by Sarah Black
“I’ve met Madeline before. I took her for a ride in my chopper, to see the pretty poppy fields in lovely Afghanistan. That was ages ago. I got to stand in the back of the room, looking dangerous, and watch her work. She’s a subtle negotiator. She does this thing where she turns herself into a rock, you know? She says her piece and draws a line and then somehow turns into a rock, totally unmovable, and she gives the impression she is prepared to sit there forever and wait for you to come around to her way of thinking. Maybe I should let her do the talking. That would be even more interesting than what I had in mind, to let a woman take the lead. It will make everyone nervous and off-kilter from the beginning. Now that you have taken on the role of the hotheaded warrior prince, I can be the meditative lawyer-monk who gets you out of trouble. Just so long as I have an opportunity to come face-to-face with that Bedu shit-bird Ali Bahktar before this is over. He will not be fooled into thinking I’m the cool head in our operation, but the others might.”
“I think you have a very cool head.”
“And I think you enjoyed your democracy theater a little too much, General. Men our age need their spleens.”
“Point taken.” Gabriel had studied the bruises on John’s ribs last night but hadn’t said anything, his mouth pressed into a thin line. Several kisses to the most sore spots, and John thought he detected a significant lessening of the pain.
“I know the issue of the blasphemy charges means something, but it is not as critical as the passports, Gabriel. If they give us the passports back, I would interpret that as tacit admission they do not want to proceed with charges and in fact want us gone. Safety may need to play a part in our decision-making.”
“You think Painter’s right, and we just need to take the boys and run?” Gabriel asked.
“I think I don’t want anyone in this room to see the inside of 9 Avril Prison again. I’m getting a bad vibe.”
Gabriel nodded. “Ali Bahktar may be burning with the fever of jihad, but some knucklehead might be thinking about money. That dickhead you bribed to let you into the prison, he’s been thinking about money all this time, wondering if he should have gotten more. And here you are, sitting in beautiful Carthage at a hotel where he has never been able to stay.”
“I agree that we’re walking a dangerous path. If we need to do anything in Tunis to bring balance back to the Force, we need to do it quickly and then go.”
John stared at Kim until he had to stop pretending he didn’t see his uncle, and he came over to John, dragging his feet. “Sir?”
“Am I not getting a hug?”
Kim’s eyes filled with tears, and he threw himself into John’s arms, right against the bruised ribs. “I hate it when you’re mad at me!”
“I wasn’t mad at you,” he said, stroking Kim’s black hair. “I haven’t been mad at you since you lit all those candles in the house when you were seven and set off the smoke alarms, then hid in the closet. And I was only mad then because I couldn’t find you and I was afraid you were hurt. I mean, you could so easily have set your hair on fire to disguise the effects of a bad trim, and then it got out of hand.”
Kim’s head fit perfectly on John’s shoulder, like it had always done, and John felt him giggle against his neck. That odd, unsettled feeling he’d had since last night, when Gabriel had talked to him, like Kim was a stranger he didn’t even know, melted away. Kim was his darling boy, had been since he was six months old. They were okay. “I had the same idea as you, about getting a copy of the book and giving it to the museum.”
“I suspected that’s why you sent us looking for it.”
“You’re my ringer, is that what I’m to understand? My wild card?”
“I’ll be anything,” Kim said. “Wild card, joker, whatever. Just give me something to do. Let me prove myself. Prove to you that my worldview and your worldview together are better than either one alone. You know what I mean? Let’s try to work together. If we had worked together, instead of both off in our own worlds, maybe things would have turned out differently for Billy. Maybe Brian would never have hurt him. And it changed him, Uncle John.”
“I know it did. But you don’t always have control over the outcome, Kim. Maybe I have felt like my job was to keep the world turning, even at gunpoint if necessary, in order for you to have the safe and happy childhood you needed to become a man. To become the person with all the potential you now have to change the world. And there are other ways to do that job. The warrior’s way, that’s only to keep the world safe, so the artists and teachers can start the real change, the changes that will resonate over time. You understand what I mean?”
