“You mean the way you like the football player, or the artist?”
She frowned at me. “How do you know about them?” Then, “My mom. My mom told you.”
“I asked your mom a question and she answered it. But to answer your question, yes, I do like your mom.”
“Do you love her?”
I laughed. I felt like I was in high school study hall again.
“Do you?” She repeated.
“If you mean love, as in in love, no I don’t.”
“Why not?”
I glanced at her. She was watching me, her face illuminated by the dashboard lights. The night was black dark, the headlights the only source of light. It was as if the moving splash of illuminated asphalt in front was the only thing in the universe.
“I don’t know your mom,” I said. “We barely know each other. Tonight was to be our first date. It’s much too early get to the love thing.”
She was silent for a while. “Tommy Ball is the football player,” she said. “He’s lettered in every sport.”
“Do you love him?” I asked, teasing.
“Oh, gosh no.”
“How about the other one?”
“I’m too young for that stuff.”
I nodded, “Smart girl.”
“I’m glad Billy’s out.”
“Me too.” The heater was blasting us so I turned it down. I set the cruise control on sixty. Precious cargo.
“I never did believe he did that thing.”
I was glad to get on another subject, “Me too.”
She was looking at me again, “Who do you think did it?”
I took my time answering. Finally, I said, “I think it was very bad men who are trying to frighten us.”
“Why?”
Again, I took my time.
“Some people need to have someone to hate. I think these guys need to hate us. Us Americans.”
“What have we done to them?”
“We are successful. America is the biggest success in the history of the world. As a country and as a society. They come from countries where there is poverty and disease. Their society is one where a small number of men have all the power. They govern by fear. If their people had the freedoms that Americans have they couldn’t keep the power. And there has been a thousand years of hatred. Hating anyone that isn’t like them. If you don’t believe and don’t behave the same as them, you are the enemy and must be destroyed. They look at us and see our riches and they believe because we are a rich country, we have to be a decadent country. They call us the Great Satan.”
“I don’t get it,” she said. “How can someone just kill another person? Mom says you were in the Army and were all over the world. Why do you think one person can just kill another? Even in America?”
“Well,” I said watching the road and thinking about my words. “Lots of reasons. A lot of times it’s passion of the moment. Greed or jealousy or during a crime that goes wrong. Sometimes it’s territory. One gang protecting their turf from another gang. And sometimes you have armies of soldiers killing each other for political or power reasons. That’s when everyone thinks their side is right, so that seems to be okay. They believe God is on their side so that makes it okay. In the Civil War, hundreds of thousands of Americans killed each other, both sides firmly believing they were in the right, and believing God was on their side.”
“We studied that in the eighth grade.”
“But usually, when one person murders another person for whatever reason, most people don’t think that is okay.”
“How can they do that? Just kill someone?”
“Some people aren’t as human as others.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s hard to explain. It’s like some people aren’t completely formed. That is, when they are born something is left out. Something essential to be fully human. But for every one of those people, those evil ones I’ve seen, I’ve seen thousands of good people.”
“You’ve seen evil people?”
“Unfortunately, I have.”
“How do you recognize them?”
“Unfortunately, we usually don’t. Until it’s too late. All the mass shootings you hear about. Most of those shooters were living among us. People went to school with them, worked with them, lived next door to them. Then one day this seemingly normal person does crazy things and innocent people die.”
Again, she was silent. I started to think that maybe I should have stayed with the love topic.
“So I could know an evil person, and not even know it.”
“Or not. The odds are in your favor. It’s highly possible no one you know is evil.”
“It’s kinda creepy to think about.”
“It is. Let’s change the subject. Do you visit your Aunt Betty often?”
“I help her with the shop on weekends, when there are lots of tourists.”
“I can tell you like your Aunt Betty.”
“I love her. She was my grandma’s sister.”
In the darkness, off to my left I saw the flash of a distant light. Then it was gone.
