted in her seat.
“I am. I was reading last night about the state-of-the-art border protection technology Jordan has bought from the U.S., including sensor-fused border barriers, ground radar, and motion detection cameras.”
“We’re still too far away. And we know where the watchtowers and the patrol paths are. Plus, we’re gliding through in complete darkness.”
“There’s still a slight chance we’ll be detected.”
“Yes, that’s always the case.”
“Do you think we’ll find Lim?”
“I doubt it.”
“This is just a wild goose chase?”
“I’m not sure, but, as I told you last night, this op seems very clean.”
Carrie and Justin had had a long conversation about the chances of a successful operation.
She leaned closer to Justin and said, “Lim is using a compromised phone, and he knows better than that. We have the confirmation from the asset of another service. And shouldn’t Lim be in London or somewhere closer to his target?”
Justin nodded. “If this isn’t something to throw us off, it could be a set-up.”
“Exactly. It’s a remote area, and Lim will know we can’t go in with a large force. If he has bought the asset, he’ll already know it’s only the four of us. And we both know it’s actually just you and me.”
“Yes, Ying can drive, but she can’t shoot to save her life.”
“If it feels like a trap, we’ll abort.”
“Yes. Unless we get visual confirmation of Lim, we’re not getting into an ambush.”
“It might already be too late to pull out, Justin.”
“We’re still in friendly territory. At least for another couple of miles.”
Carrie glanced at her tablet. “Yes, if we keep going straight.”
“Let’s see what Ying and al-Rawi are planning.”
Safa al-Rawi was the MSS’s local asset in Iraq. He had agreed to meet them in Amman, the capital of Jordan, then take them to the location near Rutbah, where he swore he had seen Lim. Justin and Carrie had directed the asset and Ying to be in the lead vehicle. The Canadians could freely discuss their doubts about the operation, and if al-Rawi was leading them into a trap, Justin and Carrie would still have a chance.
Justin reached for the radio. “Ying, we’re getting close to the border.”
“Yes, but not ready to cross yet.”
“Why not?”
“Al-Rawi wants to turn right and proceed for another couple of miles.”
Justin frowned. The longer they remained on the Jordanian side, the greater the risk of being discovered. The Iraqi army patrols were notorious for their lack of discipline, equipment, and overall courage. Once the team crossed into Iraq, the chances of evading security increased tenfold. “We should cross now, without delay.”
“We’re not yet at the right place,” al-Rawi’s loud, firm voice came over the radio. “If we cross now, we might end up right into Iraqi custody. Two more miles south. There are no guards there.”
“You’re certain about that?”
“Yes, yes, very certain, very certain.”
Ying’s voice came over the radio. “Justin, it’s your decision, but I think we should listen to our guide.”
Justin shook his head and did not say anything for a long moment. Al-Rawi could be right, but he could also be dead wrong.
Ying said, “What do we do, Justin?”
He sighed, then said, “Let’s continue south.”
“Good, good, good. We do that,” al-Rawi said in a voice full of confidence.
Justin turned off the radio and placed it in the bracket mounted on the dashboard. “I’m not sure about this.”
Carrie shrugged. “There’s no easy right or wrong answer, Justin. We’ll wait to find out.”
“Yes, we will.”
They drove in silence for the next five minutes. The vehicles were going very slowly and making very little noise, climbing and descending the broken terrain. Justin straightened one of the pockets of his chest rig strapped over the desert tan camouflage jacket. Carrie was wearing a similar uniform. The green-and-red patches on their arms identified them as members of the Kurdish Peshmergas, the militia force who had been battling the Islamic State and a horde of other terrorist groups. The Peshmergas were still fighting for a free and independent Kurdistan, whose lands had been divided among Turkey, Syria, and Iraq. The Jordanians, for the most part, had stayed out of the civil wars raging in the neighboring countries, and had followed a hands-off approach.
Justin rolled down the window. A gust of cool, fresh air came in and toyed with his hair. He listened carefully and heard nothing but the low engine noise and the crunching sand under the tires. He said, “We’ve come so far without being spotted. I feel we might just run out of luck.”
“Don’t you always have a feeling like that?”
“And am I not right most of the time?”
“Most of the time. But I hope you’re—”
Her words were cut off by two bright, blinding searchlights that fell on Ying’s and al-Rawi’s SUV.
Justin cursed. “They found us.” He glanced at the searchlights. All he could tell was they were mobile, perhaps half a mile away and drawing closer. Large vehicles. Border patrol trucks.
“Jordanians?” Carrie asked.
“Unless Iraqis have crossed over.”
“We stop?”
“We have to.”
Ying’s panicked voice erupted over the radio. “Justin, they’re firing at us.”