“I do, Uncle J. But I’m a man now, so your job of keeping the world safe so I can grow up is done. It seems to me that there’s work to be done. It’s time for me to step up. Let me help you change the world. Or you can help me.”
“That’s not the way this goes. You work for me, and you watch and learn. I am Obi-Wan, and you are my Padawan learner. Your formal education is the starting point for what you need to learn to be successful at changing the world, okay? Also, when we finish here, I want you to complete your MFA. You may need that credential at some point, and it’s a good disguise. Lots of interesting potential for a man standing around with a camera. Besides, I hate to think of all that money going to waste.”
“Agreed.”
“What are you doing now?”
“I thought I’d go talk Arabic with Wylie, but he’s going down to the exercise room with Eli and Daniel after breakfast. Abdullah’s going with Gabriel.”
“That leaves me, then. Let’s go over the traditional greeting for an elderly person. We may have someone from the Bardo coming this afternoon. Okay, say this after me: As-salamu alaykum, Ibrahim ibn Saeed ibn Ahmad al-Aziz.”
Kim’s pronunciation, when he said the words, was close to perfect. He repeated the name until he had it memorized. “I brought you a couple of new shirts, Uncle John. Yellow is a color of mourning in Egypt. Blue might be a better choice.”
“Fine, fine. Let’s not go crazy with the credit card, okay? I just got it paid off.”
Room service brought several carts full of breakfast food, and Sam and Daniel checked for bugs on the carts and plates. Kim watched them, his eyes big, until Daniel explained what they were doing.
John picked up his tablet, signed on to the e-mail. The note from David Painter seemed like it might have little flames licking the letters, he was so pissed off. John, I’ve never known you to drink more than your share of tequila. Have you gone insane, or have you and the Horse-Lord started smoking dope? You have the boys. You have forty-eight hours to have them on a plane home or I am coming to Tunis and I’ll take care of this myself. This is a simple job. Get the boys, get them home. Explain to me what the fuck Yoda has to do with anything?
Sam brought him a bowl of oatmeal and fruit, and John sighed and studied his wild card. “Kim, when you’re working up your proposal for the elephant clock, factor in a time line. We have to be out of the country in forty-eight hours.”
Kim’s mouth dropped open. “Two days?”
John actually wondered if he could take two more days in this hotel room with a crew that seemed to be multiplying by the hour. He looked at Jennifer, piling bacon on her plate. “You’re coming with us.”
“How?” She had enough pancakes with butter to put her on Lipitor in five years. Her wrist was bent under the weight of the food on her plate. Where did she put it all?
“I don’t know yet, Jennifer, but it is not open for discussion. I’m not leaving you here when I go.”
“I see! Where am I going? Back to Albuquerque with you, or are you packing me off to my father like I’m a runaway teenager?”
Sam looked up. “You’re coming back to DC with me.”
She put down her plate, stared at Sam. “It’s so interesting the way you men are going all native on me!” Her hands were on her hips, or what John thought were her hips through the brown sack of a dress. “Do I need to
mention that I’ve been in this country for nearly six months working and doing fine before you showed up to rescue me? Suddenly I need to be protected? Suddenly my work has no meaning?” Sam looked at him for help, but John just shook his head. He would have to step up and figure this one out for himself.
Sam came over, held out his hand, and kept it hanging out there until she sighed and took it. “Please come back with me. Just for a little while. Just for whatever small amount of your time you’re willing to give me.”
Jen looked like she was maintaining a high index of suspicion over this plea, and John thought the boy might have overplayed his hand by going quite so pathetic. But he was staying out of it.
Kim was waving his hands. “Okay, guys? We need to get to work pronto. Not a minute to waste.”
“Take time for food and PT,” John said. “That’s the army way.”