“What happened to Grandma?”
“Cancer,” she said. “When I was little.”
“Do you remember her?”
“I can remember how she smelled. She always smelled good. It was like when she held me I was safe. It seemed like she always smelled like cookies. I know that’s silly, but that’s my memory. I have other memories of her at a hospital, but I don’t like to think of those.”
“Grandmas are good,” I said. “What about Grandpa?”
“I never knew him. I’ve seen pictures.”
“Did cancer get him too?”
“I don’t know. Probably. I think he was about fifty-six. He was a soldier once.”
We rode in silence for a while.
“So your parents died when you were a kid?” she asked.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. I never knew them very well.”
She was silent, thinking about that. I glanced at her and she was sitting forward staring across me. “What is he doing?”
I looked left and there was a big black something, barreling at us from out of the night. Then headlights came on, blinding me, and he was coming too fast and I twisted the wheel and hit the brakes but couldn’t react fast enough. He hit us with great violence and we spun and Megan was screaming. Air bags slammed us as we tipped and began to roll. All went black.
62
I slowly became aware. I was on something hard, and it was moving. I was bounced into the air, and slammed back down. I couldn’t move. Everything was black. I hurt. I hurt badly. I was in the back of a truck and large bump had thrown me into the air. We hit another large bump, and I disappeared again.
I woke up. I wasn’t in the truck. I felt like I was on the ground. I tried to move. My body screamed at me, and I blacked out.
I woke up and could hear voices. They were muffled. I couldn’t stay awake.
Someone was shaking me. Yelling at me. All I could do was moan. Everything went black again.
A long time later I woke up. This time it was quiet. This time I was awake. It was black. Very black. My right eye was swollen shut. Dried blood had sealed it. I could turn my head but there was nothing. I could feel I was missing two teeth on the right side of my jaw, and, with my tongue, could feel a broken one. I stuck my tongue out and it pressed against cloth. I had a hood on. I tried my hands but they were fastened behind me. My back and legs ached, my ankles were fastened together.
Captured.
I was captured. I had been trained to be captured. For what they told me later was two full weeks, they had beat on me, dunked me upside down in a tank of water, switched me with a willow switch, all to make me reveal the number they had given me before they started. Then it was over, and they debriefed me, and walked me through the mental process of surviving being captured. I don’t think any of us believed it would happen to us.
Then I had another thought.
Megan?
> I quit moving, and began to listen. It was silent. It must be the middle of the night. I thought about what the Colonel had told us. I could hear his voice. If you are captured, they don’t know who you are. Even if they have you in a cage, you are still the tiger.
A tiger that feels like it’s been beaten with a baseball bat. Grrrr. I closed the eye that worked, and tried not to think of Megan.
I must have slept. When I heard voices, I awoke. They were muffled. There were two or three different voices. Three. They were moving around. I used my hands to feel the ground. It felt like plastic. Like a tarp, no, like the bottom of a tent. The one nostril that wasn’t clogged with dried blood could smell coffee. Use your senses. If one is taken, use the others. I breathed silently and listened. I listened for anything and everything. I ignored the pain and listened. I don’t know what happened to Megan. I couldn’t help Megan. I had to help me first.
It is difficult to be completely silent for a long period of time. I had practiced it. If there was anyone in here with me I will hear them. I waited, not making a sound. No breathing, no nothing. You do that by opening your mouth as wide as possible and breathing very shallowly. The cool air hurt my teeth. It’s only pain, I had been taught. After a long while of hearing nothing I decided either they were better trained, or there was no one there. There was no one there. The muffled voices started again. I listened, trying to make out the conversation. I began to assess my body.
