“Hi…” she smiled, kissing him back. “That was…” She searched for the right word.
“Primitive…?” He offered. She started to laugh.
“That’s certainly one way of describing it.”
“Listen…” he started but hesitated, unable to finish.
An awkward silence insinuated itself between them. Reaching out, she placed her finger to his lips as if to silence his concerns before he could utter them. Leaning closer, she kissed him again.
“No, you listen…” she began. “I’m not – no matter what you may think – an infatuated schoolgirl. I’m 27. I’m serious about my career. And what we just did does not mean I love you… you understand?”
Caught off guard by her candor, Corbett managed an uncertain smile. They started to dress.
“It was just…” she tried again.
“Spontaneous,” he said.
“Exactly,” she agreed, beginning to dress. He did the same. “And given all the uncertainties of this world, it might never happen again.”
Corbett said nothing.
“Which is all right,” she added.
“You’re sure…?”
She shrugged as she found her boots and started to pull them on.
“And what if it does?”
“Then what’s meant to be is meant to be.”
Kneeling, she slipped the last of the tapas from the box and held it out to him. “Want to split it…?”
Corbett shook his head.
Taking a bite, she savored the taste. Corbett raised the bottle and took a swallow of wine then handed it to her.
“God, these are so good. I could eat a horse.”
“I’ll be sure to mention it to Gorka,” he grinned.
“Stop,” she smiled, punching his arm.
Catching her by the wrist, he attempted to resist the urge to kiss her but failed as she met him halfway. Their embrace lingered. Each aware of the other, they finally separated as Corbett rose then helped her to her feet.
“Better head back to camp.”
“Right.”
Collecting the empty wine bottle and the cardboard box from supper, they killed the lights then using the flashlight started for the lift.
*****
The night air was warm, filled with the rhythmic sounds of the night. Making their way down the mountain toward camp, Corbett and Ella fell silent, each lost in thought.
Troubled by the rough and tumble of recent events, Corbett found himself thinking of Tariq and Amaia, once his closest friends, now alienated by events over which neither he nor they had had any control. Given what no doubt lay ahead, Corbett found himself regretting the role he now must play in tearing them apart. What were their chances for any kind of life together? And what of their daughter? Would she ever see her father again, much less get to know him? Like so many millions of others, their lives pointlessly sacrificed on the altar of war.
As for Ella, the truth was, she excited him. For the first time since those early days with Amaia at Oxford, he had actually felt something. Yet in reality, there were so many things she did not know and that he could not possibly tell her. Better not to look beyond the immediate but simply seize the moment and let the future take care of itself.
Walking beside him, Ella tried to ignore their proximity. The way he smelled. The memory of his touch. The taste of his mouth on hers. Attempting to be completely honest, what had just occurred between them had been everything she could have possibly wanted from such an encounter. Spontaneous, intense, and limited with no commitments. What was it, she wondered, about older men? While continuing to work with him over the next several weeks might prove awkward, she had meant what she had said. She had no illusions. Lo que será, será.
By the time they reached the base camp, it was nearly midnight. The rest of the company could be heard gathered in the cook tent, drinking and eating and singing folk songs both in Spanish and in Basque, oblivious to the ironies of their respective politics. Corbett walked her to the entrance of her tent then turned to face her.
“Listen. What you said back there…” he began, “about fate – that whatever is meant to be will be? I agree. No regrets.”
“Meaning…?” Looking up at him, she cocked her head to one side.
“No matter what.”
“I think I can handle that,” she said with a small smile. Then impulsively cupping his face in her hands, she softly kissed him. “Whatever happens, tonight was… unforgettable.” Then kissing him again on the lips, she quickly turned, slipped into her tent and was gone.
Fighting against an unexpected rush of emotion, Corbett quietly made his way to his own tent. Entering, he sat on the edge of his cot and removed his boots. Swinging himself onto his back, he attempted to relax and close his eyes. But his mind was too cluttered to sleep. He lay there awake, staring into the darkness remembering what had transpired between them. It was nearly three before he finally drifted off.
