Moral Imperative (6 page)

Chapter 11

Mosul, Iraq

3:48am AST, August 13
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Hasan waited with the four priests. They’d told him to be patient, that their guests would arrive in time. Their approach would be cautious. He’d sat in the same spot for almost two hours. The priests tried to engage him in conversation, but he didn’t want to talk. There was too much to think about.

He’d seen the video. Poor Father Paulos, strung up like a doll, doused with the Islamist’s impure blood. While it enraged him, he knew without a doubt that the vile act wouldn’t have any effect on the priest’s soul, no matter what that monster said. The elder was in Heaven, of that fact Hasan had no doubt. He’d said a prayer in thanks for sparing Father Paulos any torture at the hands of the terrorists. Animals.

“They are here,” said one of the priests. The four still had their weapons at the ready and Hasan was glad for that. He had yet to secure his own, something he would have to remedy soon.

Two men walked into the darkened room, faces obscured by cowls. They looked like common beggars or one of the many refugees who’d made their way through Mosul over the preceding months.

Neither removed their hoods until seated on the bare floor across from Hasan. Both men had roughly Arabic features, dark complexions, scraggly beards.

“You are Hasan al-Mawsil?” asked the first man, his Arabic flawless. He sounded like he was from the south. 

Hasan nodded.

“I am Timothy and this is my associate Fazul.”

“You are the Americans?”

“No. We are here on their behalf,” said Timothy.

“Then who are you?”

“Would you believe me if I told you we were friends?”

“I’m not sure what to believe these days.”

Timothy looked to the priests. One of them nodded.

“They tell me you can be trusted, Hasan. Is this true?” asked Timothy.

“It is.”

“Then I will tell you where we are from, although that knowledge, should it be given to the enemy, would surely seal our fate, and possibly your own.”

Hasan didn’t know what the man was talking about. He looked like one of a thousand Arabs he’d met in his lifetime. What was the man getting at?

“You can trust me,” said Hasan.

Timothy looked to his partner, who nodded just perceptibly.

“We call the lands beyond the Sea of Galilee our home.”

Hasan’s eyes went wide. “You’re Israeli?” He couldn’t believe it. Timothy was right. If the Islamic barbarians knew Jews were in Iraq, they’d drop everything to have them found, tortured and then killed.

“We are.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“So you know you can trust us, Hasan. We live in a world where loyalty swings in the wind, especially here.”

“What is it that you know about the Americans? Are they coming?”

Timothy hesitated. “I don’t mean to get your hopes up. This is merely a—”

“I risked my life coming here,” hissed Hasan. “Now tell me what you want of me or be gone.”

Timothy smiled. “The Americans need someone from Mosul. One who knows the area.”

“Why? They know Mosul. Why do they want me?”

“You came highly recommended.”

“From who?” Hasan couldn’t believe one of his friends would divulge his name and where to find him. That sort of information was never shared with outsiders.

“It was Father Paulos.”

The words hit Hasan like a sledgehammer. Why had the priest given the Jews his name? Of what use could he be?

“I don’t understand. Why would he do that?” Hasan looked to the four priests questioningly. “Tell me why.”

Father Yousef, the youngest of the four, answered. “Father Paulos believed God has a plan for you. It was in a dream that he saw you standing with the Americans.”

What was going on? Jews? Visions? It was too much for Hasan to comprehend.

“I am a simple man. I have no skills,” said Hasan.

“Not according to Father Paulos,” said Timothy.

“What was it that he told you?”

Father Yousef spoke up again, his smile proud. “Who other than Hasan al-Mawsil knows the streets of Mosul better than the streets themselves?”

“But—”

“How many friends does Hasan have along the road to Duhok, Soran and even into the mountains along the northern border?”

“I—”

“Who better than Hasan knows the pain of loss and has the will to see God’s people saved?” asked Father Yousef, his eyes gleaming.

