Cold Snap

by J. Clayton Rogers

A room door swung open and Ben stepped out and shouted:

  "I'm here, I'm here!"

  Everyone in the parking lot gaped at him as he began to stroll over to Lawson and Ari.

  "Two idiots," said Lawson.

  "Three," said Ari when he saw a pair of hands appear at the edge of the door Ben had come out of.

  "Don't you shoot me!" Ahmad shouted. "If you shoot me you'll never found out who I sent your files to!"

  "The geek," said Mohammed with grim satisfaction. "Come out, geek! Let us see your piss-soaked face!"

  Ben had stopped and was looking back in disgust at Ahmad. As the boy passed him, he gave him a punch in the arm.

  "Thanks a lot."

  Wincing, Ahmad hurried forward, only to be slapped upside the head by Ari.

  "Stop dragging your feet. It annoys me no end."

  "Ow! I'm trying to save you!"

  "You've just killed us, all of us."

  "Aw, no." Ahmad turned frightened eyes on the face-hidden man before him. "I uploaded a file with all sorts of names. Arabic names, and more. It's in the cloud. That's new. The file automatically downloads to the FBI if I don't stop the clock. It's password protected."

  "My geek can crack passwords," Mohammed said, nodding at Rhee's nephew.

  "Like hell," Lawson laughed. "He was phished like a complete novice. How do you think we got the file in the first place?"

  "If you hurt any of the others," Ahmad continued, "I won't tell you the password. And even if your guy can figure out the password, he won't know what site I used."

  This amused Mohammed greatly. "You'll talk. Take the others into the room and kill them."

  The gang began moving forward as one. Lawson said:

  "Now hold on thar, pardner. I take it you're the boss here?"

  "What of it?" said Mohammed.

  "Nothing much." Lawson sent a mangled grin Ari's way. "Light 'im up."

  Ari went breathless when three laser targeting dots appeared on the back of Mohammed's head. When he heard the gasps from some of his men, Mohammed turned and flung up his hand against the ruby light.

  "That's right, Wolfman," said Lawson, reaching out and poking Mohammed. "Tag."

  Mohammed turned back, his eyes wide in his ski mask. "You're bluffing. Those are only laser pointers."

  He jumped to the side. One of the targeting lights shifted onto a motel coach lamp, which exploded a second later. Mohammed stopped dead.

  "That's right, pardner," said Lawson, obviously enjoying himself. "You got enough firepower here to snuff a small garrison, but you won't live to see it."

  Like everyone present, Lawson's breath rolled out from him in a roiling cascade, only his was accompanied by a necrotic stench. He had left his Therabreath behind, or forgotten to use it in the tension of the hour.

  Ben came up and patted Ahmad gently on the back. The young man jumped in surprise. Then, in turn, he patted Ari and Lawson.

  "God is with us," he said. "There's no need for fear."

  "Yeah," said Ahmad, looking unconvinced.

  Ari and Lawson, focused on the man before them, hardly heard.

  "Three shots to the head," said Lawson to Mohammed. "I figure your brain will end up all over everyone, your teeth will spray over the lot, your eyeballs...ever seen an eyeball popped out of a man's head? I've had some experience in this matter." He hooked his cane on his forearm and pointed at his glass eye.

  Once again, Ari's predictions were outclassed by events. Lawson had come better prepared for the unanticipated. Had his men been waiting in a separate car, or had he gone to the trouble of setting up the ambush before walking into the motel room? In any event, he intended to take full advantage of the moment. He stepped forward and snapped off Mohammed's balaclava.

  "Ooh," said Lawson. "You're as ugly as you look. And I know ugly. That scar on your head helps some. You got that at A-Zed?"

  Ari reached out to take Mohammed's gun, but the man's grip tightened. His dread turned his face to stone, but his eyes were lively, shifting. Most often, they seemed directed at the first van.

  "Elmore," he said, "you might want to place one of those targeting lights on the driver of that van over there."

  "Got that?" said Lawson to a hidden microphone.

  One of the ruby lights shifted off the back of Mohammed's head onto the cab of the van. The driver raised his hand to block the light as it glanced on his eyes. Gauging Mohammed's expression, Ari reached out again. The gun slid easily from his hand. Noting this, Lawson said, "Put another spot on that van."