*****
Having taken part in the evening’s revels in the cook tent, Karim had eventually managed to slip away unnoticed. Moving swiftly through the shadows, he reached the back of the canvas-covered two-and-a-half-ton truck to find Antonio waiting. As with their previous assignation, the two men embraced then quickly scrambled into the back of the truck before anyone might see them. Purely carnal, their coupling was intense and lasted barely ten minutes before they had satisfied each other’s needs. At last, they lay there together, spent. Saying nothing, they silently listened to the sound of the singing still coming from the cook tent. It provided a convenient excuse not to talk.
At last, Karim arose. Straightening his clothes, he explained that he had to be up early in the morning. Antonio nodded, saying he understood then watched as the smaller man slipped off into the night. Alone at last, the Spaniard finally stood, zipping up his trousers and tucking in his shirt. Then climbing down from the bed of the truck, he headed off to rejoin the revelers. The night was still young.
At the same moment, Karim entered the tent he shared with Roberto. Filled with self-loathing, he tried to shake the feelings of guilt that crowded his mind. Relieved at discovering Roberto had not yet returned, he unrolled his prayer rug and knelt in the darkness. Praying silently to Allah for forgiveness, he began to strike his chest repeatedly with both fists. Then rolling up his shirtsleeves, he reached into his toiletry kit and removed a single-edged razor blade. With practiced precision, he carefully slashed at his upper forearms, inflicting superficial wounds and drawing blood. From the scar tissue visible on both arms, it was clear this was not the first time. But despite the fact that these wounds were not life threatening, he meant them as a sign of the depth of his sincerity. Allahu Akbar…! True, he had again been weak and lost his way. But swearing in the sight of God he would never sin again, he promised to atone for his transgressions if only Allah, the merciful, would show him the path to redemption. Finishing at last, he quickly bandaged his wounds and rolled up his prayer mat. Then climbing onto his cot, he covered his body with a sheet. And drawing his legs up into a fetal position, he fell into a troubled asleep.
TWENTY-THREE
C orbett had awakened at dawn as thoughts of Tariq and Ella intruded on his dreams. They were running somewhere, urging him to come with them. Only Ella somehow was wearing hospital greens and sounded like Amaia.
Swinging his legs over the side of the cot, he sat there for several seconds attempting to get his bearings. Then rising, he crossed to the entrance of the tent and made his way to one of the three portable toilets that had been set up at the edge of the encampment. Urinating, he threw some water on his face and dried it with a thin cloth towel.
Returning to his tent, he unlocked his case and removed the laptop from its secret compartment once more. Booting it up, he checked his inbox to discover an encrypted email from Reed waiting. Decoding the message, he quickly scanned the contents:
“Dear Sonny: Change of plan. Must move now. Bird flies tonight. Specialist must be
prepped and ready by 2100. – Mother”
Instantly awake, he began to recalibrate his day. The sudden urgency of Reed’s message requiring them to move Tariq this evening left no margin for error. First, Corbett would have to return to Xeria immediately, find Tariq and bring him back. To avoid suspicion, he would have Hector add Tariq’s name to the daily work crew. But the unexpected change underscored the danger and uncertainty of the entire mission. There could be no absolute plan. He would have to be ready to improvise at any moment should everything start to go pear shaped. Dressing quickly, he left the tent.
*****
Despite Sebastian’s insistence that he take a different vehicle, Corbett slipped behind the wheel of the same Land Rover he had taken two evenings before. With the exception of the damaged front bumper, the car showed few aftereffects. With the brilliant morning sun already cascading down through the mountain passes, he followed the twisting road toward the village once more. At the same time, he found himself reliving the violent drive down the mountain and the men who had attempted to force Tariq over the edge.
