The Unpredictable

by Tom Avito

  Darkness had fallen, making it all the more challenging to find the Wharzes; after a few minutes he reached a stretch where the wadi curved abruptly to the right, forming a high and narrow meander. He realized he was approaching the hiding place.

  Right at that moment, in the distance, the headlights of a car lit up the sky, cutting through the shadows like a Damascus sword, and his heart skipped a beat for the thrill. He waited, petrified, for a few seconds until the lights went off. Then he counted to ten and the headlights lit up again, and his hopes with them.

  “My God, thank you for hearing me!” He thought. It was all working out, he was moved.

  He checked the cell phone he still carried with him, the complete absence of signal made it useless. It didn’t matter: a few minutes later the headlights would go on again and repeat the same pattern as before. Five seconds, then off for ten, then on again for another five seconds, then switched off long enough for the car to move a few hundred meters north in the darkness, along the course of the wadi. It was the signal they’d agreed on.

  He wished he could run towards his friend, waving his arms and shouting at the top of his lungs, but he couldn’t and shouldn’t, even a blind or deaf man kilometers away would have noticed him. He was heading in the right direction, the car would be right in front of him in a matter of minutes, while he’d devote himself to finding the Wharzes.

  He heard the sound of an off-road vehicle emerging suddenly at a high speed behind his back, he was completely taken aback because the car was coming from the exact opposite direction than he expected, all he could do was lean onto his makeshift crutch and wait. The blinding headlights of the fast-approaching vehicle caught Nino in the light, just meters from him, blowing up his shadow on the pavement. The bitter tang of his bad luck tasted like bile, this had come at the most unexpected time. He heard the tires screeching due to the abrupt braking and at the same time a peremptory voice ordered him to place his hands on his head and turn around. He turned, limping, trying to place his weight on the uninjured leg. It couldn’t have been a coincidence, the way the headlights had been turned on and off repeatedly in the exact determined sequence left no doubt of it. How could Bagheli’s men have known of the agreed signal? There had to be something he was not seeing. Yet the armed man was right in front of him, aiming an AK47 spot in the middle of his chest. Maybe that would be his last breath, he deeply inhaled the cold air of the night to feel its scent and its taste one more time, this would allow his heart to beat, letting his soul remain with his earthly remains a while longer, before one or more lead ogives penetrated his chest. A few endless seconds went by where time stood still and Nino took advantage of it to try and make out who was inside the car, delighted by his capture, but the blinding headlights made it impossible to see. Then the door opened and a mighty figure stumbled out of the vehicle, slowly approaching him with a marked limp.

  Nino’s Tokarev was still under his burnous, slipped into his belt right behind his back, but he didn’t have a chance to use it, surely the other man holding the AK would react much quicker. The man faltered and limped ahead, as he moved past the front of the vehicle he covered the headlights with his body, allowing Nino to make out his identity. The mighty silhouette of the Minotaur rose in front of him, lit up by the car’s beams that created a supernatural white aura around him while his face and front remained concealed by darkness. Bagheli the demon had come to the antechamber of the afterlife to claim one of his souls.

  “No! It’s me you’re looking for!”

  The voice arose from a dark area along the edge of the canal.

  Everyone turned in the direction of the German voice but their eyes, accustomed to the brightness of the vehicle’s headlights, weren’t able to immediately spot the man, it took some time to adapt to the darkness. Such time was not given to them because from the South came a van, headlights off, running like a speeding train. It ran over the kalashnikov-bearing man who splattered on the windshield like a fly, with a sound of shattering bones and squashing flesh.

  Everyone was taken aback. Nino dropped to the ground and rolled over on his side, looking for the Tokarev. Bagheli turned towards his car, inciting the driver to step in. Four bullets in quick succession hit the vehicle’s windshield, as the Minotaur staggered towards it. Nino, lying on the ground, held on to the still smoking gun in his outstretched arms, waiting for any signs of movement inside the vehicle. The van got into reverse and immediately rammed into the car’s side, making it tip over.