  "Can I go back in the room, now?" said Ahmad.

  Ari was surveying the parking lot. A few of the improvised ninjas looked edgy, as though they were prepared to start shooting no matter what the consequences. Something besides the invisible snipers was holding them in place. Fear of the leader, uncertainty over the whereabouts of Rhee's immigration list, or both. But before he could play with either of these possibilities there was a howl from the Sprinter and Abu Jasim charged out.

  "God is great!" he bellowed, brandishing an MGL grenade launcher.

  Everyone but Lawson dropped to the ground. Ari frantically scanned the gang, ready to snap off a shot at anyone to took aim at Abu Jasim.

  "Stand up!" Abu Jasim shouted. "Stand up, before I blow you to pieces on the ground!"

  Slowly, everyone rose. To Ari's alarm, he focused on Ben.

  "You! You stole my Thunderbird!"

  "Stop that, now!" Ari commanded.

  Abu Jasim shot him a menacing look. Ari was not intimidated, but everyone else was. There were murmurs from the gang members. It was fucking Saddam Hussein! Fucking Saddam Hussein with a fucking grenade launcher! And he looked crazier than ever!

  Abu Jasim strolled over to the nearest ninja. "Take off that stupid hat. It makes you look like a translator for the Americans."

  Ari bristled at his tone. He had spent a fair amount of time wearing such a ski mask while translating for the Americans.

  The ninja stared at the rocket propelled grenade aimed at his midriff and slowly began removing his balaclava.

  "I'd feel a lot better with something in my hand," Ben murmured.

  "Want my Berretta?" Lawson asked, turning to him. "I'm shooting by proxy."

  "Thanks, but Ari gave me a loaner." Ben drew a handgun from under his coat.

  "Holy, holy, holy," Lawson intoned.

  Abu Jasim stared at the unmasked man before him. "Hey, what are you? Hey Colonel, I think we got a Chaldean here! He's as white as a Kurd's ass!"

  "He's Yousif Habbi," said Ari, his mental Rolodex rolling through old police files. "His family sneaked into America after the Uprising. Age, twenty-nine, he has macular scars with depigmented centers from when the police put their cigarettes out on his back."

  Yousif reeled in horror. The other ninjas shifted uneasily, not knowing if to shoot or run. Then one of them said aloud, "It's the Godless One."

  "Who?" Mohammed said, half turning to face the gang, only to wince when the targeting light pinked his pupil.

  "He's a traitor. He works for the American Army."

  "If America's such a shithole, what are you all doing here?"

  Ari felt dozens of eyes shift away from Abu Jasim and pierce him.

  "No, I work for Saddam here," said Ari, taking the opportunity to present a cocky strut and forging into the ninjas. He thought he heard Lawson say something about not getting them killed. "Don't shit with Saddam! Look at him, crazy as a Ramadan pudding. You know what he's like. He'll blow us all into Hell if you piss him off. So you'd better take off your masks! Hasan Al-Jamil, Abu ibn Al-Quassim! Are you here? Come on!"

  "Hasan isn't here," said Mohammed over his shoulder. "You shot him in both arms, remember? He's laid up."

  "Will he survive?" Ari asked.

  "Praise be to Allah."

  Ari grunted. Only a few of the ninjas removed their ski masks. Ari decided not to press the others. This could still easily end in disaster. He went up to Rhee's nephew and helped h
im to his feet. He fingered the zip tie binding his wrists.

  "Anyone here got a knife?" he called out.

  No response.

  "All this hardware, and no knife?" Ari shook his head and shoved the nephew in Ben's direction. "Go stand over there. We'll take care of you, later."

  "Kill him!" someone shouted.

  "Him?" asked Ari. Then his eyes widened innocently. "You mean me?"

  "He knows all of us! We can't let him out of here!"

  "I won't say I know all of you," said Ari, sauntering over to one of the unmasked men. "But Ammo Eshoo, I happen to know. He was accused of murdering Munir Yonan. Did any of you know Munir? Personally, I find the murder of one of my racial kin by another repugnant."

  Regarding his dark complexion, they returned blank stares.

  "He's lying!" said Ammo, backing several steps. "I escaped during the Uprising, like most of you!"

  "No, you ran away from Dora two years after the rebels were put down because Munir caught you robbing him and you slit him gut to throat."

