Forgotten Page 7

  Spock leaned in. “How are we getting in?”

  “We’ll be rendezvousing with Canadian JTF 2 Special Forces, embedded with the Peshmerga. They’ve got a way in that should give us eyes on the target.”

  Atlas’ voice rumbled above the choppers. “Will they be joining us?”

  “Negative. Their job is to get us in, that’s it. Their ROE prevents them from helping.”

  Niner frowned. “Well that sucks. Those guys are good.”

  Jimmy agreed. “It would be nice to know someone qualified had our back.”

  Red smiled. “We’ve worked with them before. You know damned well they’ll give us a hand if it hits the fan.” He checked his watch. “Okay, wheels up in ten. The auction starts in six hours, and I want to be in position before the sun rises.”

  26 |

  ISIS Held Territory Kobani, Syria

  Mary Todd bolted upright, searching for what had woken her. The door slammed against the concrete with a bang, answering her question. She rubbed her eyes as the shouting began. The girls in the back, the Muslim girls, rose, the confused Westerners like herself following suit as half a dozen men entered the room, grabbing those closest the door and yanking them toward the hall.

  More yelling echoed from the long corridor she hadn’t seen in days, and as she and the others inched their way toward the back of the room, the men continued forward, taking everyone.

  “What’s going on?”

  June shook her head. “I-I don’t know. This has never happened before.”

  “They take us to auction,” cried another girl in broken English.

  Mary turned toward her and a pit formed in her stomach at the horror gripping the young girl, perhaps thirteen. “What?”

  “Auction. Sex slave auction. They take all of us.”

  Mary’s stomach flipped and she bent over, heaving what little it contained onto the floor. A hand grabbed her by the arm and jerked her forward, toward the door. She yelped, reaching blindly for June. A hand grabbed hers and she gripped it tight, glancing back to see a crying June stumbling forward as she held the hand of the younger girl who had broken the news.

  Mary slowed slightly, letting them catch up, then crouched through the door as belts whipped at them, urging them forward, the heavily bearded men shouting the same word at them.

  “Yalla!”

  As she emerged outside, she was disappointed to see it was still dark, sunlight a pleasure almost forgotten. A truck idled nearby and they were guided to the rear where two men stood inside, hauling the slaves into the back. She held up her arms and was pulled into the air, tossed unceremoniously into the back like a sack of potatoes, gasping as she slammed into several of the girls already inside. She felt hands on her, helping her, there no shoving here.

  They were all victims.

  All equal.

  Their futures were set, the certainty of it unquestioned. They were to be somebody’s slave for the rest of their lives, used for sex until their owner grew tired of them, then put up for auction again, only to be sexually tortured by a new owner.

  This was to be their future.

  This was to be her future.

  And the thought of it had her joining the others as they wailed in despair, praying to a God who had abandoned them to a group hell-bent on destroying their souls, in His very name.

  27 |

  Kurdish Held Territory Syria

  Red leaped from the Black Hawk, pushing out twenty feet and taking a knee, the others taking covering positions as the chopper lifted off the moment the last boot cleared, two Apaches providing cover, banking away with it. He flipped down his night vision goggles, the sparse terrain glowing green.

  Something moved to his right.

  “Chicago.”

  Red held up a fist, signaling for the others to hold their positions. “Chilliwack.”

  “I’m impressed you were able to remember that one.”

  Red chuckled as two figures rose from behind a large rock, striding toward them, weapons resting easy from their waist. He flipped his goggles up, letting his eyes adjust in the dark, the moon and stars doing a good job of lighting the area. “I had to ask them to spell it.”

  “Thought I’d throw you Yanks a challenge. In junior high, I had to memorize all fifty states and capitals. I bet you guys don’t even know the capital of Canada.”

  Niner offered up his geography skills. “It’s Toronto, isn’t it?”

  “Ah, no, that’s actually kind of considered an insult to the rest of Canada, eh. Though Toronto does seem to think it’s the capital of the world.” The man extended his hand. “Warrant Officer Logan. This is Corporal St. Denis.”

  Red shook his hand. “Sergeant Grey. Glad you could help us out.”

  “No problem. Always eager for some action.” Logan jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s get a wiggle on. There’s maple syrup and BeaverTails in the truck if you’re hungry.”

  Niner groaned. “Ugh, I heard you guys ate some weird shit, but I never thought you’d eat beaver tails. Isn’t that kind of like us eating bald eagle wings?”

  Logan tossed a glance over his shoulder at Niner. “You’re kind of special, aren’t you?”

  Niner grinned. “My mommy says so.”

  Logan chuckled. “Dude, if I had maple syrup and BeaverTails in this shithole, I’d have missed my rendezvous with you. And BeaverTails aren’t what you think. Come up to Canada some day and I’ll introduce you.”

  Niner shook his head. “To hell with that. I want some of that poutine shit I’ve been hearing about.”

  Logan laughed. “Well, if this lifestyle doesn’t kill you, that will.” He pointed at two repurposed SUVs. “Here are our rides.” He climbed into the driver’s seat of the first vehicle, St. Denis taking the second.

