Fog of War

Chapter Four

Justin and Nathan waited until the moon hid behind a heavy curtain of clouds and slipped out of the apartment under the cover of darkness. They had been following the movements of their neighbors and the flow of traffic over the past few nights, before their infiltration into Iran. This was the best time to leave undetected, when the entire district fell into complete silence. The last drunken patrons of the nightclub at the end of the block had already stumbled back into their cars or their homes. And it was too early for morning shift workers to hit the streets.

Canada had no embassy or consular presence in Turkmenistan, and so the Embassy of Canada in Ankara, Turkey, provided services for Canadians in this country. Justin and Nathan did not need any assistance regarding their passports, since they had entered the country by using Russian passports. Justin was a freelance travel journalist, with two large camera bags around his shoulders to prove it. Nathan was his assistant and reporter. A Canadian diplomatic presence would have offered them a secure place to find weapons and other operational gear and to drop them off at the end of the mission.

Instead, they had to rely on Colonel Garryev to supply them with most of the tools of their trade. After the recent turn of events, Justin had decided to avoid any contacts with the Colonel. He wanted to leave behind no evidence that could hunt them in the future. They were going to dispose of their gear without any local help.

The Canadian agents had shed their military fatigues and other clothes they used in Iran. They were now sporting black dress pants, black turtleneck sweaters, and charcoal sport coats. The rain had stopped a couple of hours ago, leaving behind mud puddles and slippery sidewalks. The temperature was barely sixty-five degrees, almost perfect conditions to cover a lot of ground without breaking a sweat.

They reached their white Lada, one of the most common cars in the country. Colonel Garryev had chosen it as their discreet means of transportation, and they had parked it a few blocks away from their apartment complex. They threw their knapsacks in the trunk. Nathan drove to the north of the city. They had identified a few good spots in the wetlands and forests surrounding the Kurtlinskoe Reservoir, and the rain had made their job easier. They dismantled their carbines and pistols and scattered the pieces in the wooded areas, under bushes, and throughout the ponds dotting the landscape. They did the same with their clothes, binoculars, and all their gear, including their knapsacks.

It was about five-thirty when Justin and Nathan parked behind a small diner on Magtymguly Avenue by the Kopetdag Stadium, once the home of Kopetdag Ashgabat Football Club. It was one of the few places open this early in the morning. The diner was dimly lit. The air inside was warm because of the kitchen ovens and thick with the smell of smoke and grease. The crowd of customers was thin, mostly rugged-looking men, their eyes puffy from lack of sleep, too much vodka the previous night, or both. One or two turned their heads to check the newcomers. Justin gave them a barely noticeable nod and slid into a booth at the end of the diner, overlooking both entrances. Nathan sat on the other side of the table, his eyes covering the little door leading to the kitchen.

“What are you getting?” Nathan asked in Russian.

“A big omelet with pretty much everything they have. I’m starving. And a large cup of coffee.”

“Same for me.”

They placed their order with the waitress, a thin brunette with a pale face and gray eyes. A minute later, she returned with their coffees. Justin brought his cup to his nose and enjoyed the strong aroma. He took a small sip and smacked his lips in satisfaction.

“It’s good, eh?” Nathan said, adding a spoon of sugar to his cup.

“Shhhhh, don’t wreck it.” Justin took another sip of the hot liquid and closed his eyes.

When he opened them, a battered Nissan Pathfinder had stopped in front of the diner, waiting for the red traffic light to change. It took Justin a second to realize he was staring at Suleyman, one of the drug runners who had taken them to Iran, in the driver’s seat. The man they had been trying to reach for most of last evening was outside the diner. His heart began racing.

“Nathan,” Justin shouted, dropping his cup to the table. “Our driver, Suleyman, he’s right outside the…”

The Nissan began to move and round the curb. Justin jumped off his seat. He flew past Nathan, almost ran over the waitress, and darted through the door.

The Nissan was about thirty yards away, changing lanes. Justin broke into a sprint on the sidewalk, staying in Suleyman’s blind spot. He wished he had his pistol with him, although a travel journalist would have difficulties explaining firing shots at a moving target in the middle of city. He took a shortcut through a back alley, trying to keep up with the Nissan.