“Marines take time for food, PT, and sex. We might have to do it the USMC way now the Horse-Lord is here.” Wylie thought he was being quiet, nudging Daniel, who was grinning like a fool, but John stared at him until he took his plate of food and slipped out the door.
John took the mind map of Ali Bahktar’s known relatives, went back into his bedroom. He made the bed and spread the pages out. He had seen something that was tugging at his attention, but it kept slipping out of his grasp. One of the names? Aabir al-Aziz, way off in the corner. She looked to be a great aunt on the mother’s side. Any relation to the man who had called them from the Bardo? Surely even a donkey prick could have a few decent relations? John was interested to see this man. He picked up his phone and called the number. “As-salamu alaykum. I am calling for Ibrahim ibn Saeed ibn Ahmad al-Aziz. This is John Mitchel.”
The young woman on the phone sounded flustered. “Is that Dr. Mitchel, the American?”
“Yes.”
“I will just get the director, sir, if you could hold the line for one moment?”
The old man’s voice sounded frail, John thought. He returned the formal greeting. “I remember a young student of the classics who spoke very good Arabic, here in Tunis with my old colleague Dr. Omar al-Salim. Is this the same John Mitchel who became General Mitchel?”
“It was my great privilege to study in Tunis with my teacher and mentor, Director.”
“I have seen on the television that the young American men wanted to see Carthage, but they were stopped by a gang of Salafists.”
“Very true. They were thrown into prison and hurt. But all they really wanted was to see the Bardo and to walk among the ruins. One of the young men is named Hannibal. Since he was a young boy, he had a great love for Carthage.”
“There was some question of blasphemy?”
“There was no blasphemy. The boys had a copy of a page from Al-Jazari’s book, the picture of the elephant clock. They had printed it off from the computer so they could look at it while they were walking around.”
“What did they want to see at the Bardo?”
“The boy Hannibal thought there were some of the original pages of the book, The Book of Knowledge of Ingenious Mechanical Devices.”
“I wonder, Dr. Mitchel, if I might come by the hotel and speak to these boys myself? I would like to offer my apologies for the discourtesy and misunderstanding, and perhaps I can arrange for the boys to have a tour of the museum.”
John hesitated for a moment. “Director, I wondered if perhaps you might be the great uncle of the young man I encountered, Ali Bahktar.”
“He is not a scholar, like you and I. He has no love for learning and no respect for our history or traditions, and I have not seen him for many years. But, yes, he is of my wife’s family.”
“I would be very pleased to greet an old friend and respected scholar such as yourself.”
“Thank you, Dr. Mitchel. I heard from my old friend Dr. Omar al-Salim that his young son Abdullah might be coming?”
“He is visiting Carthage,” John agreed.
“So many blessings! Old friends and colleagues, scholars, sons, young warriors named Hannibal. This will be a day full of great joy for me.”
“And for me as well, Dr. Al-Aziz. May we offer you luncheon?”
“I have a meeting this morning, but I will come to you this afternoon if that will be convenient.”
“Of course, and I will look forward to greeting you. I hope I will not disappoint you with my poor scholarship!”
“Of course not. I read the article you wrote about the attack on the USS Maine with great interest.”
John hung up, folded the mind map. They had a winner!
KIM worked on a plan to build an elephant clock for hours, long after Sam and Jen gave it up and Daniel drifted off to take a nap. It was early afternoon before John interrupted him. He and Eli were the only people left at the table, the surface covered with drawings and papers and calculations and two laptop computers, one with weather and wind charts for Carthage and one showing beachfront condos for sale. “Thinking about moving?” John asked.
Kim shook his head. “The real estate guys usually have information on their websites about how to buy land. Like, how to legally buy land in another country. I was trying to figure out where we could put the elephant clock, because we can’t put it in Carthage, at the ruins. That’s a UNESCO site, and you can’t change anything.”