  Red pointed at Niner and Jimmy to join him, the others taking the second truck. He climbed into the passenger seat, the engine roaring to life. “So you can get us in?”

  Logan pulled away, his lights out, night vision goggles in place. “Oh yeah, I can get you in. The trick is getting yourselves out.”

  “Why?”

  “Daylight, dude, daylight. My orders are to drop you off within spitting distance of your target. Our Peshmerga allies have provided some fine local fashions”—he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a bundle in the back window—“that I suggest you start putting on. You should be able to blend in with the crowds at the auction and locate your target. It’s getting out of the city that will be a bit of a challenge, but hey, you guys should be used to that sort of thing.”

  “And if we can’t make our evac point?”

  “Try, try again?” Logan laughed, handing him a piece of paper. “If you get in a jam, get your asses to these coordinates and we’ll be waiting for you.”

  Niner handed him a bundle. “Here you go, sweetheart.” Red looked at him and shook his head, Niner and Jimmy now sporting burqas.

  28 |

  The Unit Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  “They’re on their way, sir.”

  Colonel Clancy looked over at Sweets. “And the target?”

  “Langley has her en route to the auction in Thawrah. It looks like they’re going to do the exchange there.”

  “Rasheed Hadad?”

  “Arrived in Thawrah an hour ago.”

  Clancy’s head bobbed slowly, all the game pieces slowly converging as planned. “Chatter?”

  “None. All the cellphones involved have been quiet since last night.”

  Clancy pursed his lips, a hint of concern entering his mind. “That could be something, but it could also just be prudence on their part.”

  “Yes, sir. Right now we have no indication they know we’re on to them or Gina.”

  “Good. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

  He still couldn’t believe they had a traitor in their midst. She had passed all the security clearances, had been a civilian on base for over five years with an exceptional employment record, and had no red flags r
aised in any of that time that she might be a security risk. It was well known she was a Muslim, yet the law didn’t allow for discrimination based on religion, though he did feel exceptions should be made when your prime enemy was a certain religion. They didn’t hire Japanese or Germans to work at the Pentagon during the war, at least not first generation ones, so why devout Muslims at one of the most secretive units in the world?

  But it wasn’t his choice. It was Personnel’s.

  When Maggie had fallen ill, a replacement had been sent. He had expressed his concerns, been shot down, then accepted the decision, treating her with nothing but respect. It wasn’t her fault she was Muslim, and if she were loyal to her country, there was no “fault” to consider. It was her religion, and nothing more.

  Yet it wasn’t.

  Not with her.

  And that was the problem with Islam. It wasn’t just a religion. It was a complete way of life, and true adherents not only followed the Koran but the hadiths and the laws that resulted from them, Sharia. It was a belief system, a judiciary, and a government, all rolled into one, indivisible package. Unlike any other major religion in the world—fundamentally incompatible with democracy or the Western way of life.

  Which was why, too often, they didn’t play well with others.

  And Gina wasn’t playing well at all.

  Red had caught her listening at the inner office door within the first week. She had been startled, making an excuse that she had been at the filing cabinet and thought he had called her.

  It was enough to put her under surveillance and to note her habit of making calls from her car during her breaks. With her on a military installation, it was easy to get authorization to set up the surveillance as long as it was only used at Bragg, while on duty.

  It was quickly clear she was communicating with several people in Europe and the Middle East, though her conversations never contained anything arrest-worthy.

  So the trap had been laid, and when the intel arrived on Alia Monroe possibly being held by ISIS, things were put into motion, this the perfect opportunity to use her true loyalties against her, her phone call allowing them to find the missing girl.

  And Gina had fallen for it, delivering the intel as expected, Alia found.

  Now he prayed the young girl didn’t pay the ultimate price in this risky game.

  And she wouldn’t.

  His best men were on it, and the enemy had no idea they were coming.

  For now.

  Yet he could take no more chances.

  “Arrest Gina Nassar, now. Search her head to toe. I don’t want there to be any chance of her warning them we’re coming.”

  29 |

  ISIS Held Territory Thawrah, Syria

  Red leaned against the stone wall, the structure pockmarked by bullets and shrapnel, there few buildings if any in this part of the world unscarred by over five years of civil war. He was strapping two Glocks, several mags and grenades, a couple of cutting weapons, but little else, his MP5 stashed out of town, it too risky to try and sneak around an ISIS stronghold with bulky US Army issued weaponry, despite the burqas they were disguised in.

  As he surveyed the area for any threats, it was difficult to not be distracted by what was happening in front of him. The auction was well under way, girl after girl, some children barely eight or nine, were sold off as if cattle, some for hundreds of dollars, others for thousands—the younger they were, the more they usually fetched.

  It was sickening.

  They should just nuke this entire region.