  "You're lying!"

  "Go fuck your brother. He was in on the killing. He's here too, isn't he?" Ari drifted his eyes over the crowd.

  "It's DISGUSTING!" Abu Jasim strutted through the ninjas, his launcher shifting across his prospective targets. "Good Arabs associating with Chaldean and Assyrian scum. Only in America!" He spat. Obviously, he had forgotten his own dealings with the Chaldean Mafia. He whirled on Mohammed. "Where's your self-respect?"

  "He left it in Nineveh when he torched Abdul Ghafour al-Mutlaq ," said Ari. "I saw the video you made on Route 12."

  Sayid raised his hand against the laser and turned to Ari. "That's not..."

  "Possible? Obviously, someone found it and sent a copy on to me." He had to make certain no one here knew of his connection to CENTCOM. "I think American intelligence did it as an insult. They enjoy seeing Arabs kill Arabs, no matter what their news commentators say."

  Lawson's hidden sniper has painting Mohammed's forehead with the targeting light, making him look like a Hindu deity.

  "Why would you do that, Mohammed? Can I take a guess? First off, you and your companions re-entered Iraq through Syria, an expensive endeavor that would also require connections; both of which the Chaldean Mafia probably possess. You…or whoever pulls his strings..." Ari nodded at the driver of the van. "...had approached the Chaldeans with a business proposition. You had found out about a Korean importer who sidelined in illegal immigration. They also happened to make extra change selling novelties to tourist shops. I think you found out about the Korean's immigration business by accident, when you asked some Iraqi immigrants about the trinkets they were wearing. The Koreans probably couldn't sell them fast enough, and unloaded them as free gifts to their customers—including the immigrants. You approached the Koreans with a proposition. If the Koreans would share their connections, you would supply him with a shitload of Iraqi customers, with himself taking a cut as middleman. The Koreans said sure, if he could find enough would-be émigrés to make it profitable. Were they kidding? The Iraqis couldn't leave town fast enough, and a lot of those ended up with the Chaldeans. Everything went well for a few years. But then came the first fuckup. One of your business partners went off to Iraq for some reason. I don't know why, but he was probably stiffing the Chaldeans. You boys have a lot of relatives in Nineveh Province, and that's where Abdul Ghafour was caught and flambeaued. Were you shipping guns to your kin in Hadra? Was Abdul Ghafour diverting them to Sunni rebels? That would piss the Chaldeans off no end, so they ship Abdul Ghafour's buddies off to Iraq to settle the matter...very graphically, I might add. How am I doing?"

  "You started cold and are getting colder," said Mohammed.

  Ari glanced at the office window. There was no sign of the manageress. She had no inclination to begin writing down license plate numbers. There was no sign of a security camera. He ignored Mohammed's denial and continued:

  "So, with that problem settled and the four assassins safely back in the States, everybody's happy again. Only suddenly, out of the blue, someone plants a disease into the A-Zed computer and downloads all its data. The hacker was looking for evidence of a cash-for-crash ring, and got more than he was bargaining for."

  Which was less than the truth, but Ari was stabbing for the eyes. The heart would come later.

  "The Chaldeans found out that their illegals had been compromised, they told you or your controller to fix it, or else...and here we are. Poor Sung-Soo Rhee thought he had taken care of the problem by trashing his computers. But that wasn't good enough for you, because you knew Rhee would have to reload all that information from his backups or go out of business. So he goes in with his friends, tortures Rhee for the passwords, makes a copy of the immigrant list and trashes Rhee's computer, and were probably going to cut his throat, but...well, you were interrupted. And now here we are. Now let that be a lesson to you Chaldean boys: never trust an Arab."

  Abu Jasim glowered at him.

  "Moreover, if you think you can go home now and then bump us off one by one at your leisure, think again. I don't know about this cloud business. For all I know, Immigration is already reviewing your names—I'm sure most of you are on that list—and in no time they'll be sending their hordes after you. So you have no time to plan a good, gruesome execution for us. You need to haul ass. I hear Columbia is looking for immigrant workers. If you want to save your necks, go pick coffee beans."

  It was possible they wouldn't care if Lawson's snipers picked off Mohammed and the man in the van. They were the ones who had gotten them in this mess. Ari was hoping the Chaldeans needed to resolve certain matters, and Sayid Mohammed's death would leave too many things hanging in mid-air.

