Andrew Kaplan - Carrie's run

“Only as a woman knows such things,” she said, playing to his ego. “There’s something else. What aren’t you telling me?”

He motioned her closer. “Abu Ubaida is acting more independently. There are those who say Abu Nazir is no longer in control. Abu Ubaida is here in Ramadi where the battle is. As for Abu Nazir, who can say?” He shrugged. “Some of the Tanzim are choosing sides.”

“Are you choosing?”

“Not yet. But it may come to that.” He twitched. “Abu Ubaida doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t trust anyone. Anyone he doesn’t trust, he kills.”

“Unless someone kills him first,” she said. For a moment, neither spoke. She could hear the clack of domino tiles and smell the apple tobacco smoke from the shisha hubble-bubbles coming from the teahouse. “I need to know a time and place where he’s going to be. Can you tell me?”

“No.” He leaned almost close enough to kiss her. “There is something. But before I say, I need to know my family will be safe.”

“I can’t guarantee that in Ramadi. Not even in the Green Zone. You know this.”

“I need to know my son will be safe.”

“If something happens, inshallah , I will do my best. If you want, we can take them to America. Farah and Gabir will be safe,” she said.

“Not America. There are only infidels in America. Syria-but with money.” He twitched. Now she understood. He was telling her he did not expect to survive. He was making his last will and testament with her.

“How much money?” she said.

“One hundred thousand dollars U.S.”

“Only if what you tell me is worth it,” she snapped. “And only if they are in danger.” She took a breath. “ Inshallah. ” God willing.

He twitched again. She remembered Saul telling her once, “Don’t force it. When the asset is ready to drop his pants, you have to wait for him to realize he doesn’t have a lot of choices. He has to talk himself into it. Just wait for it. All night if you have to.” She waited.

“There is going to be an attack against the new Shiite prime minister. Something big,” he said.

“In the Green Zone?” she asked. “How? Where will it come?”

“No one says. But we have men training on attacking a narrow street. They are told there is an arch.”

“You know what it is, don’t you?”

“I think Assassin’s Gate. Very soon. Maybe a week. They are getting everything ready,” he said.

“That’s it? Just break into the Green Zone and attack the prime minister’s office? Nothing else? That’s not his style.”

He stared at her, twitching, with his dark eyes. “I think you are a most dangerous person, Zahaba.” The code name they had agreed on for her. Gold, for the color of her hair. “Perhaps not every American is a fool.”

“Are you trying to provoke me? It won’t work,” she said. “There’s another attack, isn’t there? Abu Nazir and Abu Ubaida, they never do just one, do they?”

“It is their signature,” he said in agreement. “There is another one. This against the Americans. Someone important.”

Her mind raced. The Assassin’s Gate was a big sandstone arch topped by a dome spanning one of the main entry points into the Green Zone in Baghdad. If Abu Ubaida managed to assassinate the new Shiite leader, al-Waliki, it would trigger a civil war that would lead to the destruction of Iraq and the complete failure of the American mission. The casualties, including Americans, would be enormous.

On top of that, there was another assassination planned. Of an important American. She had to find out from Saul who was coming in from Washington and where. Ten-to-one, the second attack would be on Camp Victory, near the airport. It was where all the VIPs came in. Having failed in New York, Abu Ubaida was making his bid for the leadership of AQI. It all fit.

She had to get this intel back to Saul immediately.

“Do you know who the American is?” she asked.

“Only that Abu Ubaida said he would cut off both heads of the two-headed snake.”

“Were you in the room with him when he said this?”

“Not in a room. Last night. We were dropping off four policemen on the road to what the Americans call Hurricane Point. This is Saddam’s old palace where the Euphrates divides into the main river and the canal, but first”-he twitched, never taking his eyes off her-“we cut off their hands and heads. We put the heads on stakes in the ground, like signs along the side of the road. Go drive there; you can see them.” He smiled oddly. “If he knew we were speaking, what do you think he would do to me?”

Fallujah, Anbar Province, Iraq

As the sun set, the sky a stunning pink and purple, calls to prayer from the minarets of dozens of mosques echoed over the city. Riding on the motor scooter, they could hear gunfire and explosions from mortars to the west as Warzer drove her back to al-Andalus police station. They were running out of time. Dangerous at any time, after dark, the city was a no-man’s-land.

She and Warzer had gone to Romeo’s house to take Romeo’s wife and family to a nearby souk . They ate kebabs from a charcoal grill and bought Harry Potter toys for the children at market stalls. While she was with them, Virgil, disguised with a false beard and a Kurdish-style turban, snuck into Romeo’s house to black-bag it, installing listening devices and hidden cameras.

Now, driving past a mosque in the fading light, they spotted a Marine LAV APC followed by two Humvees with mounted machine guns.

“Shit, a patrol,” Warzer said.

They were in disguise, Carrie thought. To the Marines, they were Iraqis on a scooter on an empty street at night.

“Their fingers are on their triggers. Do as they say,” she reminded him.

The LAV stopped. The turret gun pointed right at them. The Humvees stopped and a loudspeaker voice from the front Humvee said, “ Kiff! ” Halt!

Warzer stopped. He and Carrie got off the scooter, Warzer setting the scooter on its stand, then raising his hands in the air. So did Carrie, removing the veil and head-covering portion of her abaya so they could see her blond hair. She raised her hands high. A Marine got out of the Humvee and gestured for them to come closer.

“Let me go first,” she told Warzer, and, hands held high, approached closer.

The Marine, a young corporal, stared at her, eyes like saucers. With her blond hair and all-American face, she must’ve been a completely surreal sight, but he kept his M4 still pointed at her.

“I’m American,” she told him in English. “We’re with Task Force One Forty-Five. We need to get to al-Andalus police station.”

“An American woman? Here?” the Marine said.

“I know. Our mission is classified. We’re working with Marine Captain Ryan Dempsey from the Two Twenty-Eighth. Can you help us?”

“Excuse me, ma’am, but are you out of your mind?” the Marine said, squinting at her as if to make sure she was real. “This is Sniper Alley. I don’t know how you’re still alive. Are you really American?”

“I live in Reston, Virginia, if that helps,” she said. “This is Warzer,” she said, gesturing with a tilt of her head. “He’s with me. Could you escort us back to the police station?”

“Let me check with the lieutenant, ma’am. You can put your hands down, just don’t move,” he said, backing away from her as though she were still dangerous. He spoke into the Humvee and after a minute, came back.

“That’s a negative, ma’am. We have our sector to do. To tell you the truth, it’s a mother-sorry, miracle someone hasn’t shot at us already. You better get going,” he said, eyeing Warzer as if he’d like to shoot him anyway.