“Let’s take a break and get dressed. We’re having a visitor. Eli, the Director of the Bardo is coming to see you and Daniel. I get the feeling he wants to offer you an apology, and maybe offer you a tour of the museum.”
“Hey, cool!”
“The older men in Tunisia are fairly formal, so let’s dress for the occasion. You’re about my size. Do you want to wear a suit?”
Kim frowned at him. “Not the new suit, Uncle John. You wear that, and I’ll let Eli pick out one of the new shirts I brought with me.”
“Fine, whatever, but you boys take a break for now. Sometimes you can think your way into a corner, and you need to take a break to work the knots out.”
Kim started picking up the papers, closing down the laptops. “We’re very, very close, Hannibal. I can feel a tremor in the Force. The last time I felt it was in the presence of my old master.”
Eli looked up, grinning. “They say the Jedi are extinct, their fire gone out of the universe.”
“Sir, we have an emergency alert in detention block AA-23.” The boys were falling all over the couch, giggling. What the hell were they talking about? Well, he was used to feeling clueless around Kim.
John went back into the bedroom to get dressed, wondering if he was going to hear from Gabriel. He had been gone for more than four hours, close to five. He’d gone to the embassy first. But surely he should be back by now? He didn’t want to call, though. A distraction like a ringing phone could kill a delicate negotiation. He needed to do some serious thinking about Jennifer. How to keep her safe, and how to get her out of the country. He looked through the cards on the bedside table until he found the phone number for Youssef Shakir and dialed the number.
“Mr. Shakir? This is John Mitchel. I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
“No, of course not, General. How can I assist you?”
“Two things. I need to pay for the medications your son brought, for the IVs and equipment he used to treat the boys. Also, I was wondering if your daughter has had the opportunity to contact you? I would like to tell her friend that she is well and safe.”
Youssef paused for a moment. “My daughter is enjoying her tour of Spain very much and may travel to Italy next. There is an airbase at Aviano, and she is going to try and see her friends there.”
“Excellent. She will enjoy that, I think. She may also find that there are several small army posts in Italy if she needs assistance. I will get you the names and phone numbers for emergency contacts. I know that your son will refuse any payment for his medical care, but the medicines were expensive and difficult to find.”
“Yes, they were,” Youssef agreed. “He always mentioned to me that he ho
ped one day to have access to the many medical journals published in the United States. Here mail can be difficult from America.”
“I understand that medical journals are now available online, if a person has a Kindle?”
“That is what I understand as well, General Mitchel.”
“I will speak to you again soon, if I may.”
“It is always a pleasure.”
John pulled his Kindle out from the suitcase. He only had a few titles on it. He was trying, but had not become adjusted to reading on the e-reader. He dug around until he found the plug, then turned it on. He opened his Amazon account and downloaded a year’s worth of JAMA and the New England Journal of Medicine; then he downloaded the entire files of something called Audio-Digest Family Practice, which was supposed to be for continuing education. He would have to ask Youssef if the young doctor had an area of interest or specialization.
For a brief moment he let himself remember when Gabriel had downloaded a copy of the show Spartacus from Amazon. Really, those people made it very easy to spend money! One click and there you were, back in the arena. No wonder Amazon seemed to be taking over the world. Now he’d met Daniel and Eli, he had a very good idea who wanted to put some flowers down for Andy Whitfield, the young actor playing Spartacus who’d died of cancer. Daniel’s pretty young wife was a dead ringer for the actress playing the gladiator’s wife. But John had decided the prudent thing to do would be to let Spartacus rest.
He wrapped the Kindle and power cord in a couple of paper towels for cushioning, went downstairs to find a box and have it sent over to Dr. Shakir. Jackson was roaming the halls, humming a tune under his breath. “All quiet on the Western Front, General Mitchel.”
“Thanks, Jackson.”
“Um, sir? Where are you going and for how long?”
“Down to the front desk, and five minutes.”
“Wylie said we needed to watch your back because you were a shit magnet and the Horse-Lord is still out of the building.”