by C. J. Box
“I don’t understand this devotion you and Ibby have to your falcons,” Saeed said. “It’s childish.”
“Maybe so,” Nate said.
Saeed simply watched Nate, his face implacable. Out of the corner of his eye, Nate saw Saeed check his wristwatch. It was a tell, he thought. Something was going to happen soon and Saeed was tracking the time.
“I need my gun back,” Nate said.
“That’s not possible right now,” Saeed said. “Go play with your birds. Why do you need a gun to play with your birds?”
The Yemeni smirked. He obviously understood English better than the Syrian, who remained stone-faced.
“Because,” Nate said, “I may have to kill you all.”
He let it linger for a second, then grinned.
Saeed did not smile back.
• • •
THE OUTSIDE DOOR flew open and Henn filled the doorframe. The light of day streamed around him and turned him into a silhouette. He seemed exercised. “Is Ibby in here?”
His arrival broke the tension slightly. Saeed said, “No.”
“I need to talk to him right away.”
Nate noticed that Henn had something in his hand. An oblong instrument of some kind.
“Why?” Saeed asked.
“One of the volunteers snuck out into the ditch. He said he went out to pee, but I think he might have stashed some weed out there. You know how they are.”
Saeed raised his eyebrows, as if to say Why is this my problem?
“He found this,” Henn said, coming in. As he left the bright white doorframe, Nate could see what he had in his hand: the satellite phone Nate had stashed in the gopher hole.
Saeed took it from Henn and looked it over.
“It’s an advanced piece of equipment,” Henn said. “Somebody must have smuggled it in here and hidden it. I’m thinking one of the volunteers, but why? Maybe I’m paranoid and there’s an explanation, but it looks like somebody was going to use this phone to call out when we’re literally hours away from deployment.”
Saeed turned the phone over in his hand. “Where was it found?”
“In the dry wash,” Henn said. “Less than a hundred yards from the third shed.”
Nate watched Saeed’s face closely and he could see him thinking. A second later, Saeed’s eyes met his.
“Yours?”
“Yes.”
Both the Yemeni and the Syrian unslung their AK-47s and raised them. Although he didn’t look at them directly, Nate could feel the O-shaped muzzles aimed at him like wide-spaced eyes.
Nate said, “I carry it in case I break down in the middle of nowhere. As you know, cell service is spotty deep in the desert. I didn’t know what the situation was here, and I didn’t want anyone taking my phone.” He paused. “Like you did my weapon.”
After a moment, Henn’s shoulders visibly relaxed and he blew out a long breath. “Well, thank God for that,” he said. “I was thinking all kinds of things.”
“I still am,” Saeed said in a low voice.
“The phone is off,” Nate said. “I keep it off. The only time I used it was the other night after someone tried to kill me. I called my woman to tell her I was all right.”
Nate didn’t further bolster his case. He let it stand.
“I can check that,” Saeed said. “I can tell if you’re lying.”
“Fine by me.”
Saeed thumbed the power button on the phone. The display lit up. Nate held his breath while Saeed scrolled through the display menu.
“No incoming calls,” he said. “And one thirty-second call out to an unknown number.”
“Like I said.”
Saeed continued to study the device while he made a decision. As he did, the muzzles of the AKs didn’t lower an inch.
“I think we’re done here,” Henn said. “We’re done here, right? I need to get back to the trucks and finalize everything.”
Saeed chinned toward the open door, indicating he could go. Then, as Henn backed away, he said, “Get Ibraaheem and come here.”
Henn frowned. “Now? You want me to go get Ibby now?”
“Yes.”
“I told you, we’re doing final tests. I can’t spare the time right now.”
Saeed said, “Get him and bring him here. It won’t take long. Tell him to meet us in the office.”