The two men in the car were no doubt members of the same ISIS cell that had been called to action through religious psychobabble and collective ignorance. He could not imagine they had known anything about Tariq beyond his name and perhaps who his father was. Yet they were willing to sacrifice their own lives to take his. All for what? A misreading of the Holy Qur’an. In their minds they were acting on God’s will. Allah, the merciful… Allah, the just… He who must be obeyed without question for He is the one true God. How easily a man might justify the murder of a stranger by laying it off on his Creator. He wondered if Allah would knowingly accept such guilt by association? Acts of Faith foisted upon Him by His most fervent and true believers. For how can the God of love and forgiveness be held responsible for the violent misreading of His word uttered by those so clearly inferior to himself?
Corbett shook his head. It was an ancient lie told throughout history by every religion. God shall remain blameless. It is Man who is the sinner and who must atone for his evil acts or be damned for all eternity.
Somewhere in the distance along the valley floor far below, the flat sounding of brass, a church bell echoing through the early morning air. Was today the Sabbath…? Corbett wondered, realizing he had somehow lost track of time. Maria Birjina Eliza, the Church of Xeria’s Blessed Virgin, was calling its worshipers to Mass. Without questioning the summons, they would come, kneeling in prayer, asking for forgiveness of their sins. Doing penance so that they may, with a clear conscience, sin again.
He thought again of Islam, Judaism, Christianity. Three co-conspiracies run by the same con artist under different aliases. If there can be only one all-knowing God, how can He permit such confusion and bullshit? How, Corbett wondered, could such a preposterous scheme succeed with millions of followers over so many millennia? Unless it had been God’s plan all along: appearing only to those demented souls capable of mistaking the irrational voices in their heads for the word of God and preaching it to all who would listen. The more insane the better. Belief in God demands absolute, unquestioning faith. Logic has no place while religion becomes a narcissistic self-indulgence that invents its own truth while denying every empirical, demonstrable fact. To sustain such a lie, it is little wonder that unbelievers must pay in blood, for heresy cannot be tolerated.
As he reached the outskirts of the village, Corbett turned off the road, allowing the Rover to roll to a stop among the tangle of weeds that crowded the edge of the roadway. Shutting off the engine, he climbed out. The air was clean and crisp and the dew still clung to the cobblestones as he made his way through the quiet streets toward the clinic. The uncomfortable thought of having to face Amaia again in order to get word to Tariq nagged at the back of his mind. Still, he could think of no other way around it.
Approaching the clinic, he surveyed the street, which was empty save an olive drab, canvas-covered stake bed truck parked directly across the street. Moving up the street, he could hear a child’s laughter coming from within the clinic.
“A’ishah, stop…!” It was the unmistakable voice of a mother, a mix of command and concern.
An instant later, the front door flew open as a little girl rushed out. Not looking where she was going, she collided with Corbett’s legs and started to fall. Reaching down, he caught her by the arm and held her upright.
“Whoa… easy does it,” he said suppressing a smile as the fleeting image of his sister’s little girl momentarily flashed across his mind, bringing with it the pain of 9/11. Staring up at this unexpected stranger, the girl’s dark eyes began to fill as her lower lip trembled. A moment later, Amaia came hurrying through the door after her. Seeing her, Corbett released the girl and took a step back. “Everything’s going to be okay. See? Mom’s here.”
Meeting Corbett’s uncertain gaze, Amaia’s demeanor immediately turned to ice. Scooping up her daughter, she clutched her protectively as she allowed her anger to curdle the moment.
“What are you doing here?”
“Tariq… It’s imperative that I speak with him as soon as possible. There’s no time to waste.”
“Go away, Michael. Whatever it is you’re selling we don’t need it.”
“Amaia, listen…”
“No, you listen. We have a life here. It may not seem like much to you. But it’s enough. So don’t destroy it. Just leave us alone.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“Really…? Is that what you told my brother? In Nairobi… before you let him die? Jon’s dead, Michael. But the truth is – it should have been you.”