Thankfully, Suleyman had not seen him yet and was not driving at a high speed. Justin spotted the Nissan across the street, just as it disappeared behind a large park. Justin sped up, cutting through the empty park, jumping over benches, bushes, and garbage cans, barely missing a couple of homeless people sleeping on the grass. He looked up and saw the lights of an intersection two blocks ahead change from amber to red. His eyes searched for his target, and he found the Nissan among a dozen or so vehicles that were slowing down.

Justin zigzagged between the stopped vehicles. Two cars away from the Nissan, Suleyman must have noticed him because his vehicle crashed into a small Lada. He seemed to be pushing it out of his way for a few seconds before rushing at Justin in reserve. Justin jumped out of the way, as the Nissan came rolling into the hood of a van behind him.

Suleyman opened the door on his side of the Nissan, producing a pistol. He pointed it toward Justin, who disappeared behind the Lada. Two shots rang out. Justin slid toward the front of the small car. The third bullet shattered one of the back windows. The woman driving the Lada crawled out of her seat. Justin tried to reassure her, but two more bullets thumped against the car. He edged to the front.

“Come out of there,” Suleyman shouted.

Justin looked through the windshield and saw Suleyman standing by the Lada’s back tire. He was peering through the windows.

The woman screamed something in a language Justin did not understand, probably Turkmen. Suleyman groaned and responded with another shot. The woman stood up slowly, shaking and rambling uncontrollably. Suleyman trained his pistol on her. The traffic light changed and a few cars drove away. Loud horns came from the other vehicles blocked by the Nissan and the Lada. Suleyman turned and threatened those drivers with his pistol.

Justin seized the moment and charged forward, tackling Suleyman like an offensive lineman. His left shoulder speared Suleyman at his side, throwing him to the ground, almost knocking the air out of him. The pistol flew out of his hand. Suleyman tried to reach it, but Justin pinned his arm down with a strong grasp.

“Stop it!” Justin shouted. “Just want to ask you some questions.”

Nathan appeared behind the Nissan. Justin motioned for him to pick up the pistol.

Suleyman kept struggling. Justin lifted him by the collar of his leather jacket while dodging his blows and pushed him against the Lada. Suleyman threw his left fist, aiming for Justin’s jaw. At the last moment, Justin jerked his head back. Suleyman’s fist missed his face by less than an inch.

Justin held his grip on the man’s collar and raised his own fist. Then his eyes caught sight of a little boy inside the van stuck behind the Lada. The boy could have not been older than five years. His face was frozen, his eyes observing the fight taking place in front of him. Justin relaxed his hand and grabbed the back of Suleyman’s jacket while smiling at the little boy.

“Get up,” he said to Suleyman. “We’ve got to go.”

Suleyman offered little resistance as Justin lifted him to his feet. Nathan jammed the pistol into Suleyman’s back. They walked over to the Nissan. Justin climbed through the driver’s side. Nathan shoved Suleyman into the back seat, then got in and sat next to him.

“You’ve scrubbed the car really well,” Justin said. “All traces of blood are gone.”

Suleyman grinned. His boss’s blood had soaked the front seat the previous day. Someone had replaced it with a mismatched leather seat a couple of shades lighter than the original brown.

“Suleyman, tell me, why did you disconnect your phone?” Justin asked.

He started the Nissan and made a right turn. They had to go back to the diner. Their luggage was still in their Lada in the parking lot.

Suleyman did not reply. He sniveled, then wiped some saliva off his chin.

“Hey, I’m talking to you. Why? And why were you trying to kill me?” Justin said.

“Those… those are… were my orders.”

Nathan kept his gun inches away from Suleyman’s chest as he listened to their exchange.

Justin asked, “Orders? From whom?”

“The men who killed your informer in Iran.”

“Huh? What?” Justin could not believe his ears. He adjusted the rearview mirror. Suleyman’s grinning face was staring back at him.

“Yeah, I know everything about what he was giving you and who you really are, Mr. Justin Hall and Mr. Nathan Smyth of the Canadian Intelligence Service.”

Justin fell silent. How does he know? The Colonel gave us up? Why? Or did he learn it from another source? “Who do you work for? Tell me.”

Suleyman shook his head and kept his mouth shut. A stoic grin was stamped on his reddened face.

Justin took a quick moment to think of an intimidation strategy. “OK, Suleyman, tell me everything, or I’ll hand you over to Colonel Garryev. I’ll say you betrayed him and gave the shooters our position. He’ll make sure no one will ever find your body.”