  Some of them began retreating to the vans. One, mask still on, was standing close to Abu Jasim, his glaring eyes almost hidden behind the steam of his breath.

  "I remember you," the Chaldean said. "We met in Milwaukee."

  "Never been there." Abu Jasim said.

  Ari stepped over to Mohammed, making sure the ruby light did not paint him, as well.

  "Where's Ethan's body?"

  "Can I move, now?" Mohammed said to Lawson.

  "You just stay right there until this gentleman decides you can leave," Lawson said.

  "How about me?" Ahmad griped. No one bothered to answer.

  "You wouldn't have gone to all this trouble if you didn't think we had the only copy of the immigrant list," Ari continued. Mohammed seemed ready to collapse from dread. The targeting light played over his face like a cannabilistic firefly seeking a soft spot to nibble. "Cm'on, Mohammed, you tracked him down, didn't you?"

  "Yes and no," said Mohammed. Ari was surprised. He had not expected an answer.

  "I think I hear sirens," said Ben.

  "Why are you interested in him?" Mohammed asked Ari. "What good would it do you?"

  "I want my cat."

  "What?"

  "Where's the body, that's all. It's not like Iraq, here. They don't like people just disappearing. The law is strong, but it's weak in some things. Without a body, the book stays open. That makes the authorities nervous and costs time and money. Let's close the book."

  Across the lot, the man facing Abu Jasim removed his mask. It was Abu ibn Al-Quassim.

  "You don't remember seeing me? I remember you. Strutting around, trying to make the Chaldeans think you were Saddam while saying you weren't. You're nothing but a kis."

  Abu Jasim, who was quite strong even when drunk, flipped the Milkor like a quarterstaff and clipped Quassim on the side of the head.

  "Your language is foul and you set a bad example for the fucking Americans."

  "There's no body," Mohammed told Ari.

  "What, you threw Ethan's body in the river? You took it to Beacon Corner to have it incinerated?"

  "I don't know Beacon Corner. The hacker isn't dead."

  "But you got the list back?"

  "Ethan sold it back to us. Five-hundred thousand U.S. Dollars."
<
br />   Ari was so taken aback that for the briefest instant he lost his composure.

  "Where is he, then?" he demanded.

  Now everyone could hear the sirens. All of the ninjas were now retreating to the vans. Two gang members ran over to Quassim, pulled him up and helped him across the lot.

  "I don't know where he is," Mohammed told Ari. "We never saw him. He contacted us and we arranged a pickup. We tried to trick him, but he slipped away."

  "You intended to kill him?"

  "Of course. How do we know he didn't make a copy?"

  "Indeed. But if you had the list back, why did you go to A-Zed?"

  "We went for the squirt." Mohammed cautiously pointed his chin in the direction of Rhee's nephew. You saw the list, didn't you? The icons are in Korean. Can you read Korean?"

  "Why did you almost kill Rhee and his bodyguards when all you needed was a translator?" said Ari.

  "Only Rhee knew the password to A-Zed's main computer. He changed it every day so the geek couldn't go in without his knowing. And we needed a copy of the latest immigrant list because it had been updated."

  "But you could go anywhere to get a translator," Ari insisted.

  "Whenever he was allowed inside the A-Zed computer, the kid had complete control. Did you know each separate page of the spreadsheet is password protected! That's almost five hundred pages..."

  "We have to haul ass," said Lawson. "I can't deal with the cops. I'm hypoglycemic."

  "Listen," said Mohammed. "You only know the least important part of the story, and you don't even have that right. This immigration list...it's just for the Chaldeans. But there's something else...it means everything. It means the world."

  "Grand exaggerations put me off," said Ari. For the sake of accuracy, he should have added that other peoples' grand exaggerations put him off. "These bombings around town...are you involved in that? What do Paul Trinity and Abdul-Wali have to do with you?"

  "I can't tell you..." Mohammed glanced back at the van. "And I'm not exaggerating. We're dealing with something you can't imagine. Let us do our work."

  "Are you employed by ISAF?" Ari demanded.

  "Who?" Turning, the ruby dot struck Mohammed's eye. He raised his hand. "Can you have your man turn this off?"