KATA’IB SAYYID AL-SHUHADA HEADQUARTERS, AL DIWANIYAH, IRAQ—07:25 / 7:25 A.M. AST
It was obvious that Falih Kazali was agitated. When Abbas walked into his office, he’d found the man pacing with the aid of a gnarled mesquite cane.
Looking around, Abbas saw the room was sparsely furnished with nothing personal to the leader. But, of course, the Kata’ib Sayyid al-Shuhada headquarters in Al Diwaniyah, 195 kms south of Baghdad, was just one of a number of KSS HQs. The militia worked in well over a dozen other satellite buildings, including in Kirkuk, Najaf Ashraf, Nasiriyah, and the holy city of Karbala. For now they’d set up here because of its proximity to the capital city and its location near the main route to Basrah and the Shalamcheh border crossing just to its east that led to Iran.
“Abu Mustafa has been taken,” blurted the old man.
Abbas was stunned. He dropped into a chair, trying to process the information. “What? How? By whom?”
“He was still in Al-Hasakah. Everyone else was killed in the house, as were some of our brothers who had come to his aid. Abu Mustafa’s body was never found, so the assumption is that he was taken.”
“Was it the Kurds or the Americans or the Russians?”
“Why would the Russians take him? Use your brain.”
“Why do the Russians do anything?” Then Abbas calmed himself. “How did it happen?”
“Witnesses said there were two UH-60 helicopters. The enemy rappelled in. There was gunfire. Meanwhile, two trucks with soldiers from the Liwa al-Imam al-Baqir militia were returning from patrol. They heard the gunfire and came to investigate. All of them perished as martyrs. The assault team ran out of the house toward the helicopters, and one of them was carrying a person over his shoulders. We can only assume that was Abu Mustafa.”
“Are the witnesses sure they were UH-60s?”
“One used to be a member of the Syrian army. He recognized the aircraft.”
Abbas thought for a moment. “The Kurds don’t have them. Neither do the Russians. As far as I know, the only ones near us with UH-60s are the Saudis, Jordan, Americans, and some of the Gulf nations.”
“Like the UAE?”
Abbas shook his head. “Yes, like the UAE, but this is not like them. Maybe the Saudis, maybe Jordan, but this sounds more like something the Americans would do.”
“Could it be the Israelis?”
“No, there’s no way to get a Sikorsky from Israel to northern Syria. I would bet it was either the Americans or the Saudis. Ultimately, it is no matter. The operation is compromised. We have to abort.”
“Absolutely not!” Kazali drove his cane into the floor. “We are not compromised. Abu Mustafa would not have talked.”
“Everybody talks eventually. You know that. If it is the Americans, then the process might take longer because of their legislated rules. However, if it is the Saudis, then we have to assume that he has told or will soon tell them everything.”
“Which is…” Kazali shifted to his desk and sat.
Abbas moved from his seat by the door to a sparsely padded metal chair on the desk’s opposite side. “I don’t follow what you’re asking.”
“What exactly did Abu Mustafa know? He knew there would be an attack. He knew it would be in Abu Dhabi. Beyond that, he knew nothing. He and I remained with General Qaani while you went with General Soltani into the next room for the details. Since then, Abu Mustafa has not been with us. Besides that, he was in Al-Hasakah working on his Sheibani smuggling network for the IRGC. I think it is safe to assume that he was picked up because of that work rather than the UAE attack. If they break him, it will be to gather that information.”
Abbas took a moment to mull over the old man’s words. What he was saying made sense. But could they still take that risk? What if, in the midst of the interrogation regarding the smuggling, he let slip about the attack?
“We need to advance our time line,” he said. “We need to leave now. Once we’re in Iran, we won’t have to worry about some helicopters suddenly appearing over Al Diwaniyah the way they appeared over Al-Hasakah.”
Kazali nodded. “Very well. I will initiate attempts to make communication with the IRGC. As you know, that is not always easy.”
“Don’t bother. The IRGC captain gave me an email process for contacting him in case there was a serious issue. I’d call this a serious issue.”
The old man had calmed down by now, and he seemed to be gaining back his confidence. “Good, good. And what about the third truck? Weren’t you supposed to retrieve it soon?”
The third truck. He hadn’t thought about that. “I’ll tell them I can pick it up across the border, or they can deliver it to me once I arrive in Bandar Lengeh.”
Kazali shook his head. “Good luck with that. We both know how much our Persian friends like us changing their plans.”
“They will have to deal with it. We’re risking our lives for them by carrying out their plan.”
“Correction, my friend.” Kazali leaned forward, pointing at Abbas. “We are risking our lives for Allah. And if it is for him, then it isn’t really a risk. Inshallah, God will do what God will do.” He leaned back in his chair as if to emphasize his point.
Abbas knew he was right, but it grated on him when the old man pulled out the Inshallah “God willing” card when he was just trying to logically think through all the possibilities and eventualities of a plan. Yes, Allah was in control. But hadn’t he created them with minds to think?
Yet this was not the time to air grievances. There was too much to do. “Yes, Inshallah,” he said, rising to his feet.
As he left Kazali’s office, he began to work through a checklist of all that needed to be accomplished if they were going to pull out the next day. Despite that expanding list, he couldn’t keep his mind from drifting to the fact that Abu Mustafa was gone. The second in command of the KSS had been taken, and that left an important vacancy. Who else was there to fill it if not him? And if Kazali continued on his downward health decline, could it be much longer before death or infirmity would remove him from his position?
If only Abbas could survive these next few weeks, the future he’d dreamed of would start coming together.