Hello! I'm back, FINALLY! I'm so sorry that it's been so long. I really wanted to write more of this story, but life was a little crazy for a while, and then I couldn't get past a giant writer's block! I've FINALLY figured some things out, so here's another chapter for you.
I hope I still have some readers!
I've realized that this is going to be a very long story. :-) I have plenty more ideas, and a lot of things still need to happen before this story is finished! (Hopefully the rest of these chapters are easier to write.) I hope you keep reading and enjoying the story as it continues.
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Chapter 25
Jack's cell phone rang, shattering the quiet. He fished it out of his sweatshirt pocket. "Bauer."
"Jack, it's Chloe." She paused. "It's almost midnight there. Did I wake you up?"
"No, I'm still awake. What's going on?"
"I was able to get information on those eight prisoners Sayid wants," she told him. "It turns out that they're not in US military custody, at least not anymore. They were handed over to Iraqi control and transferred to Karkh prison last year."
He frowned. "That means the Americans would have almost no authority to be able to get them released. Sayid has to know that. Why would he try to use them as his bargaining chip for Renee?"
"He wants her dead. And you too, most likely," Chloe said grimly. "If negotiations for their release weren't able to start before the end of his deadline, that would give him an excuse to make good on his threat and kill Renee."
Jack shuddered.
"The detainees at Karkh are fairly high-value and significant," he said. "Who are the men that Sayid asked for?"
"One arms dealer, one sniper, two very talented explosives experts, a bomb-maker who was their protégé, and three who were members of groups with ties to Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. Apparently one of them was involved in kidnappings of multiple Westerners in summer 2004, and the other two have been linked to hostage executions."
"We're forty-five hours into Sayid's seventy-two hour deadline," Jack said. "He obviously doesn't have Renee anymore, and at some point he's going to figure out that we do. Since he can't use her as leverage anymore, he'll have to come up with another way to get those prisoners released. Part of his plan might have been to use them as some kind of diversion, but I don't think he picked those people at random. An arms supplier, weapons experts, and hostage-takers. He has to be planning something else." He wearily ran a hand over his face. "When Renee's awake, they'll debrief her. Hopefully that'll give them some useful intel."
"I sent you the files on those eight men, but the personnel there at Balad are directly involved, so they'll be much more useful than I will from here."
"Thanks, Chloe."
"We're all glad that you and Renee are safe. Now, will you hurry up and get back to the US? We need you two back here." He could hear the smile in her voice.
The call ended, and Jack slipped the phone back into his pocket.
A tall, red-haired woman stepped through the door. "Agent Bauer? They told me you were out here. I'm Captain Jessica Porter." She held out a hand for him to shake, then motioned for him to follow her inside. "I'll take you to Renee. She's doing fine. She's asleep now, but you can see her."
She led him into a small cubicle. Renee was curled up in the bed, sleeping.
"We gave her a mild sedative and some pain medication. Normally I'd expect her to wake up when the sedative starts wearing off, but she's obviously been through quite an ordeal, so I wouldn't be surprised if she slept for longer than that. I don't want you to worry. We'll keep an eye on her."
"Thank you very much."
"It's our pleasure," Captain Porter said kindly. "I'll come back in a while to check on her. If either of you need anything else, let someone know."
Renee was oblivious to the hospital noise surrounding her. Jack slipped out of the room. He would get some sleep, and then read the files that Chloe had sent.
/ / / / /
2:05 A.M.
Karkh Central Prison, Baghdad
Under the regime of Saddam Hussein, corruption and bribes were common, a way of life, especially in prisons. Cigarettes or a cigar could buy someone five or ten undisturbed minutes with a family member about to be executed. Forbidden liquor could buy an hour or two, or even more if the guards couldn't resist temptation and decided to drink it. Movies, books, and magazines smuggled in from the West could buy more.
And, of course, money talked. The right price, paid to the right person, could get you almost anything you wanted.
Saddam was gone, and Karkh prison had changed hands from his Republican Guard, to the American military, to Iraqi authorities. But some things in this country still hadn't changed.
Khalil Ghazi reached into his pocket and touched the keys, making sure they were still there. He'd paid dearly for them.
He crouched silently in the darkness, waiting, watching.
An engine roared and tires screeched on pavement. Gunfire erupted as the guards opened fire on the car speeding towards the front gate. A fireball lit up the night sky and the ground shook as the vehicle bomb detonated in a massive explosion.
