Special Agent William Greer sat in his office, surrounded by the hum of muted activity from the Counterterrorism Division. His desk was a mess of reports, photographs, and maps, each one a dead end in the investigation. For weeks, his team had been chasing leads on Ashaar al-Haq, the cell linked to the New York attack, but every path led to silence—or corpses.
The sweeps in Iraq had confirmed the worst: Mandali, Albu Kamal, and Dehloran were graveyards. His field agents had uncovered safe house after safe house filled with bodies. Fighters, their families—no one had been spared. Whoever had dismantled the network had done so with a ruthlessness that bordered on surgical.
Greer leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. The Bureau’s leads were drying up. The group’s leaders were dead or scattered, their communications silent. The few remaining operatives in the region had gone underground, likely too terrified to resurface. It didn’t make sense.
Why would a terror network systematically destroy its own infrastructure?
His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. The number on the screen was unfamiliar, but Greer answered anyway.
“Greer,” he said.
“Special Agent Greer,” came a smooth, authoritative voice. “This is Director Harrington, Homeland Security. I’d like to speak with you. In person.”
Greer frowned. Homeland Security rarely reached out directly. “Of course, sir. When and where?”
“Now,” Harrington replied. “Your building. Conference Room B.”
The line went dead before Greer could respond. He stared at the phone for a moment, then stood, adjusting his tie. Whatever this was, it wasn’t routine.
---
Greer entered the conference room a few minutes later, the air inside already tense. Seated at the head of the table was a man in his late fifties, his suit immaculate, his demeanor exuding authority. His silver hair was neatly combed, his piercing blue eyes scanning Greer as he entered.
“Director Harrington, I presume?” Greer said, extending a hand.
The man stood, shaking Greer’s hand firmly. “Yes. Please, have a seat.”
As Greer sat, Harrington opened a leather-bound folder, flipping through a few pages before speaking. “I’ve been following your work on Ashaar al-Haq. Impressive, considering the circumstances.”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Circumstances?” Greer asked, his tone cautious.
Harrington’s lips curled into a faint smile. “A terror cell dismantled so thoroughly that your agents are finding nothing but bodies. That’s hardly standard fare, wouldn’t you agree?”
Greer hesitated. “No, sir. It’s not. We’ve been assuming the group’s leadership initiated some kind of purge to cover their tracks.”
Harrington raised an eyebrow. “You really believe that?”
“It’s the most plausible explanation,” Greer said, though even as he spoke, the words felt hollow.
Harrington leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What if I told you someone else is responsible? Someone outside the network.”
Greer’s eyes narrowed. “A rival group?”
“No,” Harrington said firmly. “Not a group. A single individual.”
The room seemed to grow quieter, the weight of Harrington’s words settling heavily. “One person did all of this?” Greer asked incredulously. “Mandali, Albu Kamal, Dehloran? That’s impossible.”
“Impossible is a word bureaucrats use when they can’t understand something,” Harrington said, his tone sharp. “But it’s not impossible. It’s happening.”
Greer leaned forward, his skepticism fading into curiosity. “You know who it is?”
Harrington shook his head. “Not yet. But I’ve laid a trap. When it’s sprung, we’ll have our answer.”
Greer frowned. “A trap? For who?”
“For the one doing this,” Harrington said. “Whoever they are, they’re moving methodically. Each strike is calculated, precise. They’re dismantling this network piece by piece, and it’s only a matter of time before they make their next move.”
Greer’s mind raced. The thought of a single person systematically tearing through an entire terror network was unsettling, but the evidence supported it. “What kind of trap?” he asked finally.
Harrington’s smile returned, cold and calculating. “Something they won’t be able to resist. Let’s just say I’ve arranged for certain information to be… accessible. If they’re as thorough as they appear to be, they’ll find it. And when they act, we’ll be ready.”
Greer’s stomach churned. The idea of using bait to lure out someone capable of such destruction was both brilliant and terrifying. “And if they evade your trap?”
“They won’t,” Harrington said with quiet confidence. “The breadcrumbs I’ve left lead to a specific location, one I’ve already prepared. Once they’re there, we’ll have everything we need—surveillance, containment, identification.”
Greer sat back, his unease growing. “What if they’re not a threat to us? What if they’re targeting the network for their own reasons?”
Harrington’s eyes hardened. “Someone capable of this level of destruction is always a threat, Greer. Whether they’re working for us, against us, or for themselves, people like this don’t follow the rules. They don’t respect borders or policies. If we don’t stop them now, we’ll regret it.”
Greer nodded slowly, though his thoughts remained conflicted. Whoever was behind the carnage in Iraq, they were operating on a level that defied conventional understanding. If Harrington’s trap worked, they might finally have answers. But something about it felt… dangerous.
As the meeting ended and Greer returned to his desk, a single thought lingered in his mind.
Whoever this person was, they weren’t just dismantling Ashaar al-Haq—they were rewriting the rules of the game.