Suleyman’s face remained calm, but his eyes glinted with a ray of fear. Colonel Garryev was notorious for his ‘persuasion tactics.’ More than a dozen men were said to have died in his hands or the hands of his henchmen.

“Talk,” Justin shouted. “Tell me everything.” He had read the fear in Suleyman’s eyes. “What happened after we left?”

Suleyman sighed. His eyes avoided the brunt of Justin’s piercing gaze, and his shoulders slumped. “I dropped the body of your informant and Ruslan’s body and headed back. The same way we took when crossing into Iran.”

He stopped and took a deep breath. Justin wanted to nudge him to talk, but decided to give Suleyman his time. A few long seconds passed, the rumble of the Nissan filling the tense space around them. Justin rounded a curve, and they were now on Mati Kulyev Street. The massive structure of the Kopetdag Stadium rose to the right.

Suleyman said, “The shooters caught up to me about half an hour later. I have no idea how they found me.”

“Who were they?” Justin asked.

Suleyman hesitated only for a brief moment. “Three Arabs and two Africans. They identified themselves as members of al-Shabaab—”

“Yes, al-Shabaab,” Justin said somberly. He felt a deep furrow forming on his forehead. “The most dangerous terrorist network in that part of the world.”

“Yes. They had found your informant and told me he was a scientist who worked in one of the Iranian nuclear plants,” Suleyman said. “He betrayed the Iranians, revealing state secrets. So they gave him his well-deserved reward. That’s what they said. And they told me who you really were, Canadian secret agents.”

The explanation made little sense. Al-Shabaab consisted of Sunni Muslims, while Iranians belonged to the Shia branch of Islam. Both sides hated each other, a hate deep rooted in their different beliefs about political leadership and religious practices.

Nathan asked, “How did they know we were there?”

Suleyman shook his head. “They didn’t say.”

“What did you tell them?”

“What I knew, which isn’t much.”

“They tortured you?”

“No, no need for it. They knew exactly who I am and what I do and how much information I had for them.”

Justin nodded. He slowed down as they rounded the corner, then made another right turn. They were back on Magtymguly Avenue, three blocks away from their diner.

“So now that your boss is dead, you work for al-Shabaab?” Justin asked.

Suleyman frowned, then shrugged. “They let me go only after I agreed to kill you if I had the chance. I’m not stupid, so I wasn’t going to look for you. I made my way back, ditched my phone, laid low. I didn’t come after you. You chased me to that intersection. I tried to leave, but I couldn’t. I didn’t betray you or Colonel Garryev. I’m helping you.”

Justin remained silent. He thought he heard faint police sirens in the distance.

“Helping? You tried to kill him,” Nathan said.

Suleyman shook his head. “No, I was trying to scare you, make you stay down, while I could run away, push my way through the traffic. Look, I’m giving you all I know. Those shooters told me there’s a bounty on your head because of a fatwa.”

Suleyman’s words caught Justin completely off guard. “Huh? What? A bounty?” he asked. Perhaps that’s why Suleyman was so eager to pull the trigger.

“Yes. A million dollars if someone kills you. Not dead or alive. Just dead.”

“Al-Shabaab put a million-dollar bounty on me?”

Suleyman nodded. “They did, or at least that’s what they told me.”

Justin eased on the gas pedal. They had come to a red light.

“What did these shooters look—”

His words were interrupted by Suleyman pushing open the door on his side. Nathan raised his pistol, but Suleyman had already slipped out of the car.

“Stay in,” Justin shouted at Nathan. “We’ll get him.”

Justin jumped the curb, driving on the sidewalk, attempting to cut him off. Suleyman broke into a fast sprint, cutting across the two-lane street, through the fast moving traffic.

Nathan said, “No, stop—”

Suleyman never saw the school bus that ended his life. It zoomed from the opposite direction, hitting him in the back. Suleyman splattered against the windshield. His body fell underneath the bus, while the driver struggled to bring the huge vehicle to a wavering, screeching stop.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Justin said. “This place will be teeming with police in minutes.”

They got out of the Nissan and left it parked on the sidewalk. Nathan wiped his fingerprints off Suleyman’s pistol and tossed it back into the car. Justin cleaned the steering wheel and the door handles.

Justin said, “Let’s take our luggage and fly out before the police connect the dots. We learned everything we could from Suleyman. It’s time to say goodbye to Ashgabat.”