“Not impossible.” She remembered one man who could do it. And if he could … She stood at attention, waiting for her orders.

“The American Central Intelligence Agency has combined with the Iraqi National Intelligence Service and the Iraqi Army. But none of them can safely enter Mosul while it is under the control of Hezar-Jihadi. And what good is a spy agency when every informant they pay, the terrorists pay more to send them wrong information or entrap them.”

His fingers drummed for a moment. “Addy, we cannot wait for our answers. We must know what’s in there.” He breathed wheezily for a few moments. “Be our eyes in there, Addy.”

“And if we find something?” she asked.

Shavit seemed to hold his breath, and looked up at her with rheumy eyes. “Then destroy every atom of it.”

CHAPTER 3

Central Baghdad – outskirts of the International Zone

The International Zone, formerly known as the Green Zone, or just “the Zone”, was home to American, British, Australian and Egyptian embassies, as well as numerous private military contractors.

It was an oasis of modernity and what the Iraqi government hoped would one day be a template for the rest of the country. Access was heavily guarded, and few thoroughfares were larger or better monitored than the Arbataash Tamuz Suspension Bridge that crossed the Tigris River, a border to the Zone.

A watch tower and a series of gates slowed the traffic across the bridge, and a couple of M1117 Guardian Armored Security Vehicles, or ASVs, were parked off at each side, both with their turret mounted M2HB Browning machine guns pointed at the roadway.

There had been no attacks in months now, and slowly, hour by hour, the city seemed to be moving back to a sense of normality.

Zaid Surchi was one of six guards in the span tower that stretched across the entire roadway. His automatic weapon was slung over his shoulder, and in a large hard covered case at his feet sat an RPG rocket launcher. The barriers would slow any foolhardy suicide bomber in a vehicle and then the RPG would send them to hell long before they got to the Zone.

Zaid checked his watch – four more hours to go of his shift. The sun was high, and a small mercy of working on the bridge over the river meant a constant cool breeze; he knew there could be a lot worse places to be stationed.

On his rotation he had five shift partners, and they were currently spread along the long watchtower’s platform. Three chatted quietly together, one watched the boats moving on the river with a powerful pair of field glasses, and the last, his friend Hajii Mahmoud, watched the road, his neck straining.

Hajii pulled the glasses away from his face momentarily before going back to staring, his brows knitting together. From the roadway there came the sound of car horns blaring.