  Bagheli’s wrath was rising, it was visible, almost tangible. The Minotaur kneeled down and picked up the Kalashnikov, that had been thrown towards him upon the man’s impact with the van.

  “Stop! Put it down!” Nino shouted, some twenty meters behind him.

  Bagheli took no notice of him and pulled himself up, using the weapon as a crutch.

  “Put down that gun, Bagheli!” He shouted again, but again was ignored.

  He adjusted his aim: he was in a terrible position, the vehicle’s headlights disturbed the surrounding darkness, but it was a matter of seconds, he could not afford to hesitate. In his line of fire, beyond Bagheli’s outline, he could see the van’s cabin and Amir, still stuck inside, trying to start up the engine that had gone off following the impact. There was no time to adjust his position, he had no other choice. He steadied his breath, clutched the Tokarev tightly and pulled back the last phalange of his index finger that delicately caressed the trigger, until the shot was fired, surprising him. The bullet flew towards its target at a speed of four hundred meters per second; the Minotaur, who had gotten to his feet and was almost ready to fire, was instantly paralyzed.

  The bullet went through his spine, crushing his fifth vertebra and then penetrated his chest, rupturing his right coronary artery. The Minotaur collapsed lifeless to the ground.

  They kept still, Amir with his hands gripping the steering wheel, looking towards him with the expression of one who has just been saved by the Lord, and Nino still holding the gun, waiting to find out whether his friend had made it out unscathed. It had been a matter of seconds, the Tokarev’s bullet had met its target just before Bagheli could fire a burst of lead towards Amir. In the blink of an eye, Nino had gone from victim to executioner. His friendship with Amir had thus been sealed and validated by this mutual assistance, as if it had been necessary. Each had saved the other’s life.

  “Nino!” Amir climbed out and ran towards him. “Are you all in one piece?”

  “Almost. Help me get up,” Nino asked him.

  “We’ve gotta get out of here. Now. Take us away, Amir.”

  “What about your friends?” He asked.

  “Alexander, come, quick!” Nino shouted, sure that the professor would hear him.

  “We’re coming. I have to help my son climb out of the canal,” the scientist answered, somewhere in the darkness behind Nino’s shoulders.

  They got into the van, Nino next to Amir who was driving, the Wharzes climbed into the windowless rear, where they’d be able to avoid prying eyes. They were less than thirty kilometers away from the border, from their safety.

  “Thank you, my friend, if it weren’t for you we’d have been dead, not those three Iranians. I’m grateful to you, I have no words to express my thankfulness.”

  “I have to thank you too. If you hadn’t stepped in, that guy would have riddled me with bullets. We’re brothers, I told you this a long time ago. Allah wants our fates to meet again,” Amir said.

  “Right,” Nino confirmed wholeheartedly and placed his arm over his friend’s shoulders.

  “Everything alright back there?” He continued.

  “Yes, yes!” The passengers replied.

  “Are we at the border already?” The professor asked.

  “We’re almost there, Alexander, just a few more minutes,” Nino replied.

  They moved along, headlights off, at a limited speed, in the attempt to remain unseen. This expedient could have worked from a distance, but if they had r
un into a roadblock or a vehicle driving in the opposite direction, it would have been just about useless.

  Two blinding headlights swept over the horizon, Amir instinctively drove off the road, further reducing speed. They moved away until they reached a place where the land sloped, though not enough to hide the van completely. Amir stopped the engine.

  “Why are we stopping, what’s wrong?” Wharz asked, sounding concerned.

  “Nino, Nino, what’s going on?” Shouted Nicholas, who had so far remained silent, left speechless by the recent events.

  “Don’t worry. We’re just waiting for a vehicle to drive by and then we’ll start going again. But be quiet!”

  Their anxiety and adrenaline grew as the headlights came closer. There were actually two vehicles, first a military off-road then another car. Nino cursed under his breath, having the impression that they were slowing down in the spot where they’d left the road. It might have just been a feeling or a strange optical phenomenon caused by a shift in perspective due to the road’s slight curves, because the two motor vehicles kept on driving beyond them.

