CHAPTER 43

THE ARAP MOSQUE SITS in a cluttered neighborhood near the river, with multistory buildings of assorted vintages lining narrow streets. A wider, more modern four-lane thoroughfare runs two blocks to the west with a parking lane separated by a concrete curb in front of a shopping area that is more Middle Eastern than European.

An undeveloped lot sat between two apartment buildings and served as a park for the local residents; a direct path to the mosque would pass right through it. A glade of green grass added some color, and several towering trees provided shade from the midday sun. At 11: 00 a. m., Reece found a bench facing the four-lane road, removed his sunglasses, and opened a copy of the Times of London.

Foot traffic was light, as most of the residents of this working-class neighborhood were busy working at this hour. A mother scrolled through her smartphone as her three-year-old daughter played nearby. The child quickly turned her interest to Reece, staring at him curiously through big brown eyes. He began to play “peekaboo” with his newspaper, her soft giggles evolving into belly laughs as the duration of his hides lengthened. The child’s laughter brought a smile to his face but sadness to his heart as he thought of his own daughter, who had never tired of playing the game.

Focus, Reece.

By 11: 30 a. m., the volume of traffic increased as men began making their way toward Jumu’ah. The oldest men arrived first; some traditions seem to transcend culture. As the noon hour approached, the crowds grew thicker and the worshippers younger. The men ranged from business suit–clad professionals to blue-collar workers in more modest dress. They converged on the steps of the mosque and made their way inside.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

An hour later the doors opened and the worshippers descended the steps, returning to the jobs and families awaiting them.

Reece stayed seated for another thirty minutes before heading back to the hotel. He spent the afternoon reading and rereading everything that the Agency had provided him on Mohammed, including the reports of all his unit’s operations. Using an Agency VPN developed by a company called 7 Tunnels, he linked to a folder on Dropbox and accessed a seemingly benign music file hidden among thousands of similar files. Just as Freddy had trained him to do in XXXXXX, he used a VeraCrypt encrypted partition hidden within the music file and entered a twenty-six-character password. Nothing was ever downloaded to his computer.

Looking over the operations orders and after-action reports from the ten months that Reece had worked with Mo and his Special Tactics Unit brought back a flood of memories. Their operations had taken place at the height of the insurgency, in some of the worst neighborhoods in Baghdad. Working in conjunction with, and alongside, allied special operations units, Mo’s STU team played a critical role in capturing high-value individuals and rapidly exploiting intelligence to dismantle enemy networks. They had the added benefit of being an entirely Iraqi unit, which gave them some of the best tactical-level intelligence in theater. They also worked for the Iraqi Ministry of the Interior, which put the fear of Allah into those they captured. Iraq’s MOI did not give the Geneva and Hague Conventions the same weight as their American allies.

When Reece returned to the United States and the liaison role transitioned completely to Jules Landry, the scope of the operations shifted; retaliation seemed to be the motive rather than counterinsurgency. Why would the CIA have kept Landry on after Reece’s report on his behavior in Iraq? In Reece’s estimation, Landry was not a stable individual and had no business working sensitive intelligence operations.

Mo had been the one Iraqi commander who stood head and shoulders above his peers. He excelled in both the planning and tactical execution of direct-action missions, spoke English almost fluently, and had the trust of both his men and the senior leadership of the MOI. After Mo’s disappearance, the references to his existence became few and far between—all unconfirmed. A mention of one of his aliases on an intercepted phone call emanating from Syria, possible sightings in Greece, and, of course, the intel that had brought Reece to Turkey. The only concrete proof that Mo had left Iraq alive was the photo taken in Italy that Freddy had shown him back in Africa. Are we chasing a ghost?

• • •

A week had passed, and the routine was beginning to wear on him. At least the hotel had a gym where Reece could crank out some brutal CrossFit and Gym Jones workouts. Each day he followed the same pattern to make it easy for anyone wishing to make contact. He’d wake up, work out, and have breakfast, taking his time to read the paper as he finished his coffee. Then it was a leisurely stroll along the river, eventually ending up outside the Arap Mosque. Still nothing. He wanted to avoid entering the mosque and having to use Maajid’s lessons. He wasn’t sure he could pull it off even if he was going in under the guise of an author doing research for a new novel. He’d give it one more day; if no one made contact with him by then, he’d go the mosque route.

At ten to noon, he saw them. Three men, crossing the road toward the park, their heads on swivels. Predators. Two of the men appeared to be in their late twenties while the third was closer to Reece’s age. They each had the broad shoulders of athletes; all wore sunglasses, expensive leather boots, and light jackets. They didn’t wear rank or unit insignia, but to Reece’s trained eye, it was as if they were in uniform.

Reece lowered the newspaper to his lap and stared directly at them as they approached. The older man noticed him as soon as he stepped onto the sidewalk, and, by the time they were within twenty yards of the bench, all three were staring holes in him. The posture of the younger men changed from vigilant to combative as they neared Reece’s position: chests thrust upward, a swagger in their step, heads held high. Their physical behavior sent a primordial message: this was their territory and he was an intruder.

Could this be Mo’s security detail?

Reece made sure to hold their stares until they walked completely past him. Message sent.

Reece lingered until quarter past noon to ensure that Mo wasn’t coming and then walked toward the front of the mosque on his way back to the hotel, noticing a pair of ten-year-old boys tailing him from a block behind. Perfect. He kept a slow and easy pace to ensure they were able to follow him.

• • •

Back in his room, Reece rechecked for listening devices before calling Freddy at the safe house. He answered immediately. “How’d it go? ”

“It went. Three guys that looked like they could have been extras in a Chuck Norris movie walked right past me, eyeballing me the whole way. They had a couple of kids follow me home, so I think we set the hook. ”

“That’s great, just be careful. Hopefully they are Mo’s guys and not just some local thugs. ”

“They looked former military. I’ll be careful. ”

“Good. I’ve got some news on Landry. A buddy in counterintelligence called and gave me some intel from their initial report. It seems as though young Mr. Landry had a criminal record that the Agency didn’t know about when they hired him. Besides a couple of simple battery-type arrests as a juvenile, he was arrested for rape during his senior year of high school. Somehow the case went away. I’m guessing he cut a deal to join the Marines. The counterintelligence division and the IG’s office are still looking into it, but the odd part is that someone made it disappear during his screening. ”

“It doesn’t surprise me that he’s a scumbag, but it is weird that he got in the door with that kind of record. See if you can find out who recruited him and who signed off on his background. ”

“I’m already on it. ”

“Thanks. I’ll hit you up at our next comm window. ”

Reece cut the call and looked out his window over the city. Mo was out there somewhere, one of the most highly trained covert operatives in the world. He had become a terrorist, and somehow Landry was involved. Not long ago, they had all depended on one another to survive in battle. Reece couldn’t help but think that the next time they met up, not all of them would be walking away.

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