IRBIL, IRAQ CAPITOL OF KURDISTAN

The plane touched down at the Irbil airport. Zach and his team deplaned and walked into the terminal. They were met by a driver who had been sent to take them to the CIA station on the outskirts of the city.

“Are we really in the right place?” Tony asked, as the car made its way to CIA headquarters. “This town is too frickin’ modern to be in Iraq.”

“It’s changed a ton since I was last here,” Juan added.

Zach nodded. The oil-rich capitol of Kurdistan had luxury hotels and dozens of bars, clubs, and restaurants. Many considered its busy nightlife scene to be rivaled only by that of Dubai in Saudi Arabia. The modernistic, liberal city certainly wasn’t typical of most cities in Iraq.

Another thing that flourished in the city was the presence of private security contractors. When the U.S. military pulled out of Baghdad, numerous private security companies took its place. The Pentagon doled out close to a half a billion dollars to these firms for the protection of reconstruction projects in and around the city…much needed protection as the area was still a hotbed of terrorist activity, the biggest being ISIS, which was an ever-present threat in the area.

Then, there was the CIA whose role in the region could never be officially confirmed or denied. OGA, an acronym for “Other Government Agency,” was a common slang term for the CIA. And gone was the Agency’s traditional mission of secretly meeting and recruiting informants. They now acted as a paramilitary force—raiding insurgent hideouts and hunting for mysterious militants, all which required the assistance of private contractors like Zach and his team.

“This sure beats working in some hell-hole in the middle of the desert,” Tony said as they passed one of the luxury hotels. “I think I’ll actually be sleeping in a soft bed tonight and get a hot shower in the morning.”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too used to it,” Juan said, seated next to him in the backseat of the car. “Once the mission begins, you’ll be sleeping on the ground, brushing sand fleas off your face, shivering your ass off at night, and roasting during the day.”

“Don’t I know it,” Tony responded. “I can’t wait.”

Their car left the outskirts of the city and approached an FOB, forward operating base, where the CIA headquarters were located. Zach looked over at the driver and said to him in Arabic, “Slow down. Don’t you see that guard waving his hands at you? You’re coming in pretty fast.”

The driver either didn’t hear or didn’t understand what Zach said because he continued to speed toward the gate. The next thing they knew a sniper put a couple bullets through the car’s engine block, shutting the car down.

“Jesus Christ!” Zach yelled and everyone instinctively ducked and reached for their weapons. Kurdish guards surrounded them, keeping a safe distance from the vehicle.

“You fucking, idiot,” Juan said, smacking the driver in the back of the head. “What the hell were you trying to do? Didn’t you see the guard telling you to slow down?” He thumped him on the back again, angry at how he had put everyone’s life in danger.

“Okay. Okay, everyone calm down,” Zach ordered. “Let’s stay cool and not make this any worse than it is. Holster your weapons and sit tight.”

“Alkhuruj min alssayara! Step out of the car!” the guard repeated in English. A voice on a bullhorn ordered them to exit the SUV and to keep their hands up.

“Nice and slow, fellas,” Zach said, as he began getting out of the car. “Do what the guard says.” Once outside, he shouted, “Americans. We’re Americans.”

“Take your shirts off,” the guard yelled back.

“Suicide bombers. They think we’re suicide bombers,” Tony said as he removed his shirt.

“We’re fucked if there’s a bomb on board,” Juan bellowed.

“Keep your eye on the driver,” Zach said. “Someone nail him if he makes one false move to detonate the car.”

Shirts off, one of the guards motioned them forward, away from the vehicle. “Let me see your hands. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

“They’ll drop you in a heartbeat if you lower your hands even an inch,” Tony warned, “so keep them up fellas.”

The group moved closer to the security gate where a guard nudged them over to a search area. A rather plain-looking woman with a slim build rushed up and said something to the guards in Arabic causing them to lower their weapons.

“Gentlemen, it’s okay,” she said turning toward Zach and his team. “I’m chief of station here in Irbil. Veritas said you’d be arriving today, but he didn’t tell me you’d be making such a grand entrance.”

The team lowered their hands and breathed a sigh of relief, not amused at her attempt at humor.

“Lauren Mathews,” the chief said, offering them her hand. “Sorry you had to go through this. Everyone’s a little nervous around here. We lost sixteen people from a suicide bomber a month ago. We thought we had a friendly coming in and got careless with our procedures. Some of our best people were killed that day, so no one’s taking any chances any more.”

Juan walked up to the driver and grabbed him by the throat of his shirt. “Your lead foot almost got us all killed. I ought to—”

“Juan! Stand down. It’s over,” Zach said. “Let him go.”

