“Where is it?”
“In the bathroom there.” She pointed to a door in the east wall of the cavernous room.
“Will you show me, please?”
She continued to stare at me, her arms still held out from her bloodied dress. Then she stood straighter, more erect, gathering herself, nodded, turned and began walking toward the door in the east wall.
When we reached the door, I asked her to stop and stand to its side against the wall. Her face became tense. I gave her a brief smile to try to reassure her, opened the door and entered the bathroom. It was small – three by four meters – with a washbasin, toilet and shower. I tried the basin water. It ran. There was only one small window high on the exterior wall, too small for her to try to fit through – in case her lingering doubts and fear caused her to cast me in a different light. After all, she had just met me at the edge of the abyss to oblivion. I turned on the ceiling light. I saw a suitcase, walked to it, opened it and examined the woman’s clothing and personal articles it contained. Nothing unexpected. No sharp implements.
When I re-entered the warehouse, she was still standing against the wall, watching the bathroom door. I stopped two meters from her. “Jamila, will you please change your clothing? Take your time, but not too much. I will wait for you back there.” I gestured at the worktable. “The water in the basin works, should you wish to use it. Please use the lock on the inside of the door, if that will make you comfortable.”
“Yes, thank you.” As she began to move toward the bathroom door, I moved farther away, giving her more space – more sanctuary for herself. She entered the bathroom and closed the door. I heard the lock slide into place.
I walked quickly back across the room and began searching the clothing on the bodies of the dead men. Sometimes, you find information worth knowing, things the Machines don’t know. I always found this mixture in my work to be nearly surreal: the ability of the Grid’s Machines to do amazing things and, at the same time, their utter inability to do the simplest of other things, like search the clothing on the bodies of dead men.
I found nothing of interest to me until I came to the last body - Rashid’s. In an inner pocket of his bloodstained, light-colored vest, I found Jamila’s passport and a computer disc. I put the passport into my bag.
Here, in a warehouse on the outskirts of a sun-baked town on the southern tip of the Arabian Peninsula, the disc’s presence struck me as out of place and thus immediately intriguing. I quickly pulled my camera bag around, reached into it and took out what appeared to be an IT tablet. It was, in fact, an IT tablet, but nothing you would find in any IT store, including the specialty ones. The device I was holding was of another sort altogether – far beyond the state of the art you would find in any private or corporate or government enterprise. Its battery life was measured in months. It responded impeccably to voice command, was able to respond verbally, and its processing speed was immediate. It was a Grid device.
I held the Tablet in one hand and looked directly at its screen. “Turn on,” I said. After a moment’s delay, as it verified my identity biometrically, it illuminated. I took the disc out of its plastic case and slid it into the disc portal on its right side. “Display disc content.” The Tablet’s screen immediately displayed wording in what appeared to me to be Arabic script. “Is that Arabic script?” I asked.
Tone – a different one. “Yes, the script is Arabic.” The voice also was different than the one used by the Machine. It was feminine.
“Machine, what is this?” I asked.
“It appears to be the instructions for employment of a nuclear weapon of the variety in the possession of the Pakistani government. Clear, step-by-step instructions.”
“Is anyone near or approaching this location?”
“No, there are no such persons.”
“Is Grid Actual aware of the disc’s contents?”
“Stand-by.” Fifteen seconds. “Yes.”
“Are her instructions the same?”
“Stand by.” Five seconds. “Yes.”
“I want to confirm them from Actual directly.”
“I understand. Stand by.”
The Controller assigned to a mission is the Operator’s principal human interface with the Grid during its execution. The Controller is personally responsible to Grid Actual. Still, the Operator may request to bypass the Controller and interact directly with Grid Actual at any time during a mission if he or she feels the matter is of sufficient importance.
I looked at the door to the bathroom. It remained closed. It had been seven minutes since Jamila had entered it. Five seconds. Tone – yet a different one – that of Grid Actual.
