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As the sun set in the Syrian Desert, darkness began to envelop the camp. The negotiations phase of Operation Mother-Daughter was over. Al-Baklavi telephoned twenty minutes earlier to demand a ransom/hostage exchange for twenty hundred hours. He refused to provide details until the exchange time drew closer, but Parsons didn’t care. He had no intention of showing up at the arranged time or place. The operation would be over long before the scheduled exchange. Operatives were busy checking equipment, ammunition, backpacks, and other supplies. They would drive to within a mile of the camp and hike the rest of the way.
Jack and Shaheed wanted to be helpful. The veteran cops again offered their services to Parsons. He again declined; everything was in place. Those who trained for the mission were best equipped to execute and complete it. In stark contrast to Jack and Shaheed, Zack was quite pleased to be left behind.
“My Jewish mother does not approve of violence of any kind,” he kibitzed.
When Parsons was satisfied with the conditions, he and the team left the camp. A few disgruntled team members drew short straws and were left behind to guard the camp, the attorney, and the two cops. When the operatives arrived at the designated mission launch site, they exited their vehicles, re-checked equipment and supplies, and proceeded on foot.
As the hostage compound came into view of their night vision goggles, a special support unit broke off from the larger group and belly crawled near the terrorist command center. These operatives planted technical surveillance equipment to monitor conversations and pinpoint the locations of certain terrorists. They also strategically placed explosives in front of several tents, a safe distance away from the target tent where they knew the hostages were being held.
The plan was to ignite the explosives at an allotted time, which would create a diversion while soldiers stormed the targeted tent. Between new surveillance and previous reconnaissance of the compound, there was virtually nothing the operatives did not know about the camp prior to strike time.
At exactly nineteen hundred hours, Parsons gave the signal to launch the attack on the terrorist base. The planted explosives were detonated; the commotion prompted the terrorists to emerge from tents. Snipers promptly acquired targets and put down those terrorists quickly and efficiently.
A second round of explosives was detonated as the designated hostage rescue team advanced on the hostage tent, occupied by a woman and a man. The second blast had an effect similar to the first. Terrorists panicked, scattered about, and were easily picked off by sniper fire. Others grabbed weapons, turned, kneeled, and opened fire toward the area where the sniper fire was coming from. Snipers fired back, killing more terrorists, prompting more panic, and causing the remaining terrorists to retreat. So far, the only wild card preventing this from being a flawless operation was that there was no sign of Al-Baklavi. Was their number one target in the hostage tent?
As the rescue team approached the hostage tent, a woman screamed. Shots rang out inside the tent, followed by an eerie silence. Men raced to the opening, guns at the ready, and ducked inside. A middle-aged Muslim woman stood, an anguished expression on her face, pointing an AR-15 rifle at the lifeless body of Qassim Al-Baklavi.
The woman turned, held up the rifle, and presented it to the rescuers. A young woman and small child lay in the corner of the tent, face down, the woman covering the child, almost to the point of smothering her. The woman’s hands and feet were tied. A makeshift bomb sat on the ground nearby. Explosives experts quickly diffused the bomb. Rescue operatives retrieved and untied the terrified hostages’ hands and feet.
Another operative secured the other woman and led her out of the tent. Snipers and back-up operatives descended on the site but quickly realized they were no longer needed. Thanks to a diminutive Muslim woman turning on their principal antagonist, Operation Mother-Daughter was a total success. Cleanup personnel were now the only specialists required.
***
Parsons, his rescue team, the uninjured former hostages, and a middle-aged female returned to the operations compound. The total success of the mission was already communicated to those who remained behind. Loud cheers erupted as the caravan approached the compound.
As Canan, Hana, and Rima were helped out of a custom Hummer, Canan turned to the handcuffed woman.
“From the bottom of my heart, thank you for saving our lives,” she exclaimed.
“I had no choice,” Rima cried. “I could not let him kill a young mother and a child, no matter what.”
“Maybe so, but this was still an act of unbelievable courage. How does a nice woman like you hook up with terrorists?” Canan inquired.
