CHAPTER ONE
The Analyst
Marrakesh, 2017. In the marketplace of Mekhdad Laziri street, where Moroccans put their delicious street food and colorful clothing on display, the air was hot and humid. Fruit juice stalls occupied the main square as motorcycles weaved through tight crowds, while in the middle, an old snake charmer coaxed a tune for the citizens and tourists to hear.
A man turned his back, spotting the barrel of a sniper rifle sticking out of a rooftop. The weapon was still and quiet under a pile of carpet and fabric as it nestled between tan balusters. The man, named Matthew, knew someone was watching his back.
"Necklace for you?"
He turned around and met a young woman, holding out a silver necklace. She smiled under a small stall decked with all kinds of wares, the colors of her peaceful nation. Matthew pulled out his wallet and smiled politely.
"How much?" He spoke in Arabic. "And for that scarf."
The woman, surprised that a tourist-looking man could speak her language, grinned even wider. After the exchange, Matthew looked at the woman, named Nadia. At that moment, he remembered the sniper.
"May I ask you something?" Matthew asked. He continued with his question after seeing Nadia nod. "Perhaps you may know someone named Aryn. Can you tell me where he is?"
Nadia put a finger on her chin.
"Why?" she answered with a question of her own.
"I heard he sells the best spice in Mekhdad Laziri."
Nadia pointed to a stall on the corner of the square, where a bearded fellow looked over pyramids of red, yellow, orange, and everything in between. One could mistake them as sand, but Matthew had seen them all. Paprika, cumin, ginger, and cloves. Perhaps more. He said his thanks to Nadia, but he did not go to the spice store. He'd already bought a small bag of Moroccan spice.
Matthew walked to another building, squeezing through people again, and made his way to the rooftop. A woman laid prone on carpeted bricks and stone as she fiddled with a magnified sniper scope. Dirt and sand caked her jeans. She was as still as rock.
"Ashley." Matthew sat beside her. "Northeast spice store. Yellow awning roof."
Ashley swung her rifle to the right.
Matthew sighed. He pocketed his newly bought necklace and threw the scarf over Ashley's head. Annoyed, the woman incredulously looked at the piece of cloth. She wrapped it around her head like a shemagh.
Ashley repeated what Matthew said on her radio.
"Glasser looks like an idiot," she said after a while.
"He knows what he's doing," Matthew shot back, looking at a bearded man in the distance. The man wore sunglasses and chewed on something; It was probably gum. "Trust him."
Bill Glasser, Special Activities Division agent. He looked like a fish out of water, one of the clueless tourists that dotted the marketplace from time to time. That helped with their mission, although not by much.
"You should be the one in there."
"I am only an analyst."
Ashley shook her head. "Then we're lucky the Moroccans helped us."
The GIGR watched over them from somewhere, but Matthew did not know all the details. He was only an analyst, not an agent. A spook with a Glock, a bulletproof vest, an earpiece, and a knack for talking to locals, but no more than that.
Malik Sabir with his two guards entered Mekhdad Laziri once more.
He ran a hand through his jet-black hair, miffed that it had accumulated oil from the yesterday's throes, but he supposed it did not matter. Malik looked left and right. Then forward and behind. The sentinels beside him did not provide enough assurance for his safety. Morocco had been his playground for years now, but he knew the bossman had gone careless with his endeavors in Europe.
Malik put a hand in his jacket, fiddling with a device tucked inside.
"Scarf?" The storeowner Nadia called out to Malik, a potential customer.
He ignored her.
Malik went straight to the store under the yellow awning and looked around the marketplace again. Satisfied, he greeted Aryn and shook his hand.
Malik's nostrils flared at the pungent smell of spices as he ventured deeper into the store, which embedded itself in a rather small home made from bricks and rammed earth. The place transitioned from a business to a personal home, and then he spotted a familiar door that led to an alleyway outside; A sprawling series of tight streets that one can mistake as a maze.
Not far now, Malik thought.
He made a series of turns and ended up in a small clearing— smaller than a classroom. There was a door in the middle. Malik gulped and opened it.
Inside, a series of computers and guns welcomed him with silence. He picked one device, a laptop encased in steel, and contacted the bossman via secured connection. His heart raced. He still harbored some anxiety even after months in this line of work, but he was also excited for half a million dollars.
He found it odd. The bossman told him he'd get his money next week. The man must have wanted to get things done as early as possible.
Meanwhile, Ashley had put her sniper in a casing, disappointed that she did not get to pull its trigger.
Matthew opened an unmarked box on the rooftop and withdrew from it an FMG-9 submachine gun. Ashley's favorite. He gave it to her and watched as she folded the gun into a much smaller figure. She carried it like a battery of some sorts.
