Special Agent William Greer sat in a dimly lit office in the J. Edgar Hoover Building, his desk cluttered with reports, files, and maps. For days, he had been pushing for authorization to conduct full-scale surveillance on the group tied to the attack in New York. Finally, after endless meetings and bureaucratic hurdles, the go-ahead had come through.

Greer rubbed his eyes, the weariness of the past weeks pressing heavily on him. Before him was the target: a loosely organized cell in Iraq, centered around a safe house in Mandali. The group, identified as **Ashaar al-Haq**, had been flagged as a possible operational hub for the attack on U.S. soil. The trail had been painstakingly pieced together—encrypted messages, smuggling routes, and the testimony of a few low-level informants.

The evidence was there. Now it was time to act.

“Okay,” Greer muttered to himself, logging into the encrypted system. He activated the electronic surveillance program linked to the cell’s known numbers, expecting to find a flurry of communication—strategizing, damage control, maybe even chatter about future plans.

But there was nothing.

Every phone associated with the group was silent. Not just today, but for the past several days. No calls, no texts, no data usage. Greer frowned, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. This wasn’t just odd—it was alarming.

“Silent for days?” he muttered. “That doesn’t make sense.”

He leaned back, his mind racing. The timing was suspicious. After the attack, this cell should have been active—discussing fallout, coordinating with others in the network. Silence suggested something else entirely.

Greer picked up his desk phone, dialing a number for the regional field office in Baghdad. The line connected quickly.

“This is Field Agent Jamal Aziz,” a voice answered, professional but clipped.

“Aziz, this is Special Agent Greer, Counterterrorism Division,” Greer said. “I’m dispatching you and your team to Mandali. We’ve got a cell we need eyes on—their main safe house should be there. Take a team and investigate. If they’ve gone dark, I want to know why.”

Aziz hesitated briefly. “Understood. We’ll move out tonight.”

---

Hours later, Aziz stood in the middle of what had once been the primary safe house for Ashaar al-Haq in Mandali. The building was silent, the air thick with the acrid scent of death. His team of agents moved through the rooms, their faces pale as they examined the carnage.

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The walls were splattered with dried blood. Bodies lay where they had fallen, some slumped in corners, others sprawled across the floor. Bullet holes riddled the walls, and spent shell casings littered the ground.

Aziz radioed back to Greer. “This isn’t an active safe house,” he said grimly. “It’s a graveyard.”

Greer’s voice crackled over the line. “How many?”

Aziz looked around, his stomach turning. “Everyone. All the men. They’re all dead. Executed.”

Greer leaned forward in his chair, gripping the phone tightly. “Executed? By who?”

Aziz’s tone was measured, but Greer could hear the unease. “Whoever it was, they were precise. This wasn’t an ambush—it was a methodical cleanup. Whoever did this, they didn’t leave survivors.”

Greer rubbed his temples, trying to process the information. “What about the other safe houses?”

Aziz paused. “We’re checking them next. Stand by.”

---

Over the next 24 hours, Aziz and his team moved from one safe house to the next, following the intelligence Greer had provided. Each time, the result was the same: bodies. Men, women, even children. Entire families wiped out.

At the second safe house, they found women and children among the dead, huddled together in a back room. At the third, they found evidence of a struggle, but the outcome was identical—no survivors.

By the time Aziz called Greer again, his voice was thick with disbelief. “Agent Greer, every safe house is the same. Men, women, children—it doesn’t matter. They’re all dead.”

Greer’s chest tightened. “Children?”

“Yes,” Aziz confirmed. “Whoever did this wasn’t just cleaning up the fighters. They wiped out everything—wives, kids, anyone connected to these men. It’s a complete purge.”

Greer sat back in his chair, his thoughts spinning. This wasn’t the work of a rival group. This wasn’t even the kind of brutal efficiency he’d expect from a nation-state’s clandestine forces. This was something else entirely.

“Aziz,” Greer said slowly, “does it look like there was a struggle at any of these locations?”

Aziz hesitated. “Minimal. A few scuffles, but nothing major. Whoever did this came in fast and precise. No chaos, no mistakes.”

Greer felt a chill run down his spine. “So this wasn’t retaliation. It wasn’t a rival group.”

“No,” Aziz agreed. “This was calculated. Someone cleaned house.”

Greer stared at the files spread across his desk, his mind racing. The bodies, the silence on the phones, the total eradication of everyone connected to the group—it all pointed to a single conclusion.

Someone had eliminated Ashaar al-Haq’s network in Iraq. Completely.

Greer’s thoughts turned to the attack in New York. Could the same people who orchestrated that attack have turned on their own assets? Were they cleaning up loose ends, ensuring no trail could lead back to them?

It was the only explanation that made sense.

Aziz’s voice pulled him back to the moment. “What do we do now?”

Greer exhaled slowly, trying to focus. “Finish the sweeps. Gather whatever intel you can. Someone out there knows who did this—and why. We need to find them before they finish whatever they’ve started.”

He hung up, staring at the photos of the safe houses on his screen. The operation in New York had set everything in motion. But this? This was something darker, something Greer wasn’t sure he was ready to face.