  What was even more disturbing was the number of white girls for sale. As each one appeared, there was a roar of approval from the gathered throngs of thickly bearded men, the bidding going even higher than the children, gang raping an infidel with your buddies apparently something the average ISIS soldier thought to be a good time worthy of Allah’s praise. The number of times he heard Allahu Akbar shouted was disgustingly ridiculous. How anyone could think what was going on here was God’s will, was beyond him. He wanted to shoot every single damned one of them, right here, right now, then seek out anyone else who thought like them and do the same.

  Unfortunately, there were simply too many who felt this way, and killing them all would result in a massacre greater than anything the world had seen, including World War II or Stalin’s Soviet Union.

  And as each white girl was paraded on the auction block, he confirmed she wasn’t their target, and with each dismissal, he became sicker with the reality of the situation. They were here to save the connected girl, the girl more valuable than these other poor girls, all of whom had mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, friends and families, all of whom had people that cared about them, that missed them, that feared for what had happened to them.

  Yet none of them were important enough to merit him, to merit his team.

  Except Alia Monroe.

  “One-One, Zero-Two. You still have Hadad in sight?”

  “Affirmative,” replied Niner, positioned across the square, all their comms active, it too suspicious to have burqa-clad women tapping their ears. Langley had their target arriving any minute now, from the north end of the city. Ideally, they would have hit them then, but the area was swarming with ISIS patrols, and their egress was to the southeast. Getting around a city the size of Thawrah, with hostiles in pursuit, would be impossible. Hadad would be returning to al-Raqqah, and that was to the south. If they could hit his convoy then, they could grab the girl, exfiltrate, and be sipping beers in no time.

  “He’s on the move.”

  Red pushed from the wall, remaining hunched over, not wanting to appear six-feet tall in a burqa. “Copy that. Keep him in sight.” He looked up at the stage, a terrified young woman, maybe early twenties, shaking with fear, stared at him, their eyes meeting for a brief moment.

  He turned away, his heart breaking.

  Somebody has to do something about this.

  30 |

  The Unit Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  Gina Nassar checked her minimal makeup in the bathroom mirror. She had never been big on dolling herself up, her Muslim upbringing frowning upon it, though not so much as to forbid it, especially in her household—her parents were Muslim in name only. They never attended their Mosque except for special occasions, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen them perform their daily prayers.

  And she had been raised in the same manner, even her name an anglicized version of the traditional Arabic name, Ghina.

  They were Westernized Muslims, in the worst way. It was one of the reasons she had secured a good government job working for the Department of Defense. They were eager for Arabic speakers, a language she was fluent in despite being born in Michigan. She had learned it as a child, her grandparents, who didn’t speak English, raising her while her parents worked. It had given her a job.

  And a gateway to the truth.

  A few years ago, she had been assigned the duty of translating videos posted by ISIS, and it had awakened something inside her she hadn’t realized was there. It had begun as a curiosity, a desire to discover the religion of her grandparents, not the one ignored by her parents. And this reawakening had blossomed, had flourished as she rediscovered the beauty that was pure Islam, and the promise it made to those who would believe—the delivery to paradise of those who sacrificed themselves in constant jihad against the demons within, and against those who would threaten the word of Allah and his prophet, Mohammed.

  And when she had reached out to the very holy warriors she was working to thwart, they embraced her as a sister, and for the first time in her life, she was part of something, part of a family, of a greater cause.

  The bathroom door swung open and she glanced over her shoulder then gasped, three Military Police charging inside, guns drawn.

  She peed a little.

  “Hands up!”

  They went up.

  “Gina Nassar, you are under arrest.”

  She drew a deep breath, then point
ed down at her disgrace. “Umm, may I use the bathroom first?”

  31 |

  ISIS Held Territory Thawrah, Syria

  Niner was fortunate he didn’t have to hunch over. Much shorter than the others, his disguise was more believable, something Atlas had pointed out with delight earlier. He still kept his head bent down to avoid eye contact with anyone who might recognize the confidence of someone who could actually live with themselves. The men surrounding him were men in name only. The excitement and zeal in their voices, the lust in their eyes, was almost enough to make him sacrifice his own life and open fire on them, eliminating as many as he could with what little ammo he had.

  Though three mags wouldn’t be enough.

  There were hundreds of vermin here, the helpless girls on display the most innocent of victims he could recall seeing in his career. The stench of urine and excrement tinged the air, the more frightened ones losing control of their bodies as the auctioneer’s cane slammed on the stage, sealing their fate.

  They were usually the new ones.

  Those who had been raped for months or years on end, sold again to raise money or because their owners were bored with them, seemed numb to the entire ordeal, merely standing there, limp corpses who had yet to have their desire to die, fulfilled. Many had scars on their wrists or necks from failed suicide attempts, some with both, those who had been through this humiliation before willing to burn for eternity than live one more day as the sex toy of some depraved man who claimed it was his right as laid out in the Koran itself.

  He wanted to kill them all.

  Yet there was nothing he could do about it.

  He cut through the crowd and into an alleyway, Hadad about twenty paces in front of him, walking briskly with several others. He spotted Atlas and Spock nearby, and knew Red would be making his way across the square to join them. Jimmy and Mickey had the high ground, occupying two rooftops overlooking the square, where they could provide cover fire if necessary.