Seven Days From Sunday (MP-5 CIA #1) (37 page)

“It’s nothing,” the masked man managed to say before his head suddenly snapped forward with an audible pop and he fell face first to the floor. Ghaniyah screamed, as both the driver and Adnan leaped up beside her.

“Cover the door!” Sharif yelled at his remaining man. Enraged, he strode over to the crate and picked up his sword. He came over to Ghaniyah, the sword’s tip at her throat. Piercing the skin. “What have you done!? Tell me!”

“Nothing..!” she mumbled fearfully. “I swear!”

Gonz could hear Ghaniyah’s protests as he and Heisman silently sneaked up the stairs, Heisman taking the lead, his Heckler & Koch submachine gun in hand. He knew McKay was on his heels. The Rangers would be coming up as soon as they cleared the first floor. Suddenly a figure appeared at the top of the stairs. Before the startled gunman could even raise his weapon, Heisman instinctively fired several shots and the man danced backwards, his arms outstretched, flailing. Then he fell to the floor, the gun still in his hand.

Ghaniyah screamed. A piercing yell.

Sharif had quickly gone over to the dead masked man under the window, grabbing his AK-47. In that moment, Adnan had yelled at Ghaniyah, pushing her down behind the crate. He turned to see Sharif staring at him, his face masked in fury.

Gonz and Heisman stood on either side of the door. They could see Sharif, his face twisted in rage, an AK-47 now in his hand. The CIA agents exchanged nods. Gonz quickly unfastened the pull ring of a 7290 Flash Bang grenade, firmly twisting it clockwise. He pulled the pin and briefly stepped into the room, lobbing it thirty feet in the air toward the terrorist. At the same moment, Heisman tossed in a CS grenade.

Sharif saw the grenades coming and quickly fired off a series of shots toward the door.

Adnan had seen one grenade fly through the air, then another and impulsively leaped on top of Ghaniyah, trying to protect her.

Gonz and Heisman took cover in the stairwell as Sharif unleashed a barrage of rounds. The Rangers from Red Team had cleared the first floor and were now stacked on the stairs, ready.

With Adnan forcefully pinning her to the floor, Ghaniyah couldn’t move. She struggled to see behind her to see what had happened to the older man. She now wished he had stayed in the truck, out of harm’s way. Suddenly there was a horrific explosion, the brilliant white light blinding her, the sound deafening. Adnan’s free arm covered her face as she tried to scream. But she had no breath. It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

Gonz was the first one into the room, his machine gun in hand, as he quickly scanned the room through the dense smoke from the tear gas. It shrouded everything. He nearly stumbled on one of the terrorists lying on the floor. The man was coughing horribly

“Heisman!” Gonz yelled. A minute later the ex-football jock was there. Heisman quickly patted the man down. He found a small handgun in his belt and pocketed it. Then he rolled the man onto his stomach and secured his hands behind his back with plastic flexicuffs.

Gonz carefully moved further into the room.

Flat on his back, his eyes burning terribly from the tear gas, Sharif could only see a meter off the floor as the smoky cloud slowly rose.
There!
The legs of an American soldier. Sharif looked for the AK-47. It was close. He stretched his right hand. Reaching. It was just out of his grasp. As he made his way across the floor, he realized that there were no sounds. Everything was eerily silent. He briefly wondered if he was now deaf. Reached out again for the weapon. Grabbed it. The effort exhausted him, and he lay back down gasping for clean air, the weapon held firmly across his body.

Gonz kneeled beside an unarmed man. He was bleeding from one ear and both nostrils – the man’s eardrum had been ruptured, the nostril cavity shattered. His felt for a pulse. It was there. The man was alive. His injuries not life threatening.

Slowly rising, Gonz surveyed the expansive warehouse floor. He could see another man, behind a crate. Not moving. Adnan?

“Behind you!” Heisman cried out.

Gonz whipped around. As the CS fog lifted, he could see a man lying twelve feet away on his back. The gun aimed right at him. Time seemed to stop.

Then he instinctively dove across the floor as a series of shots rang out.

Sharif felt the heavy movement of rapid steps on the wood floor and turned just in time to see Ghaniyah running toward him with her arms raised above her head, a knife clutched in both hands.

He tried to get his gun around, but she was nearly on top of him.