Khalil flattened himself against the ground as an RPG whistled over his head, landing inside the fence.
With that, all hell broke loose.
RPG's and mortars rained down on the fence and the prison walls.
Black-clad men emerged from the darkness, flooding through the holes in the perimeter, swarming into the compound.
Guards came running from all directions, and were met with a hail of bullets.
Khalil followed five men into the building in front of them, rifles at the ready. His finger tightened on the trigger as a guard appeared in front of them. A flashlight beam lit up the man's face, and Khalil lowered the rifle. He didn't know the man's name, only that he was a friend and ally.
The guard acknowledged them with a nod and pointed down the hallway. "Three of your men are there, in the last three cells."
"I'm looking for Ayad Ghazi and Reza Yassin," Khalil said. "My younger brother and my cousin."
"They are here." The man pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and unlocked one door, while Khalil opened the other.
"Ayad," he said quietly.
The man inside the cell was awake, tense and wide-eyed, listening to the noise outside. At the sound of his name, his head jerked up. He stared at the shadowy figure in the doorway. "Khalil? Is that you?"
"Yes, it's me." Ayad leaped to his feet, hurried to the door, and flung his arms around Khalil's neck. Grinning and blinking back tears, Khalil returned the hug. "My little brother."
"Little brother? Younger brother, but not little. I'm taller than you."
"Skinnier, too." Khalil frowned. "You've lost weight. We need to feed you." He tugged on Ayad's arm, pulling him out of the cell. "Let's go."
He looked at the second cell door. Reza had already stepped out into the hallway and was waiting for him. Like Ayad had done, he grabbed Khalil in a tight hug, nearly knocking him over.
"Allahu akbar!" His joyful shout echoed down the hallway.
"The other man you want is here," the guard said, unlocking the third door.
"Jamal?" Khalil asked. He answered with a nod. "Good. Sayid is waiting for us. Come with me. Quickly."
The man didn't need any urging. He quickly joined the group in the hallway.
Khalil looked at the guard. "Shukran, akhona. Thank you, brother."
"Allahu akbar," the man answered.
Gunshots rang out behind them. Blood splattered across Khalil's cheek as the fighter next to him collapsed. Another man behind him staggered and fell. A third howled and clutched at his shoulder as another bullet tore through it.
Their ally spun around, raised his gun, and fired several rapid shots. Shock registered on the two guards' faces as they realized that he had betrayed them, but they were dead before they could react.
The sounds of explosions and gunfire came from outside.
"Yallah, move!"Khalil ordered. The group – now minus the two fallen martyrs – dashed down the hallway towards the door.
Black-clad mujahideen fighters swarmed through the compound of buildings, seeking out the men who they had come for. In each building, they either encountered allies waiting for them, or shot the guards and soldiers who got in their way.
Chaos and confusion reigned. Flickering flames lit up the night sky, and smoke hung heavily in the air.
Wounded men and dead bodies – prisoners, guards, soldiers, and fallen mujahideen – were scattered across the ground.
"Can you move, Imad?" Khalil asked, looking at the blood soaking through the leg of the man's orange jumpsuit.
"The other choice is to rot here in this hellhole," he bit out. "So yes, I will move." Another mujahid appeared and helped Khalil lift him up. "Shukran," Imad managed gratefully. The three of them moved towards the fence together, followed by two men in yellow jumpsuits.
A volley of bullets flew in their direction, some zipping over their heads and others kicking up dust around their feet. Imad yelped as they hit the ground, diving for cover.
An answering burst of gunfire came from somewhere off to their left, killing some of the guards and sending others scrambling for cover and another firing position.
Khalil and the group got up again and kept moving towards the fence.
A guard writhed on the ground, gasping and moaning. Two gunshots silenced his cries, and his body stilled.
Khalil stepped over the limp, bloody body and kept moving.
Sirens wailed in the distance as police officers and soldiers sped towards the prison compound. As far as he was concerned, they didn't matter now. He'd gotten what – or rather, who – he had come for.
At the gate, the five men were met with open arms, their jumpsuits quickly covered with dark blankets and cloaks, and ushered into the waiting truck. Khalil accepted the hand that was held out to him and climbed up into the truck with them.
The mujahid in the front seat grinned and held his AK-47 out the window, firing a celebratory burst into the air. Joyous shouts of "Allahu akbar!" came from several of the men as the truck lurched forward and sped away down the road.
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