Blowback

A mile and a half from the Lahore International Airport, the assassin abandoned the stolen car and covered the rest of the distance on foot. Once he was safely ensconced in the first-class cabin of his international flight, he pulled a weathered Koran from his breast pocket. After repeating several whispered supplications, the assassin turned to the back of the book and removed a coded list of names, hidden beneath the tattered cover. With the scientist from the University of the Punjab taken care of, there were only two more to go.

TWO

36º 07’ N, 41º 30’ E

NORTHERN IRAQ

Soldiers from the U.S. Army’s 3rd “Arrowhead Brigade,” 2nd Infantry Division Stryker Brigade Combat Team (SBCT) had spent enough time in Iraq to get used to the sound of enemy rounds plinking off the armor plating of their eight-wheeled infantry carrier vehicle, but ever since they had driven into the small village of Asalaam, one hundred fifty kilometers southwest of Mosul, things had been dead quiet.

The village was one of many around the Christian enclave of Mosul known for its religious and ethnic tolerance. For the most part, Muslims and Christians throughout the area lived in relative harmony. In fact, the name Asalaam came from the Arabic word for peace. It wasn’t the locals, though, that the SBCT soldiers were worried about. A stone’s throw from the Syrian border, foreign insurgents were one of the greatest threats they faced.

The men had seen their fair share of ambushes in Iraq, including a devastating suicide attack within the confines of their own base, and none of them intended to return home in anything less comfortable than an airline seat. Body bags were out of the question for these soldiers.

Second Lieutenant Kurt Billings, from Kenosha, Wisconsin, was wondering why the hell they hadn’t seen anything, when the vehicle commander of the lead Stryker came over his headset and said, “Lieutenant, so far we’ve got absolutely zero contact. Nothing, and I mean nothing, is moving out there. I don’t even see any dogs.”

“Must be pot luck night at one of the local madrasas,” joked the radio operator.

“If so, then somebody should be manning the village barbecue pit,” replied Billings. “Stay sharp and keep your eyes peeled. There’s got to be somebody around here.”

“I’m telling you, sir,” said the vehicle commander, “there’s nobody out there. The place is a ghost town.”

“This village didn’t just dry up overnight.”

“Maybe it did. We’re in the middle of nowhere. These people don’t even have telephones. Besides, who’d care if they did dry up and blow away?”

“I’m sure there’s an explanation for why we’re not seeing anybody. Let’s just take it slow,” said Billings. “Do a complete sweep of the village and then we’ll dismount. Got it?”

“Roger that, Lieutenant,” responded the vehicle commander as their Stryker began a circuit of the village.

For this assignment Billings had organized his men into two, eightman fire, or assault, teams. The first team, designated Alpha, was with him in the lead armored vehicle, while Bravo team, under the command of Staff Sergeant James Russo, followed in the second Stryker. Their assignment had been to check on the status of three American Christian aid workers based in Asalaam, who hadn’t been heard from in over a week.

It was scut work, and Billings didn’t like taking his men out to check up on people who had no business being in Iraq in the first place-even if they were fellow citizens. Not only that, but the term Christian aid worker was a gross misnomer in his opinion. He’d yet to meet one whose primary reason for being here wasn’t the conversion of souls for Christ. Sure, they did good work and they filled in some of the gaps that were invariably left behind by some of the larger, more established and experienced aid organizations, but at the end of the day these people were missionaries plain and simple. They also had a rather otherworldly talent for getting themselves in trouble. There were times when Billings felt more like a lifeguard at a children’s pool than a soldier. While young missionaries might have the best of intentions, they more often than not lacked the skills, support, and all-around basic common sense to be living in what was still very much a war zone.