Less than two hours.
In West Mosul, a seemingly ordinary, sparsely populated grocery store.
Amir, codenad "History Teacher," outwardly the owner of this inconspicuous grocery store, is in fact one of CIA's longest-embedded and most important undercover agents in Mosul City.
He had just received an ambiguous and severely delayed directive through a shortwave radio hidden in a secret compartnt behind the shelves, relayed by Deputy Director Vincent through the Illigo Intelligence Station—"Increase alert level, attempt contact with the Keller group to confirm status."
This vague directive was like a cold needle piercing the calm deanor he had cultivated for years, bringing a strong sense of unease.
Increase alert?
What major event has occurred?
Contact the Keller group?
Aren't they the special task force responsible for external operations and targeted eliminations?
Why the sudden need for these deeply undercover, usually single-line-contact personnel to actively reach out to the external operations group?
Years of living on the edge had honed his senses to detect the whiff of danger in the air, a silent foreboding of impending disaster.
He walked to the storefront, leaning against the doorfra, seemingly leisurely surveying the chaotic, dilapidated streetscape, but in truth, like the most alert cheetah, his peripheral vision swept over every seemingly ordinary passerby, every possible hideout of danger, every passing vehicle.
On the surface, everything seed unchanged, filled with the numbness of post-war and daily struggle.
Suddenly!
An extrely piercing, abnormal screeching brake sound and engine roar erupted from the end of the street.
Two ard pickups, outfitted with DShK heavy machine guns and roughly welded steel plates, barreled down the street like rampaging bulls, brutishly plowing through piled abandoned tires and debris on the roadside, screeching to a halt with a sharp turn!
Over fifteen n clad entirely in black, with black masks revealing only their eyes, wielding various AK-series rifles, and executing crude yet fast tactical maneuvers, leaped off the vehicles like hyenas slling blood, heading directly for his grocery store with a clear aim!
Pedestrians on the street scread in fright, scattering and fleeing to nearby buildings.
"Not good! I'm exposed!"
Amir's heart nearly jumped out of his throat.
This accurate, swift, intensely purpose-driven ard capture was by no ans a common extortion, ad-hoc inspection, or random intimidation!
The survival instinct triggered a sudden retreat, a desperate attempt to rush back into the store to trigger the ergency docunt destruction device hidden behind the dusty bookshelves and unlock the entrance to the secret passage leading to the adjacent abandoned building.
This was his last hope for escape.
But everything was too late!
The opponents' actions were unimaginably quick!
Bam!!
The shop door was brutally kicked open by a strong ard man wearing combat boots, with the hinges groaning in pain!
"Do not move! In the na of Allah! You hidden traitor! The Arican's dog!"
Several smoking gun muzzles instantly locked onto him, filled with an undeniable intent to kill.
Amir's brain calculated his survival probability in a split second.
The Glock 19 pistol hidden under the cashier counter was his last resort.
His fingers trembled slightly, instinctively moving a centiter in that direction.
This minuscule, almost imperceptible defensive move provoked the opponents' rciless, pre-emptive deadly strike!
"He's reaching for a weapon!" The leading ard man shouted sternly, pulling the trigger almost simultaneously!
Rat-tat-tat-tat—!!
The deafening sound of AK rifle bursts filled the small store instantly! At least three rifles opened fire simultaneously, and several 7.62mm bullets, with scalding air currents, ripped through Amir's chest and abdon, with the massive impact slamming him back against the shelves, spilling canned goods, snacks, and daily goods falling over his blood-soaked, fiercely convulsing body.
He stared wide-eyed, filled with shock, unwillingness, and a hint of confusion, as those grim faces closed in, his vision rapidly darkening and blurring.
The last fragnted thought flashed by: How did they find ...
The ard n hesitated not an instant, like well-trained hounds, beginning to ransack the store.
They clearly knew what to look for.
The shelves were toppled, the floor pried open, and walls knocked and checked.
Soon, the hidden radio and encryption equipnt, the unused Glock pistol, several different nationality backup passports, a stack of US Dollar cash, and a few micro-explosive devices were found, stacked together.
"Found it! All Kafir spy tools!"
An ard man shouted in excitent, as if discovering a great treasure. The sub-leader took out a walkie-talkie, excitedly reporting in Arabic: "Target 'History Teacher' cleared! Nest destroyed! Seized a lot of evidence!"
Several hours later.
On the desert road leading from Tal Afar to the Syrian border, at dusk.
Sarah, codenad "Hyacinth," under the guise of a nurse for an international dical aid organization, was driving a dust-covered Toyota Land Cruiser SUV along the bumpy dirt road, attempting to reach an ergency contact point.
She too received that unsettling, delayed directive, and in the town she was in, another secret contact suddenly went silent hours before, with no further response to any calls.
A strong, professional sense of crisis prompted her to abandon all disguises, deciding to imdiately initiate the ergency evacuation procedure.
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