Hunting in the Shadows (American Praetorians) Read Online Free Page A

Hunting in the Shadows (American Praetorians)
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think they’re getting ready to finally try for the push on Kurdistan they’ve been making noises about for the last couple of years?”
    “Maybe,” I answered after finishing off the water bottle.  “There’s nothing concrete, though Haas’ little friend in there might say something different.  We’ll have to see.  Everybody else crashed out?”
    “All but Malachi,” he said.  “He’s on rear security.”
    I nodded.  “When did you go on radio watch?”
    “About an hour ago.  I’m good.”
    I waved at him and went back into the main room.  Jim was already sitting on the floor, his back against the wall, his rifle next to him, with his arms folded across his chest and his eyes closed.  I went to do the same; one of the first things you learn in this business is get what sleep you can, when you can.
    No sooner had I settled myself against the concrete than the door to the back room opened, and Haas came out, lighting a cigarette.
    I stayed where I was and watched him.  I’d dealt with Haas long enough to know to let him start talking in his own time.  He was thinking, lining up all the little data points in his head.  When he had a picture, however partial, he’d fill us in.
    He walked over to the photomosaic/map of Kirkuk we had tacked to the wall and studied it for a moment before half-turning toward us.  “Well, he doesn’t know who was after him tonight,” he said.  “In the course of a half hour, it changed from AQI to plainclothes Iraqi Police, to Jaysh al Mahdi, to any one of about five criminal enterprises he owes money to.”  He snorted.  “Knowing him, I find the last possibility to be the most probable one.  Those debts are how I turned him in the first place.”
    “So who is this guy?” Jim asked.
    “He is a guy who is related to a guy who knows things,” Haas said.  “And that guy who knows things tends to talk about them around family to express how important he is.  This individual let slip the other day that there are fifteen hundred more Iraqi Police headed to Kirkuk, along with a division of the Iraqi Army; Assam doesn’t know which one, but it’s probably the 12 th Motorized Division out of Tikrit.”
    I frowned.  “Is this the first we’ve heard about it?”
    “So far,” he said.  “Which raises a few questions; is he telling the truth, and if so, what are they hoping to achieve?”
    “They wouldn’t send only a division if they were thinking of pushing on Erbil or Sulaymaniya,” Jim mused.  He hadn’t moved a muscle or opened his eyes.  “Even they’ve got to know the Pesh are better prepared than that.”
    “ I wonder if it’s some ambitious Army colonel or something trying to make a power play,” Larry said. “The Army has gotten as divided as any branch of the government.”
    Haas shook his head.  “It doesn’t even have to be that complicated,” he said.  “A division might not be enough to move on Kurdistan itself, but remember, the Iraqis still don’t—and probably never will—consider Kirkuk part of Kurdistan.  I think the more likely scenario is that they’re getting ready to try to push the Kurds out.  It’s happened before.  And if there’s one thing Sunni and Shi’a alike can agree on in this country, it’s that they all hate Kurds.”
    “Awesome,” I growled.  “Ethnic cleansing by mechanized infantry.  I need to call Alek.”  I stalked back to the comm room for the satphone.
    Alek picked it up after only a couple of rings.  “Talk to me, Jeff,” he said.
    Alek had been one of the founders of our little company, and team leader for the founding team.  I had been his assistant team leader for several years, through the unpleasantness in East Africa the year before.  Afterwards, we had had to rebuild the team; several of our friends and brothers in arms had fallen in Djibouti and Somalia.  With the company expanding, Alek had reluctantly let Tom pull him into more of an operations chief position.  He
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