I could wiggle my toes. Whoopee. They had left my prosthetic on. Good, I was at enough of a disadvantage. Either they missed it or they didn’t care. If they didn’t care, it probably meant they didn’t expect me to be around for long. My right thigh ached, like a deep bruise. I slowly bent my knees. No bone grinding. My shoulders were cramping and I tried to relax them. My head hurt like a son of a bitch. Especially my jaw on the side of the missing teeth. I moved my jaw. There was no grinding. I couldn’t sense any broken bones. Okay assholes, beware the tiger. I’ve got you right where I want you.
63
I had no idea if I was in the line of sight of any of them. I forced myself not to move. I wanted to listen. I needed to learn more. Use your senses. I only heard three of them. They were talking in a language I didn’t know. By the tone there didn’t seem to be any excitement, no urgency. They were settled in. My head was throbbing. The noises told me they had a camp set up. The metallic sound of a pan or coffee pot being set on a camp stove. The crackle of a fire. No wild life. No birds, or quail. The occasional buzz of an insect. The air temperature was rising, so it was daytime.
One of them walked a few feet away from where I lay and urinated. I could hear the urine splatter on the hard dirt. Then I heard him walk around me, and then the sound of a flap of the tent being lifted. I lay still, barely breathing. He was looking in; he didn’t come in. He lowered the flap, and I took a deep breath. Good. I was inside, out of sight.
Now I started trying to figure out how I was bound. I rolled to my side and bent my legs up behind me. It hurt like hell but I forced my legs up until my heels were touching just below my buttocks. I stretched my hands down. I felt a thin, hard plastic zip tie. I tried forcing my hands apart and this was a zip tie also, biting into the flesh of my wrists. Good. Plastic degrades. All I had to do was wait six months and the zip ties would become brittle, and I’d break them easily.
Now I began to explore the tent. I stretched out slowly, listening all the while. I didn’t want to be caught moving around. The tent was about eight feet long and six feet wide. There was absolutely nothing in it. Just me.
I moved back to my original position and waited.
In the movies, the hero slips his butt and legs through his bound arms and then works his hands free with his teeth. They had the zip ties too high on my wrists. I was in the wrong movie.
Things were quiet for a long time. At least three hours went by. I needed something to happen. Then it did. I heard a vehicle. It was in the distance, but coming closer. I heard the men rouse. Then I heard the distinct metallic sound of a round being ratcheted into an automatic weapon.
The vehicle came into the camp and stopped. The men were talking over the top of themselves, excited with their company. I listened as the vehicle motor was killed and the doors slammed. The vehicle had brought more men. One of the newcomers began barking orders in the same language the others had been using. I could hear noises, maybe of unloading the truck if it was a truck. There was a lot of movement. Then the voices were muted. They had moved away.
It was startling when a voice close by said, in English, “Bring him out here.”
I went limp. They were going to kick me. I tried to prepare for it. There was the sound of the tent flap pulled back, and there were at least three in with me. One of them kicked me. I groaned involuntarily. They put their hands on me and dragged me out of the tent. I remained limp. They dumped me on the ground and one of them ripped the hood off. My face bounced down onto the dirt. Through my one hooded eye I could see the military boots and camo legs of a man in front of me. He squatted down and grabbed my hair and pulled my head up. Playing dead wasn’t going to work.
“Mr. Atef, I presume,” I said through bruised lips.
“Ah, yes,” he said in his soft accent. “The hero.”
He stood and said, “Get him to his knees.” He stayed in English.
Two others grabbed my arms and roughly pulled me up to my knees. I tried to stand but they pushed me back down. I used the movement to look around. It was desert with heavy undergrowth. We were in a stand of mesquite, palo verdes and junipers. There were a number of tents scattered around. Each had been erected under a tree, presumably to be hidden from the air. Beyond the trees were creosote and sage and what appeared to be miles of empty desert. My tent backed up to a wide sandy wash and I had seen it before with Eddie and Joe Whitney. I was sure it was the same wash, just a different place. A mountain was in the distance. There were contrails in the sky. All desert looks alike. The truck was an old Chevy Bronco. It was parked a few yards off.