  Amir started the engine again and headed towards the road they had abandoned, the van moving at a walking pace.

  The border was getting closer, and with it, their chance to make it out alive.

  “How will we get through? They must be waiting for us,” Nino asked.

  “We’ll take the road from which I came to get you. A few kilometers from here we’ll move off the road. This trail runs around a small hill and crosses the border slightly to the North.”

  “Let’s hope your God isn’t done assisting us yet. I’ll never thank you enough, Amir!”

  “A merchant from Al-ʿAmārah told me about this trail a few days ago. I guess that besides his carpets and various knick knacks, he was probably transporting something else and didn’t appreciate the jackals at the border going through his business.”

  C A P I T O L O 2 2

  Al-ʿAmārah (Iraq), 01/19/2012 6:45 P.M.

  -“The end”-

  “It’s over! We made it!” Nino cried out.

  “Go, Amir, faster, take us home!” He continued, caught up in an explosion of uncontrollable happiness. They had just crossed the border and were now in Iraq.

  “Hamdoulilah, Hamdoulilah! Allahu akbar! Hamdoulilah!” Amir shouted, joining the exhilaration of the moment.

  “Daddy, is it really over? Are we really going home?”

  “Yes, Nicholas! We’re among friends now, we can go home!”

  Teary-eyed, the professor hugged his son tight, realizing that he had been given an immense gift: his son had a future again.

  Singing and rejoicing, the Wharzes held each other close in the rear of the van, while Nino, revived by this happiness that had instantly swept away all the exhaustion and pain, was screaming at the top of his lungs. Amir, who kept whispering thanks and prayers to his ever-resourceful God, was driving.

  They could finally come back to life.

  “Amir, I want to spare you anymore trouble, you would have problems if it turned out that you had something to do with this whole mess.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll manage. All that matters is that we came out of it, it was an honor to help you out, brother,” his dear friend replied.

  “Thank you, you’ve already done so much, we owe you our lives. If you get out of the picture now, no one will ever know that you were involved in our escape.”

  “What am I supposed to do, abandon you on a desert road in Southern Iraq? You’d still risk a lot, in this state.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, there should be a military base, here in Al-ʿAmārah,” Nino asked.

  “Yes, I know where it is, but we can’t get close to it. No kidding, those guys shoot any unrecognized vehicles.”

  “You’ll leave us a few kilometers away from there, then we can continue on foot.”

  The first lights of a glowing dawn appeared in the sky. They walked in a straight line, hands behind their heads, in the middle of the road. Nino was in the lead, he limped ahead with a smile on his face, behind him were the professor and Nicholas. A flurry of thoughts dazed him, caused now by a feverish positive yearning, excited as he was by the desire to make it back into the arms of his loved one. Two hundred meters away, a prefabricated reinforced concrete wall, topped by thick spirals of barbed wire, acted as a barrier. The Al-ʿAmārah base was constantly on full alert, any approach by suspicious vehicles or people was a source of tension for all soldiers on guard duty.

  A recorded Arab-speaking voice boomed through the powerful loudspeakers placed around the entrance area.

  “Stop and get down on your knees or we’ll open fire.”

  “We are European. We need help!” Nino shouted.

  “Take off your clothes and place your hands on your head,” a voice continued, now speaking in English.

  Nino had been smart enough to get rid of the Tokarev in advance, tossing it as soon as he’d climbed out of the van. They were all glad to obey, and kneeled down in their underwear on the gravel path, hands clasped on their heads.

  Two British soldiers approached them, weapons at hand, and stopped a few meters away.

  “I am Italian, two German citizens are with me, we need help and medical treatment. Take us to your commander, we’ll tell him everything, it’s a long story.

  The two soldiers exchanged a long look, took note of the two men and the child’s physical state, then helped them to their feet, placed their dirty clothes back on their shoulders, and led them past the first barrier that stood between them and the heart of the base.

