Splinter Cell (2004) by Tom - Splinter Cell 0 Clancy Page A
Authors: Tom - Splinter Cell 0 Clancy
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intensely bright sun beats down on the car, and I’m grateful that I remembered to bring an ordinary pair of sunglasses. The landscape is flat and barren. As I said before, it reminds me a little of southern Arizona. It’s a rugged, cruel country and I wouldn’t want to be stuck in the middle of the desert with no transportation. Thank goodness someone invented the air conditioner.
“Sam, you there?” Lambert sounds like what I imagine the Voice of Conscience to be. It’s tinny and small and is lodged deep within my right ear.
I take one hand off the steering wheel and press the spot on my neck to activate the transmitter. “Yeah, I’m here, Colonel.”
“How did everything go with Petlow?”
“Fine. He’s got his hands full, though. This is still a very rough place.”
“I know. Listen, I take it you’re headed up to Mosul?”
“I’m on the road now. I’ll be in Samarra in less than an hour.”
“Forget Mosul. You need to go to Arbil,” Lambert says. “That’s why I’m contacting you via the implant instead of with text. We’ve just received word that the Kurdish police there have captured a brand-new shipment of weapons. Nasty stuff, too. Lots of AK-47s, but a nice little pile of Stingers, too. They’ve made an arrest—the truck driver that was bringing them in. He’s not talking. The shipment is sitting in police headquarters in the town center. Since this is a fresh lead, I suggest you check it out before they move it. If you can determine where the arms came from, then you can follow the trail back to the source. Remember, that’s Kurdish territory. You have no authority there, so you’ll have to get in and out without the police knowing.”
“Right,” I say. “What’s the best route from where I am?”
“Our intelligence suggests that you continue on to Mosul and then go east from there to Arbil. The main highway from Baghdad to Arbil runs parallel to yours, and the connecting roads aren’t safe.”
“Roger that. Anything else?”
“That’s it for now. Good luck, Sam.”
“Roger that. Out.” I grip the wheel and keep driving. I eventually pass through Samarra and head toward Tikrit, the birthplace of Saddam Hussein. When I finally get through the roadblocks there, repeating the routine I perfected outside of Baghdad, I see nothing special about Tikrit. I’m happy to say there are no road markers proclaiming that “Saddam Hussein Was Born Here.”
Mosul is Iraq’s second-largest city. It’s just on the edge of what is considered Iraqi Kurdistan. From what I understand, we get the word muslin , the famous cotton fabric, from Mosul. Apparently that’s where it was first made. The ancient city of Nineveh is located outside of Mosul. I’ve heard there are a lot of archaeological ruins in the spot worth seeing if you’re in a tourist frame of mind, but I’m afraid I have business elsewhere.
Another roadblock, another song and dance with my identity papers, and I’m now driving east to Arbil. This is officially Kurd country, for Arbil is considered the Kurdish capital in Iraq. Both of the two main Kurdish political parties, the KDP and the PUK, have their headquarters in Arbil. Considered to be one of the world’s oldest cities, Arbil dates back past the Romans and Alexander the Great’s time to Neanderthal Man, whose relics have been discovered there. The modern portion sits atop a mound that’s been formed by successive building over centuries.
The scenery in Iraqi Kurdistan contrasts sharply with the rest of the country. Here there are high mountains and colorful, fertile valleys. The mountain ranges grow more impressive the farther north you go and are commonly referred to as “the Alps of the Middle East.” Throughout history the mountains acted as a natural barrier for a society that has been eager to preserve its culture. Ethnically, the Kurds have no relationship with Arabs. They were allies of the U.S. during the Iraq War, in theory at least. I wonder
“Sam, you there?” Lambert sounds like what I imagine the Voice of Conscience to be. It’s tinny and small and is lodged deep within my right ear.
I take one hand off the steering wheel and press the spot on my neck to activate the transmitter. “Yeah, I’m here, Colonel.”
“How did everything go with Petlow?”
“Fine. He’s got his hands full, though. This is still a very rough place.”
“I know. Listen, I take it you’re headed up to Mosul?”
“I’m on the road now. I’ll be in Samarra in less than an hour.”
“Forget Mosul. You need to go to Arbil,” Lambert says. “That’s why I’m contacting you via the implant instead of with text. We’ve just received word that the Kurdish police there have captured a brand-new shipment of weapons. Nasty stuff, too. Lots of AK-47s, but a nice little pile of Stingers, too. They’ve made an arrest—the truck driver that was bringing them in. He’s not talking. The shipment is sitting in police headquarters in the town center. Since this is a fresh lead, I suggest you check it out before they move it. If you can determine where the arms came from, then you can follow the trail back to the source. Remember, that’s Kurdish territory. You have no authority there, so you’ll have to get in and out without the police knowing.”
“Right,” I say. “What’s the best route from where I am?”
“Our intelligence suggests that you continue on to Mosul and then go east from there to Arbil. The main highway from Baghdad to Arbil runs parallel to yours, and the connecting roads aren’t safe.”
“Roger that. Anything else?”
“That’s it for now. Good luck, Sam.”
“Roger that. Out.” I grip the wheel and keep driving. I eventually pass through Samarra and head toward Tikrit, the birthplace of Saddam Hussein. When I finally get through the roadblocks there, repeating the routine I perfected outside of Baghdad, I see nothing special about Tikrit. I’m happy to say there are no road markers proclaiming that “Saddam Hussein Was Born Here.”
Mosul is Iraq’s second-largest city. It’s just on the edge of what is considered Iraqi Kurdistan. From what I understand, we get the word muslin , the famous cotton fabric, from Mosul. Apparently that’s where it was first made. The ancient city of Nineveh is located outside of Mosul. I’ve heard there are a lot of archaeological ruins in the spot worth seeing if you’re in a tourist frame of mind, but I’m afraid I have business elsewhere.
Another roadblock, another song and dance with my identity papers, and I’m now driving east to Arbil. This is officially Kurd country, for Arbil is considered the Kurdish capital in Iraq. Both of the two main Kurdish political parties, the KDP and the PUK, have their headquarters in Arbil. Considered to be one of the world’s oldest cities, Arbil dates back past the Romans and Alexander the Great’s time to Neanderthal Man, whose relics have been discovered there. The modern portion sits atop a mound that’s been formed by successive building over centuries.
The scenery in Iraqi Kurdistan contrasts sharply with the rest of the country. Here there are high mountains and colorful, fertile valleys. The mountain ranges grow more impressive the farther north you go and are commonly referred to as “the Alps of the Middle East.” Throughout history the mountains acted as a natural barrier for a society that has been eager to preserve its culture. Ethnically, the Kurds have no relationship with Arabs. They were allies of the U.S. during the Iraq War, in theory at least. I wonder
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