"Let's get this over with," she said. "This guy won't escape us again. And he'll tell us everything."
Together, they walked from one rooftop to another on their way to Malik. On some buildings, they had to hop and mind the gap.
They saw the clearing and the door that Malik entered. Matthew's eyes widened. "Ashley, this is the building."
"Are you sure?" Ashley looked at him, a serious frown on her face.
"Yes," Matthew said. Of course, this was the place. This red metal door was the subject of many sleepless nights both in his office and apartment. He had practically memorized the pixels on those blurry photographs, but now he was here at last.
Matthew turned on his earpiece. "Charlie, this is Foxtrot-1. We have confirmation of Sabir's compound, over."
"Roger, Foxtrot-1. We're bringing the breaching charge..."
"Okay." Ashley took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's meet this bastard."
Oof! A heavy weapon knocked the breath from Matthew's lungs. Ashley had given the sniper to him, almost ramming it onto his chest haphazardly.
"Be a gentleman and carry this for me," she said.
Matthew nodded and slung the rifle over his shoulder. The breach will be happening soon…
Bossman. Awaiting your transaction.
Malik typed on the console. An invisible connection shot up from Mekhdad Laziri and linked to the bossman's secured device, no doubt indecipherable by those who wanted to tap in.
Malik waited. He released a breath and rubbed a palm on his sweaty face. When the computer rang, signifying the bossman's reply, the fidgety arms dealer immediately locked eyes with the flickering screen.
His heart dropped. The bossman's reply froze him.
You have been compromised.
Farewell.
The wall beside him exploded into pulverized concrete and debris. With an shrill scream, Malik was flung across the room, crashing onto the other wall, and then landing on the floor with a thud. His ears rang like emergency sirens as the world around him spun like a kaleidoscope. The last thing he saw before giving into darkness were two armed men and a woman spilling into the room, guns drawn.
Malik reached into his jacket pocket and pressed the detonator.
Matthew watched with worry as Glasser struggled to get Malik up his feet. For a moment, he thought they had killed the man with the breaching charge's shrapnel. The room wasn't as large as they thought. His concerns were shortly put to rest after Glasser checked Malik's pulse, and softly nodded.
Glasser, the burliest of the three, carried Malik to a parked GIGR van. He practically dumped his unconscious body on the back, and the vehicle wavered for a bit.
Matthew looked around the block and noticed the vicinity with no civilians. It was deja vu suddenly. Watching his SAD friends dump a body in an unmarked vehicle, on an alleyway with no one watching, was an all too familiar sight for him.
"Nomad, this is Bill!" Glasser said on the radio. "HVT is captured! Reque— shit."
"What?" Matthew said.
"I can't reach her." Glasser tried again. "Nomad, this is Bill! Come in, over!"
He heaved the door open and sat behind the wheel, while Ashley rode shotgun. Matthew entered the back of the van, an unconscious and wounded Malik lying motionless. Extraction was the last phase— if they could only deliver Malik to the GIGR, then it's done.
Easy enough.
Bill turned the keys and pushed the gear stick. The engine sputtered to life, and they accelerated away, leaving tire tracks and a cloud of smoke. They had no concrete destination.
"Ain't that a bitch," Bill cursed. "Where's our fucking back-up?"
Matthew watched as Ashley opened the glovebox and pulled out a phone. She struggled to turn on the device. It was then that it hit the analyst— the puzzle pieces had fallen into place, and his stomach turned.
A memory crept up in his mind like a bug that won't go down.
"EMP," he said softly.
"What!?" Ashley exclaimed. "How do you know? That's impossible."
Glasser gulped and gritted his teeth, his eyes darting around the roads and intersections. At this moment, there was no reason to assume that no one was watching them.
"We've been here before," Glasser said. They made a right-turn, avoiding a traffic jam. Moroccans were all over the place as they left their cars parked in the middle of the streets. "Look."
"We can't contact anyone, your phone isn't working, and the cars… they just stopped," Matthew said, looking out the windows. Civilians were everywhere, confused as to why their cars had stopped working. "Malik's detonator… That's what caused this!"
"Then why is this van still going?" Ashley asked.
"It's a military van. They're usually protected by EMP blasts," Matthew explained.
A black motorcycle stopped in front of them, causing Bill to step on the brakes. There was silence at first. The motorcyclist, face hidden by a dark helmet, turned his head toward the agents and swiftly pulled out a MAC-11 machine pistol from his jacket.
Several quick cracks popped in the air. Matthew and the agents ducked below the dashboard as the sound of bullets hammering glass and metal became the cacophony of Marrakech. Bullet marks riddled the windshield, and every second there were two or more fractures on the glass. Civilians screamed and dispersed in panic.
