The air got sucked out of both vehicles with Broker’s bombshell.
Ayoub. Everyone in the world knew of him. He was a rising leader in ISIS, and one of the most vicious ones to emerge from the terrorist organization.
Western media called him the Butcher of Raqqa.
He routinely beheaded victims on video. In a couple of instances, he had killed them on a live stream.
His fascination, however, was with American women.
His men had captured a couple of female charity workers, Americans, the previous year. He had raped them and then beheaded them.
He had taunted the Western world as he performed his gruesome acts and had said he would kill a hundred women before he died.
He was high up on the kill list of every coalition force. Drones sought him out but never found him. Iraqi and Syrian forces were constantly on the lookout for him, but thus far, Ayoub had stayed out of reach.
‘Bedar Araz is setting a trap. Using Beth and Meghan as bait.’
Roger and Bear coaxed their vehicles to go faster in the night, in pursuit of the YPG commander.
Clare woke to a media storm that had started brewing in the night.
President goes back on promises. Sends troops and operatives to Iraq and Syria, one headline read.
She turned on her TV and watched talking heads report on ‘unnamed sources’ confirming the presence of American forces in those countries.
There were special US ‘advisors’ in Iraq and Syria. That wasn’t new. There were even a few troops. However, none of them engaged with the enemy.
That was the commitment the president had made to the nation.
Air support, intel, training, weapons and equipment—that was the extent of American involvement.
So, where did this come from? She channel-surfed, but there wasn’t anything more.
Just those references to unnamed sources.
The government had wheeled out its denial quickly; a spokesman for the White House had attacked the reports and said they were untrue.
Did I miss something in the night?
She checked her email and her phone logs. Nope. She hadn’t received any briefing from anyone. No intel had crossed her desk about US involvement.
She watched for a few more moments and then turned off her TV.
‘We should have let the Russians, the Syrians, and the Iraqis just get on with the job,’ Hildred growled, looking each attendee in the eye.
The same fifteen people were in the same conference room in the Pentagon.
General Klouse had called the meeting, impatient at the lack of progress.
The president wanted a clear strategy to deal with ISIS, and all his advisors could do was argue among themselves.
‘We have been through this, several times, Mark,’ he said shortly. ‘It’s not up for debate.’
‘Have you read the headlines? Watched the news?’ Bravo challenged Klouse. ‘Looks like there’s already a strategy. To commit troops.’
‘Those headlines are wrong. You would know, wouldn’t you, if we shipped out boots?’
‘Yeah. But who’s to say we don’t have advisors or covert ops at the spear’s tip? Fighting on the front.’ Hildred looked suggestively at Clare.
‘My operatives are busy. Trying to rescue their kidnapped team members. You know that. Pretty much the whole world knows that,’ she replied coldly, not caring if her cover was broken.
‘That’s what we thought.’
He reached into a brown envelope and brought out a couple of photographs, sliding them across the table to her.
She picked the first one up, and it was only her years of experience that helped her keep an impassive face.
The picture showed a dark-haired woman with a bunch of male and female soldiers. YPG and YPJ, she made out from their arm patches.
The dark-haired woman was pale, her features indistinct, her hair obscuring most of her face.
She had been climbing into a covered truck when the image had been taken.
The second picture was nearly identical, taken from a different angle, but it didn’t show the woman any more clearly.
She looked at the photographs again and forced herself to stay calm. That nose, it looks like Beth’s or Meghan’s. But it could just about be anyone.
‘A bird took those pictures early in the morning, near Tal Afar. That woman’—Hildred circulated copies of the photographs across the table—‘is not a Western aid worker. My people checked. No other country’s aid workers are in that region.’
‘Our analysts,’ Clines chimed in in support of his boss, almost apologetic as he addressed Clare, ‘they say the woman could be brown-haired. Her features, the visible ones, are similar to the Petersens’.’
‘Beth and Meghan Petersen have been kidnapped,’ Clare said, turning glacial. ‘They are not aiding or abetting the YPG or the YPJ. I suggest you get more proof before making any accusations.’
‘We identified those soldiers around her.’ Hildred was unperturbed. ‘They’re led by Bedar Araz.’
Only the faint ticking of a wall clock could be heard in the ensuing silence.
‘If that woman turns out to be American, and an operative—’
‘I think we know what will happen,’ Klouse said drily. ‘However, Clare has confirmed her operatives are not involved. You folks don’t have any real proof. I suggest we discuss more relevant matters.’
‘We’ll be embarrassed. Big-time,’ Klouse admitted to Clare, ‘if any of our people are seen with Araz. If that woman turns out to be our soldier or operative…’
The Turkish government doesn’t want us in the region. They prefer dealing with ISIS on their own.
Assad doesn’t want us either. He has Russian help.
The president has his no-boots policy, and we have made clear we will not help brutal commanders like Araz.
‘If that woman turns out to be one of ours’—Klouse smiled mirthlessly, picking up on her thoughts—‘we’ll have a political storm the likes of which we haven’t seen recently. The president will be embarrassed, humiliated. Our military policy might get reversed.’
They were alone in the conference room after the meeting. No consensus had been reached, and Klouse, disgruntled, had dismissed all the attendees. He had signaled with his eyes to Clare, stay back.
‘We’ll deal with this.’ He waved a hand around in the room. ‘You and I. This is important, but…’
Not as important as the twins. She gripped his shoulder in silent appreciation and a sudden smile spread across her face. ‘Don’t let anyone else hear that. The spooks, I’m sure they wouldn’t like that.’
They shared a laugh, which faded quickly when he looked at her questioningly.
‘Araz has them. Zeb suspects he’s setting a trap to bait Ayoub.’
General Klouse’s face greyed. He knew all about Ayoub and Araz. All the Western intelligence agencies knew.
Ayoub had burnt a village near Raqqa, killing close to a hundred civilians. Among those were Bedar Araz’s parents.
The YPG commander had sworn vengeance on the ISIS leader and had turned out to be as bloodthirsty as the terrorist.
‘Where’s Zeb?’
‘Hunting them.’
‘They need anything?’
‘No.’
‘What?’ Klouse asked her when she took a deep breath.
‘Zeb suspects they’re being led. He called me at night, from Hajjaj.’
‘Yeah, we considered that. You and I. He got any ideas?’
‘The British’—she raised a finger—‘but he can’t see the motive.’
Another finger went up. ‘Mossad, but they would act directly. They wouldn’t use us, especially not Zeb, in this manner. The Brits and the Mossad are two of the three agencies in the world who could mount such a mission.’
‘The third?’ There was dread in Klouse’s voice.
‘Its people were in this room. The spooks.’
Blood drained from his face. ‘Why?’
‘They set the narrative today, Daniel. They’ve always wanted us to back off. Let the Russians do the job. In fact, provide tacit support. If they can prove that was one of the twins… it won’t matter that they are captives of Araz. The media will take over. The spooks will dictate the agenda.’
‘Zeb’s just speculating,’ he protested weakly. ‘The spooks would never do this. There would be hell to pay.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right, Daniel.’
‘Find them.’ He clutched her arm tightly. ‘Find the sisters. I want them back.’
‘Zeb’s on it.’
‘Look into his suggestion. Discreetly. Very quietly.’
‘On that too.’ She patted his hand.
They walked in silence and went outside to their respective cars.
Klouse was climbing into his when she stopped him.
‘Daniel, if Zeb is right, you know what will happen.’
General Daniel Klouse, National Security Advisor, nodded.
Zeb Carter would go off the reservation.