“Qassim wasn’t always a terrorist. We met and fell in love when he was a man of peace.” Tears formed and ran down Rima’s face.
“You mean . . .”
“Yes, my pretty one, Qassim Al-Baklavi was my husband.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Canan offered, tears rolling down her cheek.
“From Allah we come, and back to Allah we shall go,” Rima rationalized. “His death is his fault, my pretty one, not yours, not mine.”
“Still . . .”
“I am at peace with my decisions today. May Allah forgive his sins and mine, and reward us with the highest heaven.”
Canan turned to Parsons. “She treated us with tremendous kindness throughout this ordeal.”
“It would seem you were a hero today, ma’am,” Parsons turned to Rima. “I will do everything in my power to see you are treated with leniency.”
“I do not deserve leniency. I deserve punishment. I submit myself to the will of Allah.”
“Good,” Canan steeled. “Allah loves and forgives you, despite the sins you committed. Man is harsh, judgmental, and critical—his laws can be unjust. But Allah loves you unconditionally. He created you. He tested you, and you passed with flying colors.”
Canan turned back to Parsons. “What will happen to her, Mr. Parsons?”
“As I said, Ms. Izady, I will do everything I can to obtain leniency. Perhaps we can get Mr. Blake involved. I hear he’s a pretty good lawyer.”
“I have heard the same. I also understand I owe him our thanks, our freedom, and, perhaps, our very lives. When may I meet him?”
“How about we get all of you cleaned up and debriefed first. You’ll meet him soon enough.”
“I’m in your capable hands, my savior. Lead the way.”
“Savior? I like the sound of that. I’m pleased it all worked out. If it wasn’t for Ms. Al-Baklavi here, things might have been a lot different. I’m afraid we messed up. I have no excuse.”
“You and your men risked your lives to save my daughter and me. You have nothing to apologize for. Let’s get cleaned up. Do Hana and I get to wear army fatigues or one of your fancy uniforms?”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m afraid so. They’re all we have. We’ll have to cut them up as best we can to approximate size.”
“Hana will love it.”
***
Following a cold bath over a makeshift sink, Canan, Rima, and Hana dressed in oversized Parsons Security uniforms. Hana’s had to be crudely cut and sewn in various places for her to be able to use her arms and legs. The three were brought to the operations center for dinner and debriefing. The trio was introduced to Zack, Jack, and Shaheed. Canan was already acquainted with Shaheed from the mosque. Zack’s immigration division, led by Marshall Mann, handled her immigration to the United States. Thus, she was aware of Blake and knew he financed the operation and ransom. She was also pleased and surprised to discover that two Dearborn cops would fly all this way to save her and Hana. Attitudes were changing.
At the debriefing, Canan expressed her profound gratitude to Zack for his willingness to finance the operation and ransom. Parsons announced he had a surprise for Canan and Hana. He placed a monitor in the center of the dining table and dialed a number. Karim Izady’s face appeared on the screen.
“Daddy!” Hana shrieked with delight.
“Sweetness!” Karim shouted with joy at the sight and sound of his freed and unharmed daughter. “Are you okay? Did those mean men hurt you?”
“No, Daddy,” Hana squeaked.
“What are you wearing? Such a beautiful outfit,” Karim joked.
“It’s my form,” she boasted. “Like them.” The child pointed to others in uniform.
“Oh, your uniform. You are a soldier?”
Hana giggled. “No, Daddy—silly. I’m a little girl.” Everyone laughed.
“Canan? How are you, my love?” Karim became serious.
“I’m fine. Look around this table. These are all the people we must thank for saving our lives. Glory be to Allah for sending them to us.”
“All glory to Allah. Thank you all. Which one of you is Mr. Blake?”
Zack meekly raised his hand. He didn’t seek praise or believe he deserved it.
“Thank you for all you did. None of this could have happened without you,” Karim told Zack.
“You’re welcome, Karim. But I only risked money. The men around this table deserve praise for risking their lives. They’re terrific at what they do. They planned and executed a flawless rescue.”
“Thank you, all of you, so much!” Karim exclaimed.
