War Lords: Dark Ops, #3

By Jay Tinsiano and Jay Newton

Another Gripping Black Ops Action Thriller

"Jay Tinsiano and Jay Newton produced another winner in the dark ops series .you will not be disappointed. check the series out"

With Colonel Stark out of the loop, Captain Coleman and the rest of the Ghost 13 squad are briefed on a Daesh plan to hijack and steal an Iranian government convoy carrying enriched uranium.

The stakes are higher than ever as Iranian intelligence begins to track the covert op inside their country.

Buy War Lords for the third short episode in the Dark Ops mini-series.

This is an 18k word episode.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Paradigm Publishing
• Release date: May 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386062271

Jay Tinsiano

USA Today and Amazon best selling author Jay Tinsiano was born in Ireland but grew up on the flat plains of Lincolnshire before moving to the city of Bristol in the UK where he is currently based. Jay is an avid reader and writer of fiction, specifically thriller, apocalyptic, and speculative and interweaves his experiences into his fiction writing.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Bam, Kerman Province, Iran.

4.30 A.M.

The velvet darkness of the night sky was giving way to the rich, blood red colors of another dawn—the distant mountains slowly revealing themselves as dark jagged shapes reaching for the heavens. Through his NOD (Night Observation Device), Darvish scanned the dark buildings of the town ahead, the pinpricks of light from the buildings and street lights winking through the morning haze. In the distance, a vehicle’s headlights steadily moved, drifting seemingly forever along a suburban road. Suddenly, it turned, cutting onto a dirt track that led to a deserted building below his position. He peered down at his vintage Hamilton Chronograph wristwatch, one that his grandfather had given his father who then passed it onto Darvish. The light ticking he sometimes felt from it always gave him solace; he rubbed his thumb over the smooth glass face and checked the time.

Since his drop off three hours earlier, by a Qud force (unit of Iran’s Revolutionary Guards) bird, the operator had easily hidden in the rocky terrain overlooking Bam, south-west of the small airport. He loaded his kit and made his way down the hill. Dressed in the same loose robes of the region, he looked just like any of the other locals trying to keep cool as the days got increasingly warmer. At the bottom of the slope, he looked across the expanse of wasteland toward the van whose progress he had been watching earlier and was now parked with its engine off and headlamps darkened.

Darvish inhaled deeply, calming himself before taking out his small flashlight, signaling the prearranged identification code. The headlights returned the correct response with a short series of flashes and then the engine fired up and gently idled as the driver waited for his next move.

Taking out his SIG Sauer P220 semi-automatic from the holster under his robes and holding it down by his side, Darvish began walking cautiously to the vehicle, heart beating hard in his chest.

There was no doubt these assets were totally loyal, but it would be beyond foolish not to be ready for any unexpected events. As he got closer, Darvish could make out the shadowy form of the driver leaning out of the open window as he approached.

As-Salaam-Alaikum—I am Tahib. Bam’s taxi service.

Darvish held his sidearm tight in his hidden fist and carefully assessed his contact—a man in his forties with graying hair who was clearly nervous, his eyes darting from Darvish to his rearview mirror.

Wa-Alaikum-Salaam—I am Cyrus, Darvish whispered.

The driver finally nodded.

Hide in the back and do not make a sound. There shouldn’t be any problems, he said with renewed confidence, I’m travelling between Bam and Gonbaki all the time. The Daesh know me well.

Darvish paused for a moment, then nodded his agreement and went around the rear of the vehicle, opened the back doors and climbed inside. There were crates of fruit piled high and he squeezed through a gap and hid out of sight.

***

Twenty minutes later, the van had made its way back into town. It pulled to a stop and Darvish heard voices, followed by laughter. The van pulled off again and then after another ten minutes of turning, slowing and finally reversing, the engine suddenly stopped. After a moment, there were a series of bangs on the side of the van and the sound of the driver getting out. Moments later, the back doors swung open, flooding the interior with sunlight.

It’s all clear. You can come out, came the voice of the driver. Darvish eased himself to the doors on his haunches, then jumped down, thanking the driver as he looked around. They were inside a small warehouse with large containers and stacked crates towering overhead.

There is not much time. Other workers will come soon and you must be gone, Tahib said, nervously. My place is nearby. I’ll give you the address and when you knock, use the code after 7:30PM but it can only be for a few days at most. It’s too dangerous, otherwise.

Darvish nodded his understanding and slapped Tahib on the shoulder in reassurance.

You have this woman’s details?

The driver pulled out his phone. Her name is Yania, he proceeded to read out an address that Darvish memorized.

You’ve done well. The Ayatollah and Allah will shower you with rewards. Be ready for my return.

Tahib dropped his head slightly, his expression was unreadable. Then, the Iranian agent adjusted his keffiyeh and slipped out onto the streets of the Daesh held town.

***

Darvish walked along the quiet streets, the city just waking up. Fruit sellers were setting up their stalls, shutters scraped open, and it seemed as if it was the old Iran Darvish had always known until he saw a familiar black flag with crossed swords—the proclamation that the town now belonged to the Daesh—the United Islamic State.

The swelling of these enemies of Iran had eaten up vast swathes of the country to the south and even parts of north of Iran. The country was facing a formidable enemy that was well trained, disciplined and utterly ruthless. The recent attack here in Bam, apparently by an Iranian Qud unit, had escalated the conflict, leading to yet more aggressive counter attacks by the UIS. Yet, Daesh knew that no Qud operations had taken place, or at least they hadn’t accepted responsibility.

Darvish deliberately kept from using the main roads as he casually strolled towards the area where the fighting had occurred. Just a few streets away from the indoor market were the ruins of a corner building that had taken the brunt of a large explosion. One wall had caved in and gaping burned out holes remained where windows and doors had once been. Evidence of a heavy firefight was everywhere. Bullet holes pockmarked almost every wall and building in sight.

There had been an attempt to cordon the area off, using road signs and barriers. Passing people barely gave it a glance, now considering it just part of the street.

Directly opposite the damaged building, Darvish walked the route which the Qud soldiers had reportedly taken, an alleyway that led to an indoor bazaar. A wall was damaged from the blast and Darvish took one more look at the damaged corner building before disappearing through the entrance