  ****

  -London - 07:45 A.M.

  After several rings…

  “Mr. Vestwood?”

  “What, Rollings?”

  “I have Colonel Starley from the Al-ʿAmārah base on the line, he wants to talk to you.”

  “I’ll be in my office in a few minutes.”

  “Sir, he says it’s urgent, he insists on speaking only to you, and right now,” Rollings hesitatingly continued.

  “Okay, put him through.”

  “Vestwood?” The Colonel’s voice boomed in the car’s speakerphone.

  “Yes Starley, what’s going on?”

  “The three you were after, they’re here, in my office.”

  “The three what? Are you pulling my leg?” Vestwood asked in disbelief.

  “I’m dead serious, Vestwood! They’re in the next room, all battered and beaten, having a cup of hot tea. The Italian man has told me everything, about Black Scorpion, Captain Shephard, the SOS call we intercepted, and about some violent explosions in a village some forty kilometers from the Iranian border that is, or was, called Shahrak Bakhtiari.”

  “How did they get there?”

  “On foot, Vestwood, they walked here alone.”

  “Damn it! Send them home, Colonel, put them on the first available flight.”

  The conversation ended abruptly, with no greetings or pleasantries.

  “We’re in quite a mess now,” Vestwood exclaimed, banging his fist on the steering wheel.

  ****

  - Baghdad (Iraq) - 01/20/2012

  The next morning they were transferred to the Baghdad airport, waiting to embark on two separate flights, the Wharzes on a Lufthansa flight headed to Frankfurt, Nino on a Qatar Airways plane bound for Milan that was to take off a few hours later. Nicholas cried and sobbed, hugged him tight and made him promise to visit them in Hagelloch soon; Alexander made the invitation official, as he thanked him with all the fondness and gratitude he could express. After all, their freedom and their lives had depended on his mad and heroic actions.

  The media were in a frenzy, the Frankfurt am Main airport was already besieged by a swarm of reporters and operators waiting for the professor and young Nicholas to come home.

  - Milan - 01/20/2012

  At the Malpensa airport there was a totally different atmosphere, only one woman was waiting at the international arrivals gates. She was anxiously awa
iting her husband, her one true love. A few days earlier, Swiss Exploration first and then the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had informed her that they were unable to make contact with her husband. What had happened was still uncertain; following an attack, or accident, that had taken place in the Andimeshk oil refinery, all attempts to track down her husband and get in touch with him had been vain. Then came the call from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs: the Minister’s undersecretary informed her that he was safe and sound and would be returning on the first available flight from Baghdad. Sara had been reborn, she had arisen from the deep and sudden crisis in which she had fallen. Now she was frantically pacing back and forth, her heart bursting with joy at the thought of getting back her husband, the father of the child she was carrying.

  ****

  - Milan -

  A few days later…

  He had promised himself to ignore it, to take a few days off and maybe book a nice, relaxing holiday in the Alps where he could enjoy spending his days with Sara and her baby bump. The 350,000 euro bonus on his Swiss account which, he had found out, was real and accessible, would cover any financial needs. After all, he’d more than earned that money, by risking his neck so many times during those terrible days.

  Yet he couldn’t let it go, the desire to punch him in the face was growing inside of him, self-feeding, untameable. He yearned to look into his eyes and say:

  “You damn scumbag, I made it, I brought them home!”

  He was determined to do this.

  He glanced at the Ferrari store, the fiery red Formula 1 vehicle was displayed in all its beauty and aerodynamic harmony behind the glass window; he crossed via San Paolo and headed towards the adjacent colonnade. He walked inside and towards the front desk, where a man greeted him.

  “Good morning, I’d like to see Mr. Vestwood, please. My name is Antonio Avito,” he asked kindly.

  “Just a moment, please,” the man replied and headed into the office.

  A few minutes later, he came back and explained politely, speaking in Italian with a strong English inflection: