The sixty-five foot Pave Hawk helicopter set down in the dirt courtyard of the compound between the garage and the main house, spewing sand and dirt as its engines screamed and rotor blades spun.
Kafka and his parents, reunited amidst a flurry of joyful tears, ran towards it, Kafka’s arm around his mother. The gunner and copilot hopped out and helped them aboard. Maggie followed, her heart beating rapidly after the showdown with the jihadis. She still wore her abaya, sticky and dirty now. She was filmed with nervous sweat, but overall a feeling of exhilaration prevailed.
They’d pulled it off.
Bad Allah, his right arm hastily bandaged with a rag Besma had applied, ambled toward the helicopter.
Off to one side, in the shadows of the garage, stood Besma and the two women who had opted not to leave the compound. One was a striking older Egyptian woman named Gala. They watched the activity with reserved faces.
Sgt. Kaminski stood by, her carbine pointed to the ground, watching Hassan’s boarded-up window. One PJ was still stationed in front of Hassan’s room for the time being, where Hassan remained in hiding with Havi. As Maggie got to the front of the house, she saw the silhouettes of John Rae and the third rescueman appear up on the roof.
Holding his shotgun in one hand, John Rae hopped down from the roof in a jump that confirmed his fitness, landing on the dirt with an easy spring of his bent legs. He stood up, shook himself out, came striding up to Maggie. He patted her shoulder with his free hand. She had just about gotten used to his black jihadi outfit.
“I take back everything, Maggie,” he shouted over the roar of the engines. “I should never have doubted you. You got them out. You got Kafka’s parents out with a minimum of bloodshed.”
“We,” she said. “We got them out.”
John Rae gave a smirk as he peeled off his jihadi head-covering, tossed it to the ground. “Remind me to take you along when I buy my next car. Talk about negotiation skills.”
JR’s approval was just an added bonus.
“We have to get going!” P One said over the radio. Maggie turned to see him at the chopper door, fastening the chinstrap of his helmet. “Refueling in less than an hour. We still have to make the border.”
“Roger that,” John Rae replied.
Maggie flinched, turned back around to face John Rae.
“What about Hassan al-Hassan?”
John Rae shrugged. “I wish. But there’s no time. We got what we came for.”
Maggie’s guts churned. “But he’s got Besma’s little brother in there with him.”
John Rae gave a somber stare. “I don’t like it any more than you do, Maggie. But we don’t have a lot of choice. Mission accomplished.”
“Mission accomplished? We can’t just leave a child here with that maniac. What about his sister? Besma? She helped us. What about those two women over there?”
“They could’ve left.”
Maggie shook her head. “We’re getting her little brother out of here.”
Kafka and his parents had boarded the chopper. So had Bad Allah.
“Thank you for flying USAF Airways, folks,” P One said over the radio. “Ship sails in five.”
“Maggie,” John Rae said, his face serious in the broken darkness. “Believe me, I wish we could mop up. But we don’t have room for any more passengers, anyway. We’re at our limit. It would’ve been nice to have two choppers, but we know how that went.”
“Give me that,” she said, reaching out for John Rae’s shotgun. “Someone can take my spot. I’m sure it won’t be Besma. She’s not going to leave her brother here.”
“Maggie,” John Rae said. “You’ve gotten everything you wanted. Abraqa. I’ve come through for you. But this isn’t a humanitarian issue. We came for Kafka’s parents. Nothing else.”
The chopping of the rotor blades filled her ears, adding to the pressure.
“You have a safe trip back,” she said. “Tell them to send another chopper. We should have had two in the first place. I’ll be here, waiting. Now give me that gun.”
John Rae rubbed his face, leaving a grimace. “OK,” he said, “you win.” He spoke to the P One. “Shut ‘er down, Boss. We got one more thing we got to do.”
Maggie breathed an inner sigh of relief.
The PJ on the roof said over the radio, “I think I found the power distributor up here, in the back, hidden under a crate. Looks like it’s connected to the generator down below.”
John Rae said: “Take it out, Bud.”
A rattle of automatic gunfire over their heads did nothing. Then, after two more long bursts, the building was plunged back into darkness. Maggie stood next to John Rae and the other PJ in front of Hassan’s door. The PJ’s infrared helmet light lit up the doorway.
With the lights out, Hassan al-Hassan started shouting. She could hear Havi yelling in fright.
Maggie banged on the door. “You’re the last one, Hassan al-Hassan,” she shouted in Modern Standard Arabic. “Your fighters have either fled or been killed. It’s up to you how you want to get out of here—on your feet or in a body bag.”
“I’ve got the boy!” he screamed. “I’ve got the boy!”
“Let Havi go and you live. That’s the deal.”
Hassan al-Hassan laughed maniacally. “You think I’m afraid of dying?”
“Your body will be covered with pork offal and dumped in the pit outside. You won’t reach paradise.”
“Allah won’t forsake me! I’ll take the boy with me. We’ll both be glorious martyrs. Won’t we, Havi? Won’t we, boy?”