Hasan didn’t know how to respond. That wasn’t how he saw himself. Yes, he knew Mosul and could probably walk it blindfolded. Yes, he’d spent years traveling the northern reaches of Iraq, making deliveries and the occasional side deal. But to say that he was God’s instrument and that he was somehow worthy of such trust? It was beyond his ability to grasp.

“It sounds like your friends believe in you more than you believe in yourself, Hasan. Maybe you should listen to them,” said Timothy.

His brother had often told him he had a higher calling, but Hasan had always assumed his brother was speaking of being a good Christian. The thought grew into a question.

“Did you know my brother?”

Timothy nodded. There was a hint of sadness in his tone. “I’ve known your brother for some time. We believe ISIS somehow found out about his involvement with our operations.”

Hasan wanted to scream at them, to blame them for his brother death, for the deaths of Yazen and Dalir. But he knew that wasn’t true. His brother was braver than any man Hasan had ever met. Where others ran from service, Mikhail embraced it, tried his best to better the country despite his younger brother’s warnings. Instead of begging for money to support his family, Mikhail took odd jobs, never too proud to do honest labor. And his faith. Mikhail wore his religion with pride, never hiding it from strangers despite the risk of reprisal.

He imagined his brother looking on, smiling down at him, nodding his head, pushing him forward.
What did he know that I didn’t?

Hasan took a deep breath and looked at Timothy. “What do you need me to do?”

Chapter 12

The White House

11:50am, August 13
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The head of Mossad didn’t like coming to America. Maybe it was because of the cold reception he’d gotten from the last president. To make an ally wait over an hour while he finished his round of golf…

He had yet to meet President Zimmer, and had only come as a favor to the Israeli Prime Minister. Like it or not, Omer Reisner had a boss, and his boss wanted him in America.

He did not have to wait long. Five minutes before the prescribed time, President Brandon Zimmer walked into the Situation Room, two men in tow. Like anyone who knew anything about the United States, Reisner instantly recognized Gen. McMillan. The imposing Marine was hard to miss, as was his impressive array of ribbons.

The second man was much less familiar, and part of Reisner’s assignment. Travis Haden was a relative unknown to Mossad. They known he’d served as a SEAL and was the former CEO of Stokes Security International, but his relationship to the president was still a big question mark. How had he risen from obscurity to the right hand of the throne?

Reisner hoped to get more clarity during his visit.

“Mr. Reisner, thank you so much for coming on such short notice,” said Zimmer, coming around the table to shake hands with the Israeli.

“It is my pleasure, Mr. President,” said Reisner, who was maybe four inches shorter than the handsome American. Reisner turned to McMillan. “It is an honor to meet you as well, General. I’ve heard that you are a man to be trusted, a man of honor.”

“Thank you. I’ve always been impressed by Israeli hospitality,” said McMillan, wrapping Reisner’s hand in an iron grip. Why did Marines all feel like a handshake was some kind of a strength contest?

“I’m Travis Haden, Mr. Reisner,” said the dirty blond chief of staff. Reisner could tell the muscular advisor was sizing him up, a sly grin accompanying his greeting. This man was confident in his abilities, but was definitely no politician. He had the look of a warrior, not a bureaucrat.

“Thank you Mr. Haden. And may I say, congratulations on the new position.”

After coffee was served by a Filipino steward, the four men were left alone. Reisner figured it was better to let the Americans start, and busied himself with the cheese danish he’d picked from the mound in the center of the table. Sometimes the best assets an intelligence agent had were his two ears, and Reisner meant to use them.

Zimmer took a sip of his coffee and began. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve included General McMillan and Mr. Haden in our discussion. They are my two closest advisors and I value their opinions above all others.”

That was good. “I will say, Mr. President, that it has not escaped my government’s notice that you have decided to align yourself with a Unites States Marine and a Navy SEAL.”

“And I take it that you welcome the change?”

Reisner shrugged. “You know how we Israelis treasure our military.”