Throughout the conversation, Nate was acutely aware of the live satellite phone Saeed held in his hand. The longer it was live, he knew, the better chance Tyrell or Volk would have to pinpoint his location. But he prayed they wouldn’t be stupid enough to call. He could imagine the phone ringing, Saeed punching it up, and receiving a string of What the fuck have you been doing keeping your phone off expletives that would not only compromise Nate’s position but likely get him killed.
“What is it that can’t wait until later?” Henn asked, his face flushed. “We’re gonna have two hours sitting in the cab of those trucks on the way to Utah. We can talk about whatever it is then, how about?”
“I said get him,” Saeed ordered.
Henn threw up his hands and stormed out.
Nate watched as Saeed turned off the satellite phone. He handed it toward the Syrian and spoke a few words in Arabic. The Syrian nodded, lowered his rifle, and took the phone from him. Saeed dug into the front pocket of his cargo pants and gave the Syrian the keys to Nate’s Jeep as well.
From their gestures and body language, Nate guessed Saeed had ordered that his phone and keys be locked away with his gun in the safe. Which meant the Syrian also knew the combination.
The phone had been on for maybe ninety seconds, perhaps two minutes. Nate had no idea if Tyrell or Volk had the technical ability to locate it—and him—in that short of a time frame. Or what they’d do with the knowledge.
“We go to the office,” Saeed said to Nate. With his eyes, he ordered the Yemeni to follow them and keep Nate covered.
“Can you tell me why?” Nate asked.
Saeed hesitated for a moment, then said, “I’m in command now. I owe it to Ibraaheem to tell him of the change of plans.”
Nate felt that stab again in his chest as he pondered the words I’m in command now and change of plans.
• • •
IBBY LOOKED VISIBLY ANNOYED when he threw open the door to the office with Henn on his heels. Nate was in a hard-backed chair in the corner, where he’d been ordered to sit, and the Yemeni kept his rifle trained on him from fifteen feet away—far enough that Nate couldn’t throw himself on the weapon without taking several rounds en route.
The Syrian stood in the other corner a few feet from the panel door that hid the safe. His back was to the wall and his AK-47 was held muzzle-down but with his hand holding the grip and his trigger finger extended. He could swing it up and fire in less than a second. He was carefully watching Ibby and Henn as they entered the room.
“What’s going on?” Ibby asked Saeed. “You know we’re about ready to . . .” His voice trailed off as he saw Nate in the corner and noticed the positioning of the Yemeni and the Syrian. Saeed stood in the center of the room with his arms folded across his chest. There was no doubt he had taken control.
Saeed said, “Shut the door behind you.”
Henn did, and turned back with questions written all over his face. He looked from Ibby to Saeed, then back to Ibby.
Saeed said something in Arabic that sounded both firm and apologetic.
Ibby shook his head as if to deny what he’d heard. He said, “Speak English. We’ll talk in English. What do you mean there’s a change in our plans?”
“We will knock out the data center,” Saeed said. “After all, there are conversations stored there our people don’t want analyzed. But after that we’re taking the EMP trucks to use for other targets.”
Ibby’s eyes flashed and he balled his fists. “
No. Absolutely not. We’re making this statement and that’ll be the end of it. We are not using those weapons for other targets.”
Saeed said, “It’s out of your hands now, Ibraaheem. It’s out of my hands. My commanders say it would be a blasphemy not to use these weapons against the American infidels. It would be unholy not to use them, and I agree.”
Saeed reverted back to Arabic and spoke for several minutes. His voice was measured, but Nate could see that whatever he said hit Ibby like hammer blows. Nate could pick out a few words—jihad, dhimmitude, Allah—but the rest was incomprehensible.
“The money to develop these devices didn’t come from the Middle East,” Ibby interrupted with anger rising in his voice. “They’re not yours. They don’t belong to you.”
Saeed shrugged as if to say, So what?
“You know this is what we do, you know that,” Saeed said, switching back to English. “We don’t need to build our own weapons and spend our own money and time. Not when we can let them develop the technology and we can just take it from them. It’s an arms race, but they provide our arms.”