“What Mr. Blake says is not exactly true, Mr. Izady. I’d like you to meet and thank Rima Al-Baklavi.” Parsons directed the telephone camera over to where Rima was seated.
“Al-Baklavi? Isn’t he the terrorist who kidnapped my family?” Karim was confused.
“Yes, Karim. Rima is his wife. As Mr. Parsons will tell you, this woman was forced to kill her own husband to save Hana and me. Without her intervention, I am not certain the rescue team would have gotten to us in time. She is a hero. I will be forever grateful to her.” The room quieted as Karim considered her response. All eyes were focused on the monitor.
“Mrs. Al-Baklavi, thank you for saving my family. Hana and Canan are everything to me. I am so sorry you lost your own loved one in the process of saving mine,” Karim finally offered.
“Thank you. That is very kind of you. My husband put himself and me in this position, money and cause ahead of reason and goodwill. He would have killed a young woman and her child had I not stopped him . . .” The words caught in Rima’s throat.
“Glory be to Allah for placing you there to protect my precious ladies.”
Hana giggled at being called a ‘precious lady.’
“Are you sure you’re okay, my precious baby?” Karim asked Hana.
“Yes, Daddy. Mommy too. Bad man hit her.”
“He did?” Karim grimaced.
“Knocked her down.”
“Oh no, precious! But she got up?”
Hana giggled again. “Yes, Daddy. Told you so.”
“The nice lady took care of me.” Hana smiled at Rima. The embarrassed woman had tears in her eyes. She looked away.
“Thanks for taking care of my baby,” Karim praised.
Rima burst out crying. She ran from the table, followed by a guard from Parsons’ crew.
“What will happen to her?” Canan asked Parsons.
“I don’t know, Ms. Izady. She is a Syrian citizen and a kidnapper. I’m rather certain the Syrian government will want to arrest her and put her on trial.”
“But the government doesn’t know she was involved, right?” Canan hinted.
“The government doesn’t know anything about the kidnapping or the rescue operation,” Parsons admitted.
“Can’t we keep it that way?” Karim completed his wife’s thought.
“Who would know the difference?” Zack added. “For all we know, Syria might enforce the death penalty for terrorism or kidnapping. We can’t have that.”
“She was involved in the kidnapping. What would you have me do, folks? Release her?”
“Take her with us. Her husband is dead. Can’t she apply for asylum in the United States?” Canan suggested.
“Counselor?” Parsons punted the unwanted football to Blake.
“We don’t even know if she’d be willing to come to the United States. We don’t know anything about her. She did a brave thing and saved your lives, but she was still a part of Al-Baklavi’s network. To answer your question, though, yes, she could apply for asylum. With the Golding administration still in the White House, it’s an uphill climb. Let’s just say it’s theoretically possible,” Zack explained.
“Good, then it is settled,” Canan determined. “She will come with us and request asylum.”
“That’s your take-away from what I just said?” Zack groaned.
“We will work it out,” Canan insisted. “There is nothing for her here but misery. She has no children.”
“How do you know that?”
“She never spoke of them. All women speak of their children.”
Zack rolled his eyes and glanced at Parsons, who shrugged. “Okay, Canan, okay, I guess there is no harm in talking to her,” Zack relented.
“I have to cut this little reunion short, people. We have to break down this command center and get the hell out of Dodge before we are spotted by people who would not appreciate our visit.” Parsons pushed out his chair and stood. Everyone at the table followed his lead.
“If all goes according to plan, Mr. Izady, you should see your family in a couple of days.”
“Thank you again, all of you. Goodbye, my loves!” Karim blew kisses to his wife and child. The call was disconnected, and the monitor went blank.
“Are we going to see Nana, Mama?” Hana wondered.
Canan had completely forgotten the reason for their visit. She addressed Parsons, who immediately glanced at Blake. Seriously? A visit to Kobani was risky, time-consuming, and very expensive.
Zack’s eyes wandered over to Hana and then to Canan. Suddenly, there was hope, even joy, in those eyes. What would he do? What else could he do?