Zimmer nodded. “Then we’re starting off on the right foot. Good. I promise this won’t be a waste of your time. First, I wanted to make this known to your leadership before I announce it publicly. I’m not in the habit of letting our staunchest allies find out my opinions second hand. To get right to it, I fully support your actions in Gaza and am prepared to give you whatever support is needed in the Middle East.”

Reisner hadn’t been expecting that. The Prime Minister would be thrilled to hear about the change. His country’s relationship with Zimmer’s predecessor was contentious at best, sometimes outright hostile. Reisner had understood the man’s liberal agenda, but in a matter of years the president had squandered many opportunities and weakened American alliances with its oldest allies. The Israeli hoped Zimmer wasn’t just
blowing smoke
, as the Americans liked to say.

“That is very good to hear, Mr. President. We would like nothing more than to be a most trusted ally.”

“That brings me to my next dilemma, Iraq and the Islamic caliphate. I was hoping you could give us some indication of your intentions.”

This was a slippery slope for the Israeli. He’d been directed to give the Americans just enough information. Sort of a test. They’d been stung before, losing long term assets who’d disappeared overnight. Reisner had the proof that the loose-lipped lackeys of the last president were the cause. He would not let that happen again. The veteran Mossad leader had to be careful, something he always strived to be, until it was time to pull out the battle axe.

“Like you, we believe the marauding ISIS forces pose a direct threat to security in the region, even abroad. The chance of severe destabilization in the Arab world seems inevitable should they be allowed to continue on their current path.”

“Do you have assets on the ground?” asked Travis Haden.

Reisner knew the question was coming, but was surprised that it came from the SEAL and not the president. This man must hold significant sway with Zimmer. Reisner decided to throw them a bone.

“We do.”

“Surveillance or action teams?” asked Haden after casting a glance at the president.

“I cannot tell you that,” answered Reisner, seeing no need to give away all his secrets. Haden didn’t press the point.

“What are you planning to do?” asked Zimmer.

“That all depends on you, Mr. President.”

I’m not going to show my cards before I see yours, Mr. President.

President Zimmer looked at Gen. McMillan and nodded.

“Mr. Reisner, what I’m about to tell you is only known to a handful of people, and none other than the three men sitting in front of you know the full story.”
Now we are getting somewhere
. “We are approximately forty-eight hours from inserting an American-led multi-national team into Iraq. It was our hope that your government could assist us in our efforts.”

“When you say team, how large?”

“Nineteen men.”

Reisner caught himself before coughing out a laugh. Nineteen men? What did the Americans think they could do with that? Didn’t they know what they were dealing with? Tens of thousands of extremists willing to die for the glory of Allah. He’d told the prime minister that he was sure the Americans wanted to discuss direct action, but nineteen men?

“I am sorry, I do not mean to be rude, but I assumed you would do more than send nineteen men into the desert.”

Instead of getting mad, McMillan smiled. “What I forgot to mention was that these nineteen men will have direct access to any weapons systems we have, including land based bombers, drones and our carrier group in the Persian Gulf.”

Now they were getting somewhere. Fine. Maybe he should open the door a bit more.

Reisner looked to Zimmer. “Mr. President, I think we have something that could help.”

+++

Reisner was on the phone as soon as he reached the Israeli embassy.

“How did it go?” asked his prime minister, a man who’d risen to his current post on a wave of bi-partisan support. There was not much he couldn’t do.

“I will say I am cautiously optimistic,” answered Reisner.

“Coming from you, that is an extreme vote of confidence, Omer. What did you promise them?”

“Nothing more than you and I discussed.”

“Good. And their contribution?”

Reisner told him.

“Do you think that will be enough to stop ISIS?”

Reisner honestly didn’t know. “General McMillan seemed to think so.”

“And this Haden? What did he have to say?”

“He and the president are playing from the same sheet of music.”

“And this is a good thing?” asked the prime minister.

“I believe so.”

“Very well. Let me know how things progress.”

“Yes, Prime Minister.”