“But you’re not taking it from them,” Ibby pleaded. “You’re taking it from me.”
“I don’t see a difference.”
“You’re missing the entire point,” Ibby said. “We aren’t making war. We’re making a powerful statement. This is the most important thing I’ve ever done in my life and the only one that’s worth anything. You can’t take that away from me, or from all the people who believe in this cause, and turn it into something . . . brutal. Something medieval.”
“It is right with God,” Saeed said. “The rest of our army is on the way. They should be here any minute.”
• • •
“SO YOU’VE BEEN PLANNING this for a long time,” Ibby said. It wasn’t a question. “Tell me, was this the plan years ago when we met? When I told you what I wanted to do and you agreed to come here and provide security?”
Saeed didn’t need to answer. Instead, he turned to the Syrian and nodded, giving him the go-ahead for something obviously prearranged, Nate thought. The Syrian nodded back and shouldered past Ibby and Henn toward the door. The back pocket of his cargo pants bristled with scores of white plastic zip ties.
“Where is he going?” Ibby asked.
“We need to make sure all of your team and those stupid volunteers are under control,” Saeed said. “He’s going to herd them outside the third shed for now.”
“And then what?” Ibby asked, panic in his face.
Saeed didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
“You can’t do this,” Ibby said, pleading. “This is against everything I stand for, everything I believe. We’ve got to get past this kind of thing, don’t you understand? I thought when we talked about this, you agreed with me. You acted like you agreed with me.”
Saeed nodded. “You know as well as I do that lying for a righteous cause is not lying at all. You do remember the lesson of taqiyya from your studies at the madrassa, don’t you? You of all people who received the highest level of education?”
Ibby said, “Taqiyya is lying to unbelievers in order to defeat them. I’m not an unbeliever.”
“In our judgment you are.”
“Please don’t do this,” Ibby said.
Saeed simply shrugged. To Henn, he said, “I’ll need you to come with us in case something goes wrong with the devices.”
Henn went pale.
“Your wife will stay here. If you want to see her again, you’ll help us and you’ll do what we ask.”
Turning to Ibby, Saeed said, “You can come along until we are done in Utah, and you can stay with us if you’ll pledge your loyalty. But not if you keep this up. You’ve been too long in the West, my friend. Your mind has become filthy with bad ideas.”
Nate noticed that his future wasn’t addressed. The Yemeni obviously caught that as well, because he tightened his grip on his rifle. He was obviously waiting for a nod from Saeed to pull the trigger, Nate thought.
But what really concerned him was what the Syrian had been sent to do. He could imagine the team of unarmed engineers and volunteers—including Sheridan—being “herded” outside the third shed at gunpoint. Would they be lined up? Ordered to get on their knees?
Ibby squared his stance. “If you try to take over this operation, it will be over my dead body.”
Saeed simply nodded his head. Agreed.
Nate noted a nervous tic in Ibby’s mouth for the first time. It was as if he was finally comprehending what was happening and he could feel his world spinning out of control.
He said, “What other targets?”
Saeed’s face softened. “We have a long list. Hospitals, airports, server farms that would take down the Internet, police headquarters, military bases. But along the way we’ve identified power substations and power plants. The electrical grid in this country isn’t secure. If we aren’t stopped, we can take it down.”
“My God,” Ibby said.
“Did you know that if we hit just nine key transformer substations it could cause a nationwide blackout for eighteen months? Eighteen months. A lot can happen in eighteen months.”
“Yes,” Ibby said. “Millions will die.”
“Will you come with us?”
Ibby lowered his head and his breathing got deep. Nate had a hard time believing that Ibby would go along with it.
Beyond the walls of the office, he could hear the startled voices. The Syrian was obviously moving the engineering team and the volunteers from underground and the third shed to outside.
“This can’t be happening,” Ibby said. “You’re not helping our people, you’re hurting them. We have to get beyond this.”
Saeed didn’t respond.
