She held his eyes. “I mean it.” She turned back to the table and pulled on a pair of black gloves. “Pull your cowls over your heads.” She leaned forward onto the table. “And one more thing; don’t get captured. The last high-value foreign fighter they managed to take prisoner ended up locked in a cage and burned alive for the pleasure of the online wanna-be jihadis still scattered around the world. The more barbaric the act, the more it works as a recruitment tool.”

Alex’s jaws worked as he remembered the brave Jordanian soldier. He ground his teeth. Inside him something stirred, whispering for revenge, wanting to obliterate, to crush and butcher the butchers. He shook it away; they had bigger fish to fry this day.

Adira pulled up her sleeve and checked her watch one last time. Her dark eyes found Alex. “Don’t be taken alive. Being beheaded would be a mercy compared to what these animals would do to you.”

“It won’t be us that dies this day,” Alex said evenly.

She nodded and then turned. “Reid, hunch over more, you’re still as big as a mountain. Let’s go.”

*

The groups left at their allotted times, and entered the sprawling city from different roads.

Alex kept his head down, but marveled at the mix of new and ancient structures. He also noticed how quiet it was, and worse, saw there were huge patches of rust-brown in the dusty streets, and knew it for what it was: old blood. Mosul was an age-old city first mentioned by the Greek historian Xenophon in 401 BC. At its peak just a decade ago, it had nearly two million residents. Now over a million had fled, and the modern city was rapidly sliding back to being a medieval stronghold, complete with torture, stonings, and beheadings.

New military hardware was stationed everywhere – ever since the Iraqi armory in Kirkuk was overrun and around a billion dollars of American equipment was stolen, each barbaric terrorist now had modern weaponry, anti-aircraft batteries, and tanks and armored vehicles were parked at strategic places in the streets. Alex had no doubt that many of the rooftops would have surface-to-air missiles and heavy RPG launchers ready in the event someone was brave enough to try and drop in. And a full airborne strike, the preferred option, would be impossible while there were still so many inhabitants living there.

They continued along Jalba Street, moving swiftly along its rubble-strewn pavement, close to the industrial area and the gas power plant. There were a few people moving around now, and a few sullen-looking soldiers glared from vehicle windows, but a woman, seeming old and bent over, accompanied by perhaps her son, should not have raised suspicions. At least that’s what they hoped.