Inside the room, Havi cried out.
Maggie’s heart pounded frantically. She looked at John Rae. “He’ll do it.”
“I know he will.” John Rae rubbed his face. “We can pop a smoke grenade in through that front window, create a diversion. Maybe the kid can get away while we break down the door.”
Maybe. “Can someone bring Besma in here?” Maggie said over the radio.
Shortly after, Sgt. Kaminski appeared, her helmet light lighting her way. Besma was with her, wearing an abaya with the hood down, her pretty face a mask of worry.
“When I give the word, Besma,” Maggie said, “I need you to talk to your brother in Kurmanji. Tell him we’re firing a smoke grenade through the window. When that happens he needs to get away from Hassan. We’re going to break down the door and storm the room.”
Besma gasped air as she nodded in agreement.
John Rae turned to Sgt. Kaminski. “Bring me the Blackhawk. Have your partner on the roof come down and load up an M18 and get ready to pop it through the window. He’ll have to blast the plywood out first. Bad and the P One gunner can help. The rest of us here will be waiting to knock down this door. Hurry.”
“Roger.” Sgt. Kaminski went thumping off down the hall, back outside.
One of the PJs was positioned in front of the window with a grenade launcher. The P One gunner stood by with a carbine. Kaminski returned to Hassan’s room with a Blackhawk battering ram, a two-foot long black cylinder with grip handles. John Rae took it from her.
Maggie said to Besma, “Talk to Havi now. And pray Hassan doesn’t speak any Kurmanji.”
Besma gulped back what had to be fear, turning to the door. “Havi?” she shouted, her voice cracking with anxiety. “It’s me—Besma.”
“Besma!” Havi shouted back, his muffled voice clearly terrified.
“The soldiers are going to shoot a smoke bomb through the window. When that happens, you must get away from Hassan and away from the door. Soldiers are going to come in and there’s going to be shooting. Do you understand?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“I love you!”
Besma turned to Maggie, shaking. “He’s ready.”
John Rae held the battering ram, spoke into the radio: “Let ‘er rip, guys.”
A moment later they heard a salvo of automatic rifle fire taking out the plywood covering the window out front, then a crash as the M18 bounced into the room.
Hassan shouted from within: “Havi! It’s a bomb!”
“Go!” Maggie shouted to John Rae.
By the PJs’ helmet lights, John Rae heaved the battering ram repeatedly into the reinforced door. After several crunching blows, the door gave.
John Rae dropped the battering ram, readied the shotgun that had been hanging over his shoulder while one PJ kicked the rest of the door in. Bright green smoke poured out into the hallway. Sgt. Kaminski raised her carbine.
Pistol shots rang out from within.
“Go! Go! Go!” John Rae shouted.
They charged into the room, guns up.
“Havi!” Besma shouted. Maggie lit the way with her FLIR. Meanwhile John Rae and Kaminski moved over to the far side of the room, weapons raised, circling a bed, Kaminski’s headlamp focused on a figure lying on the bed. Hassan al-Hassan.
“Bas!” John Rae bellowed, one of the few words of Arabic he knew, as he aimed his shotgun at Hassan.
Hassan’s hands went into the air.
Maggie scanned the room with her FLIR viewer. A small white shadow crouched behind the sofa. “There he is! Havi!”
They soon had Havi out, coughing and spluttering, Besma carrying him outside in her arms. Tears pouring down her face, she held her brother, hugging him and kissing the top of his head.
John Rae and Sgt. Kaminski emerged, escorting Hassan al-Hassan, his hands over his head, POW style, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. He was muscular and furry.
The third PJ stood by with his rifle. A grenade launcher was attached to the end of the barrel.
Maggie wiped her face with her hand, trembling with relief.
John Rae and Sgt. Kaminski tied Hassan’s hands behind his back with plastic cuffs. They took a moment to put their weapons down, grab a bottle of water.
Hassan, for his part, glowered at everyone.
Maggie succumbed to a wave of gratification. Both of Kafka’s parents had made it. Besma and her brother had made it. Hassan was theirs.
“Where’s my sister?” she heard Havi say.
Maggie turned, saw Havi looking at her. He wore a dirty beige linen robe and sandals. His eyes were wet with tears from the smoke grenade and who knew what else. “I don’t know, Havi.”
Then she heard Besma speak.
“You bastard!” Besma said through her teeth.
Maggie spun to see Besma striding calmly from the garage, holding up the AK-47 that Maggie had taken from the gate guard and left leaning against the wall.
Besma came to within a few feet of Hassan al-Hassan, the barrel of her weapon pointed directly at his head.
Hassan’s face dropped in a rush of panic. “No!” His arms struggled behind his back. “No! Please!”
“You killed my mother, you filth,” Besma growled.
“Besma!” Maggie shouted, breaking into a run. “Don’t!”
Before anyone could get to Besma, the AK went off, rattling and jumping in the girl’s hands as she narrowed her eyes.
Hassan’s head erupted in a cloud of red mist.