Juan released him with a jerk and the driver took off running. Juan picked up a rock and pegged him in the back as he ran. “Idiot! Get the fuck out of here,” he yelled after him.

A guard approached and returned their shirts and weapons. Irbil was like the Wild, Wild West and open carry was the norm.

“Follow me,” Lauren said to the group. “Let’s get you guys some refreshments and give you a minute to unwind, then I’ll brief you on the upcoming op.”

They moved to a room in a barracks used by the CIA and beverages and snacks were brought in. Everyone helped themselves to a beer and sat down to relax. This had been anything but a smooth entrance.

“So welcome to Irbil, the capitol of Kurdistan,” Lauren began. “The CIA and Special Forces work closely with the Kurdish Peshmerga. They’re a strong fighting force in the area, resolute in their determination to protect this city from ISIS and determined to take their country back. American pilots defend from the air, but those airstrikes are almost useless without good intelligence and targeting. That’s where you guys come in. You have the training, but the Kurds know the area. We need the two of you to work as a team.”

“We’ve worked with the Pesh before,” Zach said, setting his drink on the table. “Peshmerga stands for ‘one who faces death’. They’re some of the most fearless fighters I’ve ever met.”

“Copy that. Intelligence,” she said continuing, “has identified the corridor between Mosul and Tal Afar as a major ISIS stronghold in Iraq. It looks like some senior ISIS operatives feel they can move through the area without being detected. They must think it’s safe because personnel, equipment, and money are all moving daily, back and forth within that corridor.”

Tony grabbed another beer. “Sounds like a target rich environment.”

“It is, but only if you have good intel. U.S. warplanes strike targets in the area when they are able to find them. In fact, we’ve put so much pressure on Mosul, we believe we’ve seen some of the leaders move their families into Tal Afar where they think they’re safer.”

“But…” Zach said.

The COS looked at him. “Yes, right. There is a ‘but’. We need close-air support to find these targets. We need people on the ground who can be our eyes and ears. That’s the only way to get the information our pilots need.”

“Up close and personal,” Juan said.

“Up close and personal,” Lauren repeated.

Zach leaned forward. “So let’s get specific here. Give us the details of this op.”

Lauren held up a finger indicating he should hold on. She signaled to an aide in the back of the room who stepped outside and returned with a Kurdish fighter. Tall, unshaven, with cracked weather-worn skin, the man looked like he’d seen some rough times on the battlefield.

“Gentleman,” the agency chief said, “this is Masoud Abbas. He’s one of our top fighters, and he’ll be teaming up with you on this op.”

Zach started to introduce himself and the team when Masoud put his hand up and stopped him. “I was told you speak Arabic. Is that correct?” he asked in Arabic.

“Na’am,” Zach answered

“Very good,” Masoud replied. “You’ll need that where we’re going. But I also speak English, so shall we continue in English?”

Zach and the group nodded.

Masoud smiled. “I have a degree from an American university, and I learned to speak English there. Now, as far as names, because of the nature of your work, you all need what we affectionately call, nom de guerres…assumed names. To protect your identity, all the Westerners adopt Kurdish names which typically includes the word ‘Heval’, Kurdish for friend. So for instance, you might be Heval Zach. You are Zach, right?” he asked.

Zach nodded. This guy knows more than he’s telling.

“Well, you can’t be Zach anymore. It’s important there is no way to identify any of you, so I’ll let you men figure out what you want to be called by the next time we meet.”

“The mission,” Zach said, pushing back in his chair. “Let’s hear about it.”

“We have zeroed in on a suspected bomb-maker’s home in Mosul who’s been behind many roadside bombings and suicide missions. We don’t have any hard intelligence, but we suspect major resistance so this will be a cordon and kick operation. We want the bomb-maker plus any cellphones and computer equipment he has laying around. And we want a quick in and out and vanish into the night.”

Tony and Juan looked at Zach, trying to read his expression which as usual, telegraphed nothing of what he was thinking.

Zach cleared his throat, and asked, “Why us? You could have any one of your men do this? There must be something you’re not telling us.”

Masoud looked over at Chief Mathews who stared back at him for a moment. Finally, she stood, exhaled deeply and said, “You’re right. There is. This is just the first stop along the way to the second leg of the mission. You’ll be briefed on phase two tomorrow, so go and settle into your hotel. Have a nice dinner and a few drinks. Get a good night’s sleep, and when you wake up in the morning, if you’re still prepared to die for your country, come back with your new Kurdish names, and we’ll talk.”