There were eight men surrounding me. None were Dwyer. All were wearing black niqabs. Headscarves draped around their faces with only the eyes showing. They all wore camo hunting attire. All carried automatic rifles except one. He worried me. He carried an older GoPro video camera. Atef wore a black niqab but his face wasn’t covered.
“Get the girl,” Atef said. My heart leapt but I kept my face impassive. Two of the men went to a small tent on the opposite side of the camp. The tent was backed into thicket of brambles. One held the tent flap and the other went in. A moment later he was back with Megan. Her feet were free but her hands were bound. Her hair was a tangled mess. Her face was smudged and dirty and puffy from crying. I was never so glad to see someone in my life. She didn’t seem to be hurt. Thank God for air bags. I looked away from her. Her best protection from these assholes was me not seeming to give a damn if she lived or died. No leverage.
“Put them together,” Atef commanded. They brought Megan close to me and forced her to her knees. Her head hung down. She stared at the earth. Atef signaled the man with the camera and pointed to where he wanted the man to stand. The man took his place.
Atef signaled to another one of the men. “Put your weapon at his head. If he moves, kill him.”
The man came behind me and with a little too much enthusiasm banged me in the back of the head with the rifle barrel. Megan was starting to keen. Trying to catch her breath. Her head rocked back and forth. I wanted to touch her. To give her comfort, but I didn’t move.
Atef came to stand beside Megan. He wrapped his face with his scarf. Only his eyes showed through. He pulled a K-bar knife from his belt and pointed it at the camera. The man began filming.
“Allah is great,” Atef said. “I speak now to every man, woman and child that belongs to this great evil, the United States. Your country is the great Satan. You are governed by evil people. You kill our people with no thought of what you do, but you cannot defeat us. We are a great cal
iphate and we are everywhere. Our numbers of true believers are vast beyond your knowledge and grow every minute, and every hour, and every day.”
He brandished the knife above Megan’s head. “Do not think that you are safe because you live in America. We are here. This is our fatwa. We are in your cities, and we are in your small towns. Just like these two, not one of you is safe from our revenge.”
He pointed the knife at Megan. “This woman could be your daughter. Now she belongs to me. I own her. She is my property. She is no more than a mule or a camp dog.” He pointed the knife at me. “This man is supposed to be one of the best of your military. And now he is on his knees. He is mine. His head belongs to me. Your military cannot stand against us.” He paused. “Our enemies have confiscated billions of our dollars across the world. Money that belongs to us. I will give you twenty-four hours to release our money back to us or the next time you see me, I will be holding two heads. Death to all infidels.” He waved the knife between us.
He flourished the knife at the camera and the man stopped filming. Atef turned and walked away. Two of the men grabbed me and roughly pulled me to my feet. One of them shoved the hood over my head. I heard Megan yelp, then begin sobbing. They half-walked, half-dragged me to the tent. One kicked me in the small of my back. I flew forward into the tent, landing face down. I landed hard. It hurt. I didn’t move until I heard them fasten the tent flap. I took several deep breaths then rolled to the back of the tent. Now was the hard part. The waiting part.
64
I lay for a long time, in the hooded darkness. Listening. If Atef was good at his word I had twenty-four hours. I couldn’t count on it, but it gave me something. The first pressing problem I had was a full bladder. Nothing to be done. I let it go. It was of no consequence. I had been trained to not move for hours. This had happened before. I had bigger problems.
They had not tightened the hood. Satisfied they weren’t coming back in, I lay on the ground. Rubbing my face against the hard tent bottom, I slowly worked the hood up my face and finally I could see. Small victories. There was a crack of light where the tent flap didn’t quite meet the tent wall. I rolled to it and rocked myself up on my knees. I peered out. Two of the men sat within eyesight. One of them was the camera man. He was studying the camera, checking the performance. Atef and the rest were out of eyesight.
The Librarian Her Daughter and the Man Who Lost His Head Page 23