Her accusatory tone cut through him like a knife as her eyes filled with loathing. Though he wished it were different, he had no defense. She turned to go.
“Tell Tariq his father doesn’t have much time. He needs him now.”
Still clutching her child, Amaia turned back. “And his daughter doesn’t? Why can’t you at least be straight with us? The only reason anyone gives a damn about any of this is politics and greed. Tariq, his father… you. You’re all being used. Just this once, Michael, do the right thing. Walk away. Leave us alone.”
“Tell him I’ll wait for him at the café…” He hesitated then added softly, “I’m sorry.”
“Liar.”
Without warning, she felt her anger boil over. Lashing out, she slapped his face hard with her open hand. Absorbing the blow, he silently held her gaze then watched as she turned, carrying her child back inside, slamming the clinic door behind her.
Re-crossing the street, Corbett started for the café when something caught his attention. The tarp covering the rear cargo hold of the stake bed truck had come loose during transport, partially exposing a cluster of electrical wires. Stepping closer, he started to pull back the flap, revealing a cell phone detonator attached to a large clay-like brick of what he immediately recognized to be C-4 – an Improvised Explosive Device with enough plastique to wipe out everything for twenty meters in every direction.
Examining the IED, he quickly saw that there was no way to defuse it without risking setting it off. Retracing his steps back across the street, he opened the clinic door to find the nurse named Nekane seated at the desk just inside. Stepping through the doorway, he approached her, lowering his voice as he attempted to speak in measured tones.
“Listen to me. There is a truck parked across the street filled with explosives – enough to level this entire block,” he disliked exaggeration but knew he needed to make the point. “Find Dr. Alesander. Tell her she must evacuate the clinic immediately or many people will die. Do you understand?”
Nekane stared at him unable to move as she attempted to process his words, her mind barely able to comprehend his meaning in English.
“Now…! You must get everyone out immediately,” Corbett repeated, raising his voice. “Do you understand? I’m going to go try to move the truck. Find Dr. Alesander!”
Visibly shaken, the young woman finally managed to
rise from her chair. As she headed off to find Amaia, Corbett ran back outside. Quickly crossing the road, he reached the truck and threw open the driver’s side door. But as he started to climb into the cab, someone grabbed him from behind, catching him in a chokehold. Locking his forearm, the unseen assailant began applying deadly pressure against Corbett’s carotid artery, shutting off the blood supply to his brain. His vision began to swim. Instinctively, he knew that he had no more than seconds to free himself before he would lose consciousness. Twisting his torso and arching his back, he simultaneously drove his left elbow sharply into his assailant’s ribcage. Once… twice… three times before finally breaking the man’s grip.
Pulling free and spinning away, Corbett found himself staring into the sullen, scarred face of the man called Noor, the other man who had attacked him at the airport. Instant recognition as both men squared off. Lashing out with his left, Corbett caught Noor square in the face, pulverizing his nose. Covering his broken nose with his right hand, blood spilling out between his fingers and down his lips covering his chin, Noor stumbled backwards. Then turning he began to run. Without a moment’s hesitation, Corbett took off after him.
A footrace across the ancient stones. Fists clenched, legs pumping full bore. Dodging down an alley, Noor vaulted a handcart filled with melons while slamming the merchant who was pushing it into the wall. Grabbing the cart, he upended it, sending the ripe green melons tumbling directly into Corbett’s path. With the merchant cursing them both, Corbett managed to barely catch sight of the back of Noor’s shirt as he disappeared around the next corner.
Racing after the fleeing assailant, Corbett reached the corner only to find himself standing alone facing a blind alley. Glancing up, he caught a glimpse of the man climbing lizard-like up the side of the nearest house – from the drainpipe to the windowsill to the rain gutter. Grabbing the drainpipe himself, Corbett started to climb after him.
The Exfiltrator Page 20