I’m hit
, Gonz thought.
Shit
.

He looked down. The calf of his right leg was soaked with blood. His ears ringing, he frantically looked around for his gun. Then he saw it. Near his feet.

Ghaniyah landed awkwardly on one knee, falling at an angle. But her aunt’s knife found its mark, burying itself in Sharif’s neck. She couldn’t hear a sound, but she saw his expression. It was one of total shock.

“I’m fine,” Gonz grumbled as he lay on top of the crate. With all the windows open, most of the tear gas had sufficiently dissipated, although there was a lingering haze.

“That’s the morphine talking,” McKay told him, as she closed her medical bag. She had cleaned and bandaged the wound where minutes earlier the bullet had tunneled through the muscle, causing a lot of bleeding, but no serious damage. Luckily for Gonz, the bullet missed the major blood vessels.

Gonz sat up on the crate and looked around for the first time. With most of the CS gas cloud, he could see half a dozen soldiers milling about. The terrorist who had shot him lay lifeless nearby, a knife in his throat, his eyes wide open in surprise. Across the room he saw Adnan conferring with Heisman. The older Iraqi man who had arrived in the Chevy truck with Ghaniyah was sitting on the floor. Someone had tended to him, and he now had cotton stuffed up each nostril. He was smiling at Ghaniyah who stood close by.

Gingerly sliding off the crate, Gonz hobbled over to the suitcase. He opened it and pulled out one of the large plastic bags.

“You have, how you say?” a voice said behind him. “A sweet tooth?”

Gonz turned around, the bag still in hand. Ghaniyah had a grin on her face.

“That’s sugar. Nearly eight kilograms. Fifteen pounds, maybe.”

Gonz didn’t look too pleased. “Where’s the –”

“At the pharmacy,” Ghaniyah answered before he could he even ask. She glanced at Adnan who was still talking with Heisman. “Only place I could think of.” She turned back to Gonz. “I told Thamer if we weren’t back by nightfall, he should take it to Checkpoint 2. I told him the Marines there are quite reasonable.”

Adnan looked over at his wife. Ghaniyah had reclined the plush leather captain’s chair so that it was almost flat. With a pillow under her head and a blanket over her, she slept peacefully. Adnan sipped the chilled mineral water that he had found in the Gulfstream’s small refrigerator.

Just thirteen days after the ricin had been turned over to the Americans, Adnan and Ghaniyah had gotten married in a small ceremony in Jadida. Daneen, Maaz, and their two young boys had been there, along with Thamer, of course. Maaz had taken countless photographs, and Badr had cried through much of the ceremony, making everyone laugh.

Maaz had confided in him earlier that day that Daneen had lost the baby the day al Mudtaji’s men had raided their house. Although Maaz admitted to being disappointed, all in all, their family was safe and healthy, and that was all that counted. Adnan had then spoken to Daneen privately, telling her what Maaz had related. She had just rolled her eyes, saying that it had been easier to allow Maaz to think she was with child than relate what was really causing her so much anxiety. She had then held him close, telling him how happy she was for him.

Sadly, Ghaniyah didn’t have any family to attend the services. Her mother had long since passed away, her half-brother al Mudtaji had been confirmed dead, and she had nothing to do with her father. Adnan’s family was now her family.

The Iraq National Journal
had broken the story about the ricin the day after the Americans had secured the poison and Sharif and his men were either killed or taken into custody at the warehouse. Colonel K.C. had broken the story that same day on the American cable news channel. While Ghaniyah’s name was left out of the stories, Adnan had been mentioned briefly, the media stating that he had been instrumental in helping both the American and Iraqi Security Forces nail al Mudtaji’s cell of terrorists.

Both news outlets had also given extensive coverage to al Mudtaji’s original plan, which was to deposit the ricin in the water main that supplied most of Green Zone with potable water. The sole survivor of Sharif’s debacle had readily confessed that they had a man who worked for the water company. The Americans, along with the Iraqi Security Forces, had promptly found the man and arrested him without incident.

