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“I have him,” Bazzi said into his radio.
The shooting at the other end of the hall had stopped and he could hear the sound of b
ooted feet running toward him. A moment later Nassar’s men had surrounded al-Omari and his family.
“Bind them and bring them into the courtyard,” Bazzi said. “I’ll call in the helicopter.”
* * *
“Understood,” Aali Nassar said. “ETA less than one minute.”
The operation had gone reasonably well. Al-Omari and his family had been secured without injury and at the cost of only one of his men. Bazzi had survived, which was suboptimal, but having him die during the assault was less critical than it would have been convenient. The young military commander would just have to be dealt with more directly.
The pilot switched on a spotlight and Nassar could see al-Omari’s compound below. The only place flat enough to land was the courtyard, and the pilot set down inside the walls, kicking up a dense cloud of dust that enveloped the young colonel running crouched toward the aircraft.
He stopped short when he saw Nassar jump out, his gaze flicking from the intelligence director’s face to the suitcase in his hand.
“Director Nassar. What are you doing here? I was told that we were to bring al-Omari to Medina.”
“There’s been a change of plans,” Nassar said. “We’ll begin our interrogation here.”
“Sir, this location isn’t secure. By now the locals will be aware of our presence.”
“But that’s precisely the problem, isn’t it, Colonel? News that we’ve captured al-Omari will travel quickly, and any intelligence he provides us will become useless at the same rate. If we have any hope of finding the whereabouts of Mullah Halabi quickly enough to take him, it will have to happen here.” He paused. “If you’re frightened, I can arrange for my helicopter to take you to a safer location.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Bazzi said, leaving off the requisite “sir” as an act of pointless defiance. “May I carry your case?”
Nassar gave it to him, smiling imperceptibly as the man moved off with what he undoubtedly assumed were the implements necessary to extract information from their captive.
Nassar followed the young officer through the building and into a back bedroom where General al-Omari was secured to a chair. His wife and children were huddled in a corner.
“Take his family outside,” Nassar ordered.
Two of his men ushered them out and another two remained, keeping their guns trained on the helpless Iraqi.
“Aali Nassar,” the man said, and then spat on the floor. “What brings you this far from your comfortable home? And who will lick King Faisal’s ass while you’re gone?”
“Your reputation for bravado is well-earned, I see.”
“As is your reputation for drama.”
Nassar drew his firearm and aimed it at al-Omari’s head. The general stared back defiantly while the increasingly nervous Colonel Bazzi looked on.
“Sir, I need clarification. I was told that we were to get this man and his family back to Saudi Arabia. I understand that time is of the essence, but we’re in danger here, and if we’re attacked, we risk not getting any intelligence at all.”
Nassar nodded silently and then adjusted his aim, firing a single round into Bazzi’s forehead. The man collapsed onto the stone floor, a dark pool of blood fanning out around his head. Nassar fired a second shot, hitting the dead man in the thigh and then another in the neck. It would make the precision of the kill shot easier to explain away.
“Cut the general loose and leave us,” Nassar said, holstering his weapon. One of his men severed the flex-cuffs holding al-Omari and then he and his comrade disappeared down the hallway.
“What is this?” the general said, too confused even to stand.
Nassar gazed down at the man who could legitimately be described as his ISIS counterpart. Al-Omari was hardly a brilliant man, but he didn’t need to be. That was Mullah Halabi’s role, and it was one he filled well. Al-Omari needed only to be competent enough to carry out the mullah’s orders, and indeed he had proved to be more than up to the task. The combination of the two men was extraordinarily dangerous. More so than even the vaunted Irene Kennedy understood.
“We both know that the Saudi royalty won’t survive the death of King Faisal, General. He’s refused to groom a successor and the government will collapse under the weight of the power struggle. The Americans know that the royals in line are cretins and it’s unlikely that they’ll support any of the candidates.”
“That’s why you’re here? To tell me things I already know?”
“I’m here because the rise of a caliphate that spans the Middle East is inevitable. And I believe that ISIS has an excellent chance of being the organization that ushers in that era. The mullah’s plans display great wisdom and vision.”
