Al-Raqqah, Syria
ISIL controlled territory
Maloof glanced over his shoulder, seeing no one. He casually walked farther out of the town, puffing on a cigarette, it a nasty habit he had acquired while here. The cigarettes were plentiful, and there was nothing else to do, the joke here that if anyone ever lived long enough to get lung cancer, they weren’t trying hard enough.
But he had no intentions of being here much longer.
He had his intel.
A conversation today referred to a meeting that would take place in two weeks with a group of Chechens to make the final purchase necessary for the largest ISIL operation in history, and he knew immediately what it was for.
The missing nuclear material.
His latest briefing from Mossad suggested a not insignificant amount of Cesium-137 had been sold to the Chechens and that they were looking to flip it. The Americans were desperate to find it, and Mossad sources within the CIA had caught wind of it, passing the intel on. Since he was one of only a few agents embedded in the area, he had received a burst communique a few days ago.
And now it appeared the group he had infiltrated were directly involved.
He had to get that intel to Mossad so somebody could act upon it. Who, it didn’t matter. No one with half a brain wanted Islamic fundamentalists with anything nuclear. He always returned to the example of Pakistan. When they finally had the bomb, what happened? Their nuclear scientist, a national hero, immediately sold it to the Libyans, Iranians and North Koreans. And God knew who else. It reminded him of what an old lecturer of his from university said.
The Mutually Assured Destruction doctrine only works when the other side doesn’t want to die any more than you do. With Islamic fundamentalists, you can’t be that sure.
Which was why any Islamic state with the bomb was a terrifying prospect.
Especially Iran.
When a government and its leaders call for Israel to be wiped from the map, its citizens forced into the sea should they survive, when Hitler’s Final Solution is described as a good start in one breath and a hoax in another, one could forgive the Jews he worked with for being a little nervous.
He cleared the rise to the south of town then dropped down the other side and out of anyone’s line of sight who might be watching. Sprinting to the east several hundred feet, he dropped behind a rock outcropping and quickly began scooping sand away, a plastic bag a foot down soon revealed. With a glance over each shoulder, he unzipped the bag and removed the phone and satellite transmitter.
Firing up the transmitter, he waited for the phone to boot up as he gathered the sand around in a pile next to the hole he had just dug.
There wasn’t a second to waste.
The phone was up and he quickly typed in his message, letting them know about the meeting he had overheard and the meeting to purchase possible nuclear material from the Chechens in two weeks.
A foot scraped behind him.
He spun toward the sound and saw a sneering Safar standing with his gun pointed at him.
“I told them you couldn’t be trusted.”
Maloof rose slowly, his hands up at his shoulders. “What are you talking about?” He motioned toward the phone. “It’s how I keep in touch with back home.”
“I could smell the Jew on you the moment you arrived.”
Interesting. Having lived among them all my life, I didn’t realize they had a smell.
“I’m not a Jew, of that I can assure you.”
“You’re not one of us. And when I show the Caliph your equipment there, he’ll agree with me having killed you.”
Not planning to take me prisoner, are you?
“He might not be too pleased, since I’m doing his work.”
Safar’s smile disappeared, replaced with confusion. “Umm, what do you mean?”
Maloof took the opportunity to take a step forward, a smile on his face. “Listen, brother, how do you think we update social media? We need computers and satellite uplinks. But we have to hide them from the infidel.” Another step. “We can’t be sending these signals from within the towns, they’ll be able to track them then bomb us.” Another step. “We hide them outside in the middle of nowhere so that if they do bomb the source of the signal, no one gets hurt, and they waste a million dollar missile destroying a cellphone.” He laughed, taking the final step. “You see, it’s all explained, no need to be concerned.”
Safar stared at him. “Then why did the Caliph himself send me after you.” Safar squeezed the trigger, a single shot erupting from the barrel of the AK-47, the searing hot round tearing through Maloof’s stomach before he could stop him. Agony ripped through him as he reached behind his back, pulling his knife while swatting the barrel of the gun away, the next several shots firing harmlessly into the sand. His knife surged forward, into Safar’s own stomach, plunging deep into the fleshy mass, all the way to the hilt. Safar cried out in shock and pain as Maloof twisted the blade, scrambling the organs, the two of them dropping to the ground.
Maloof let go of the knife and grasped at his stomach. Blood poured over his fingers and he knew he was going to die, the life sustaining fluid quickly draining from him.
He had only seconds.
He turned, crawling on his knees, back toward the phone, its bright display beckoning, as Safar moaned behind him, his prayers getting weaker. A jolt of pain surged through Maloof’s body, taking his breath away, and he fell forward, onto his hands, the last few feet covered on all fours. He reached out for the phone, falling onto his side.
And hit Send.
Then rolled over onto his back, staring up at the stars, more brilliant than he had ever noticed before.
And hoped that his service to Allah had made him worthy of the same paradise Safar seemed to think he was destined for.