Gritting her teeth, Ashley rolled down her side of the window and stuck her body outside. She fired her FMG-9 at the motorcyclist on a whim. 9mm bullets pierced the enemy's helmet, then he jerked back and fell motionless with his Ducati Scrambler.
Motorcycle engines roared in the distance. Matthew shuddered at the mechanical clamors.
"Glasser, let's fucking go!" shouted Ashley, and they were speeding through the city again.
Meanwhile, pushing through the crowd of Moroccans, four motorcyclists zigzagged across the main marketplace. They cared more about the soundness of their bikes than the civilians around them. The lead biker looked around and held up a closed fist, halting. He heard the car engine far on the eastern blocks, then motioned the others behind him to follow the sound.
Matthew propped up Malik on a seat and put a bag on his head as Ashley kept her eyes on the wing mirror. Moments later it was destroyed by a burst of bullets.
"Kraftedeme…" Ashley groaned.
"What?" Bill kept his eyes on the road.
"Nothing,"
Ashley pressed over the seats and joined Matthew in the back, pulling the FMG-9 from her pocket. Satisfied with how it folded out, she patted her partner on the back.
"Let the big kids handle this, analyst," she teased and then kicked the two doors open, revealing three clad-in-black motorcyclists hot in pursuit!
Matthew's eyes widened, but Ashley worried not. She opened fire without hesitation. Puffs of smoke riddled the lead biker's chest, then he careened away from the streets, crashing on an electric post. One biker took out his pistol, but before he could pull the trigger a crack appeared on his helmet, then a sputter of blood. Ashley took aim on the last biker, but the pesky tango twisted and zigzagged, dodging the bullets before a click emanated from the FMG-9.
Ashley's heart skipped a beat. She dropped the empty submachine gun and reached for the pistol holster, but she was too late; the biker was already aiming for her head!
BANG!
Matthew's smoking gun did not wake Malik, instead putting the last pursuer to an eternal sleep.
"Another one bites the dust," Ashley said as the bike stumbled and rolled over with a lifeless body in tow. She reached outside and closed the doors, shrouding them in darkness again. "Nice shot! That all of them?"
"I don't think so," Matthew concluded. "Malik has a lot of contacts, and those contacts would rather kill him than rescue him at this point."
To the CIA, Malik was the key to everything. He was an opportunist, an amateur, and a skittish little no-good coward, which meant he would easily break.
"Heh, just like in Tel Aviv?" Bill snickered.
"This is nothing like Tel Aviv!" Matthew countered, recalling their exploits all those years ago.
"I guess you're right. We didn't have Princess back then."
Ashley scoffed and shot back, "And you won't have me next time. This is our last moment together, Yankees."
She was the mysterious golden girl from Europe, Ashley Brooks. Her hair was the color of night, like her pouty lips. Matthew only knew that NATO had sent her with them on the hunt for Malik. With that shrivel of information in mind, and Ashley's occasional slip-up in her speech, Matthew had a theory that she came from Sweden or Finland.
"You okay there, bro?" Bill said. Matthew stared at nothing, then snapped out of it.
"Yeah. Sure," the analyst said. "I'm just worried. About the GIGR."
Bill understood. "Don't worry about it. It won't happen a second time."
Ashley looked confused. She leaned in; eyebrows furrowed.
"What do you mean that it won't happen again?" she asked. "The EMP?"
Matthew closed his eyes, took a long deep breath.
"Matthew and I go way back," Agent Bill Glasser started. "Our first operation together, this happened too. Communications cut, vehicles stopped working, electronics fried…"
Matthew nodded as his guts stirred at the memory.
"We were unprepared. When we got back, our squad—"
"The point is that we have to be careful," Matthew snapped. "So let's continue this little interview after we're in the clear. Understand?"
Ashley rolled her eyes. "I just don't know how an analyst like you gets to work on the field."
"He was a Marine," Bill added.
"Well, not anymore." Ashley cleared her throat and stuck her head out of the window. Her eyes widened.
"Enemy jeep behind us!"
The van bucked fiercely. The crash came hard and fast, jolting Malik half-awake, and knocking Ashley Brooks off her seat. Matthew kept his balance as the door suddenly swung open from the vehement force. The jeep had rammed them hard!
What's worse: the roars of more motorcycles sounded in the distance.
Now like sitting ducks, Matthew had to do something. He felt for his Glock, but it was gone, and the goons in the jeep started to pull out their own weapons. All three in the back were in grave danger.
Matthew gritted his teeth and leaped from the van— on to the pursuing jeep.
AN: Inspired by Jack Ryan, the Mission: Impossible movies, and a little bit of Indiana Jones. There's more to come. Apologies for any spelling/technical mistakes.