There was much speculation as to what would have happened if al Mudtaji’s plan had come to fruition. While the ricin used in Basra was not very high grade, the ricin intended for the Green Zone had proven to be nearly pure, putting conservative estimates of the death toll at 10,000 – most of them Coalition Forces. The American media had run with the story, leading many partisan Congressional members to call for the immediate withdrawal of American forces – it was simply unthinkable to have American forces remain when they could be so susceptible to such an unspeakable death. However, the U.S. president didn’t waiver. He pledged that the American forces would remain in place, helping secure Iraq so that the Iraqi people could have a viable future.

Adnan’s biggest regret was the death of his friend Aref. Two days after the suicide bomb had killed Hashamed al Jarkari and almost fifty others, Adnan had gone to Aref’s apartment to thank him for his help. Neighbors had said that they hadn’t seen Aref for two days. Adnan had immediately known the truth. He had then gone to the university gymnasium, which had been converted into a makeshift morgue. He had searched among the remains with many other Iraqis, all looking for a clue about the fate of a loved one. Then he found Aref’s body. It was really only half of his body, but he identified Aref from the stitches he himself had sewn in the old man’s hand. Just five days before.

He and Ghaniyah had then made arrangements, burying what was left of Aref next to his beloved wife, Rafia. Adnan felt it was the least he could do. He only wished his friend could have seen the newspapers the next morning – they all carried an A.P. photo of Aref’s blood-splattered poster which had come to rest on the grassy quad. Aref’s Arabic writing had survived, the message clear: “
The new Iraq is a government of the people, by the people and for the people.”

Adnan glanced at Ghaniyah as she stirred slightly. They had honeymooned in Jordan, staying at a wonderful resort where they indulged themselves in luxurious accommodations and magnificent dining. Ghaniyah had taken her husband on a tour of the Jordan of her youth, showing him the school that she had graduated from, the home she had shared with her mother, and her favorite park where she had played as a teenager.

She had told him of her escape from Basra, when Saddam’s sadistic son, Uday, had spotted her and made it clear he wanted the young teen for himself. Her stepfather had arranged for her and her mother to escape to Jordan. Weeks later, when Uday and his thugs had come for her, her stepfather had taken his own life rather than divulge where she was hiding.

She had explained that both she and her mother had always longed to return to their own country, and they were finally able to do so after both Saddam’s sons were confirmed dead. Sadly, her mother took ill soon after they had started life over in Baghdad. Ghaniyah’s saving grace was meeting Adnan not long after her mother’s death.

Ghaniyah had also explained to both the Americans and Adnan how it was that she had been arrested in England. She had been dating a young Jordanian who had gone to the U.K. to further his education. Or so she had thought. She had gone to visit him there and had only been in the country three days when the British police stormed the man’s small apartment, arresting her, the boyfriend, and four others. She had had no idea that the man and his colleagues were jihadists, let alone that they were stockpiling ricin. It made her sick.

Of course, the coincidence of being linked to two deadly ricin plots hadn’t set well with the Americans, especially Gonz. But Ghaniyah had explained that al Mudtaji had heard of what her ex-boyfriend had attempted to do with the poison and had always been intrigued by the idea of killing so many so easily. She insisted that she would have never given her half-brother the ricin. Proof of this was that she hadn’t taken the ricin to the warehouse. Instead, she had given it to Thamer with the strict instructions that he hand it over to the Americans if she didn’t return by nightfall.

Ghaniyah had further proven her allegiance when she had given the American agents the address of a man her half-brother had been dealing with in Fallujah. When the Iraqi Security Forces raided the man’s small office, they had found paperwork that implicated a farmer in North Africa who cultivated castor plants, the beans from which ricin could be produced.

Extensively questioning Ghaniyah, Adnan, Daneen, and Maaz about al Mudtaji’s cell, the American agents had finally determined that Sharif must have been watching the Green Zone checkpoint when Ghaniyah had delivered Quizby’s head to the Marines. Although they would never know for sure, it was agreed that Sharif had probably then told al Mudtaji, warning him that Ghaniyah may have been compromised. However, al Mudtaji most likely didn’t believe it. So Sharif had killed him, rather than risk Ghaniyah getting a hold of the ricin. No one was sure why the goat rancher had stolen the ricin, or how he even knew it was hidden in the chest. Nor would they ever know.

In thanks for their cooperation, Adnan and Ghaniyah were given the use of the private plane to fly to and from Jordan for their honeymoon, providing they go when the plane was already scheduled to make the trip. They had readily agreed.