“For forty-seven months, I planned this and got it funded,” Ibby said, his voice breaking. “We’ve been working nonstop on it—twelve to eighteen hours a day. We’ve got a permanent group of fifteen patriots who have given up their normal lives for this one thing.”
He’s lost it, Nate thought. He’s babbling.
Saeed listened, but he was growing impatient. Ibby was talking quickly, maybe too quickly in English for him to follow. Plus, it made no sense.
“Forty-seven months of work. Twelve to eighteen hours a day,” Ibby repeated. “Fifteen good men and women who have devoted their entire lives to this one thing. This one thing—not to use the EMPs to murder innocent people by depriving them of power, transportation, and the ability to communicate.”
“Stop,” Saeed said firmly. “What you say shows how weak these infidels truly are. They’re not ten feet tall like we used to think, but we’ve known that for a while now. Once we hit them, they’ll collapse. They’re soft. If they can’t call or text or turn on the lights, they’ll give up. They’re cowards, after all.”
Ibby looked up with tears in his eyes.
“You’ll come outside with me now.”
Henn covered his face in his hands. He knew he was going, too.
Saeed nodded to the Yemeni covering Nate, as if to tell him, You know what to do now.
• • •
NATE HEARD THE RUSH of excited voices as Saeed prompted Ibby and Henn to lead the way outside by prodding them with the barrel of his rifle. Saeed reached back and pulled the door closed behind him.
Nate looked up at the Yemeni. The man seemed torn between keeping his muzzle aimed at Nate’s chest and looking outside the window to see what was happening.
When the Yemeni’s eyes flicked toward the window, Nate launched from his chair and juked left, batting the rifle muzzle away and grasping the barrel. When the Yemeni bent forward to pull it away, Nate head-butted him, crunching the man’s nose and right eye socket.
The Yemeni dropped to his knees, but held tight to the rifle. Nate forced his right index finger into the back of the trigger
guard so that when the Yemeni pulled hard on it, he pinched Nate’s flesh—but the rifle didn’t fire. Nate reached down with his left hand and found the leather-wrapped handle of a serrated knife the Yemeni wore on his belt and, before the man could react, pulled it out and plunged it to the hilt under the Yemeni’s sternum and into his heart.
The Yemeni stiffened, his tongue lolled out, and his last breath rattled through his open mouth.
Nate pulled the AK-47 free and shook his right hand. His index finger was already painful and swelling up.
He pointed the muzzle at the dirt floor next to the twitching body of the Yemeni and fired twice. The rifle shots were incredibly loud in the closed room and there was no doubt they were heard outside. They would tell Saeed that the Yemeni had completed his task.
It smelled of bitter gunpowder and he peered outside the cloudy window as he ran across the room. The scene was as he envisioned it: all of Ibby’s team and the ragtag group of volunteers stood against the broad and weathered outside wall of the third shed with the Syrian guarding them with his rifle out.
Saeed had marched Ibby and Henn before them as if Ibby were to once again address them with a pep talk. But as Ibby raised his hands and voice to warn them, Saeed stepped behind him and cut his throat from ear to ear. He was sending the message that Ibby was no longer in charge. The collective gasp was chilling. A couple of the women shrieked.
When Nate ducked down from the window, the last thing he viewed was Saeed sawing at Ibby’s neck and the cascade of blood. He’d seen a lot, but he knew that the savagery of the act and the writhing and wailing of the observers would remain a singular horror in his mind for as long as he lived.
But there were things to do.
He threw the panel door aside and leaned toward the safe. It had taken a moment, but he’d realized Ibby had sent him a last message before being led out to what he must have known would be his certain death.
Nate spun the combination dial to clear it and then took a deep breath to calm himself. He tried to recall the exact sequence of Ibby’s message to him.
Forty-seven, twelve, eighteen, fifteen, one . . .
While he carefully turned the dial, he heard a low rumbling outside that gradually overtook the sound of wailing.