MOST WANTED

The IRIAF Chinook rapidly dropped in altitude to about three hundred feet. Blacked-out and flying close to the deck, they were now making their final approach to the drop zone. It was about five minutes before they landed on an area of flat, rocky terrain. Although he could see from their maps that they were close to the surrounding mountains, it was a cloudy night, and as he peered out of the helicopter’s windows, he could barely make out the outline of the valley. The heavily armed troop disembarked in single file. Malek followed up the rear. They each had a single ear bud inserted and a hands-free microphone to communicate among the squad. There was no idle chatter, according to strict protocol. They started their silent trek, traversing the edge of the valley for about five kilometers in an effortless trot. After a while, the surface topography became rocky and uneven. Although they were following a goat path along the mountainside, the trail petered out in places, developing into patches of loose scree, where it was easy to lose one’s footing. A twisted ankle could easily spell disaster with all the heavy equipment they were carrying. Malek slowed the pace right down until they cleared the most treacherous part of the terrain. The squad continued to negotiate the rough ground in the darkness. Their objective was an isolated housing compound northeast of Zahedan at Kuleh Sangi, which they were approaching from the east. As they came within half a kilometer, they fanned out and took cover in the rock-strewn landscape. Malek could easily see the compound, which was lit up like a beacon in front of them. Sentries were posted along the wall. The guards would have no hope of seeing them in return, as they peered into the gloom with the light behind them. Malek counted four men on duty, armed with what he correctly guessed were SMG PK 9 mm sub-machine guns. They are produced in Pakistan based on the famous Heckler & Koch machine gun, which were ideal for close-quarter battle. A firm favorite with the Taliban’s personal bodyguard, they are equally the preferred weapons of Malek’s own men. They moved forward silently, closing in on their objective. Sheltering behind the surrounding rock formations, they crawled on their bellies to within one hundred meters of their target. They were now confronted by open ground as far as the wall of the compound. Fortunately, their plan had foreseen this eventuality, and they had carefully arranged a distraction. Two of the group had already worked their way around to side of the compound. “Now,” Malek ordered. The flash-bangs went off near the front gate three hundred meters away. This gave seven men—led by Malek—precious seconds to sprint across the open terrain and scale the wall at the rear. “We’re in,” Malek spoke softly into his microphone. The next action was for the forward party to eliminate the four lookouts at the front of the compound. “Done,” he heard over the headset, and he grinned. Accompanied by two of his men, Malek strode in a direct line toward the large building in the center of the compound. With the benefit of surprise, they marched straight through the anteroom, immediately taking out the two heavily armed men posted at the door. Before the sentries had time to react, they each had a small round hole oozing blood from their brow; a second later, they were crumpling to the ground. Once on the ground, they received a second shot to the chest. This was unnecessary, but it was a standard precaution to ensure the kill. As they entered the dining room, they faced ten or twelve bearded figures—mostly dressed in traditional Arab attire—seated around a T-shaped table. They were clearly startled by the sudden intrusion during their late evening meal. It was impossible not to notice the wizened elderly character at the head of the table, resting almost inertly in a wheelchair with a saline drip attached. With his gnarled features and a pallid grayish complexion, he appeared gravely ill. A male nurse stood nearby. None of the men recognized the old man, except Malek. In the blink of an eye, the three highly trained Quds assassins swung their weapons to their hips, taking several strides forward in unison and firing in the direction of the assembled group. The result was bloody carnage. They each discharged three thirty-round magazines from their machine pistols. It was all over in less than two minutes. No one was left alive by the vicious onslaught. Pandemonium ensued in the rest of the compound as the remaining Taliban and Jundallah guards tried unsuccessfully to come to the aid of their stricken leaders. Malek could hear the firefight outside as it intensified. The remaining two sections of his assault force would be well entrenched and could pick off their targets at will. After three or four minutes, there were a couple of explosions, and then silence. His lieutenant was the first to enter the dining room. “Sir, we’ve completed a search for survivors.” “Anything to report?” asked Malek. “Yes sir, we found fifteen women cowering under a long refectory table in the female quarters.” “I imagine they were waiting for their men to finish before they ate, as is the custom.” “They were all screaming for mercy, sir.” “They must be the wives of the now dead Jundallah or Taliban leaders.” “Without a doubt; most were in Afghani dress of full purdah, although I noticed five or six women in more colorful Balochi robes.” “What have you done with them?” asked Malek. “Well, sir, we took pity on them and just locked them in the room.” ‘That’s okay; they will probably only escape after we’re long gone.” “Sir, I have the results of a quick body count too—twenty-five rebels dead, without any casualties among the Quds Force,” said the lieutenant. The rest of his squad began assembling back in the main building. “You two,” Malek ordered, “remove the body from the wheelchair and put it into a body bag. Put the corpse on a stretcher; we’ll be taking him with us in the chopper.” There were pools of dark, sticky blood on the floor and bodies strewn all around the table. “Look for any form of identification,” Malek said, motioning toward the remaining corpses. Both he and his men began to search the bloody torsos for anything that would allow them to confirm the identities of their kill. “Odd that most of them were armed, but none were fast enough to defend themselves,” said the lieutenant. “They weren’t soldiers, just murderous politicians who killed by proxy,” Malek replied. Malek had radioed ahead, and within ten minutes of the firefight, the Chinook landed in the open ground behind the compound in a whirlwind of stones and dust. The pilot feathered the twin rotor blades and lowered the ramp. Led by the two with the stretcher, Malek’s men moved in a swift and disciplined manner from their crouched position beside the wall of the compound to board the chopper. Once on board, Malek watched as his men quickly strapped the body bag to the middle of the cabin floor, securing it with a cargo net. They stowed the stretcher and retook their jump seats. Once they settled in the cabin, Malek spoke to the pilot over his headset. “Clear for takeoff.” “Roger.” The pilot eased the throttles forward, pulled back on the stick, and the helicopter lifted off into the darkness. The Chinook’s flight path was low along the valley, still prone to a chance shot from a handheld surface-to-air missile but well below the radar. Malek radioed the airbase at Zahedan and relayed a brief, triumphant message to his boss: The rabbit is in the bag.