“Grid Actual.” I recognized the voice and then saw the amazing beauty of her face on the screen of the Tablet and thought again how very dangerous they are.
“Magnolia,” I said. “Please confirm your earlier instructions, specifically.”
She did so, specifically, and added, “One, six, ninety-nine, eight, two to the twelfth, bogus.”
“Thank you.”
“We believe your progress is substantial to this point. Hopefully, the woman will have some useful information to more tightly focus your next actions. It was exactly like you to save her. One of your more admirable weaknesses. She is very beautiful. We will inform you how we will extract her from Yemen and keep her safe until you have finished your work. It looks dark where you are. Take care, my friend.” She ended the communication. Civil to the end. Maybe mine, I thought – not for the first time. But I had been warned from the very beginning.
“Machine, proceed.”
“Done.” The word was said without delay. “I had proceeded on the assumption that Actual would confirm.” It then added, “Those words and numbers again.”
“Stay focused. Tablet, eject disc.” The disc slid out of the portal. I took it, placed it back into its plastic case, and put the case back into the inner pocket of the light-colored vest worn by Rashid’s headless body. I then went and picked up Rashid’s head.
Not long after, I heard the sound of the bathroom lock sliding back and the door opening. I turned to see her enter the warehouse. She was a woman of sublime beauty. In her features, in her look, in her walk. I couldn’t help but momentarily stare. Khan was a madman and a fool. She carried her suitcase. “Where is your bloodied dress?” I asked. She kept looking at Rashid’s head sitting atop the worktable, near the lamp, illuminated by it. “A message for Omar,” I said. Where is your bloodied dress?”
“I left it in the bathroom,” she said, finally jerking her look from Rashid to me.
“Good. We need to go, Jamila.” I began to walk to the door leading to the outside. “Please,” I offered, gesturing for her to accompany me. She came toward me, but not close. I shifted the camera bag across my back and offered to take her suitcase. She handed it to me.
As we walked to the door, I finger-tapped, “Are we clear?”
“There is no one near or approaching.”
I opened the door and strode through. She hesitated before coming out of the building into the unknown. I looked back at her. “It is safe,” I told her.
She looked up at me. “Yes, Michael would know that, wouldn’t he?”
As she walked out of the doorway, she saw the guard slumped on the steps, unmoving. The dark stain under his head and upper torso was evident to her as she walked past. “You did this?” she asked.
“We must leave, Jamila. Please. I am your friend. I ask you to trust me.”
She looked at me – hard. “I am trying.” She took her eyes away from me and followed.
As we walked away from the building into the night, back toward the town – the Machine’s words guiding my march – she asked, “How do you not know that I will not at some time tell others what I have seen here tonight? How can you trust me not to do that?”
I stopped and looked directly at her in the moonlight. “I cannot trust you in such matters, Jamila. But imagine someone telling you of such thi
ngs that you believe you saw here tonight. Tell me – would you believe them?”
She held my gaze slightly longer, then looked away and followed me farther into the darkness.
Two flies landed on my camera bag.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The Grid’s mesmerizing, potentially oppressive capability had been created over time by a core group of very few persons of enormous wealth whose origins had been philanthropic in orientation, seeking to help the sad state of mankind, as they saw it. They had formed a very private, like-minded group toward that end. Near the end of the 20th century, they came to realize that their goals could not be achieved through philanthropy alone, that bad elements of human-kind existed, some of them reprehensible, whose interests ran completely contrary to their objectives of relative order, tolerance, temperance, continued social development and an enlarging sphere of prosperity and opportunity for the individual. As they saw it, this was their Pax Romana, their Roman Peace. It reflected their core values. They had come to find through various harsh experiences that certain groups of individuals had no interest whatsoever in such values and goals; indeed, they viewed them as impediments to be pushed aside and were disdainful of them, and they – the Founders – had had little or no resources to use against such groups when their paths crossed. Eventually, the Founders grew increasingly frustrated, motivated and practical-minded. They spent years of hard work and enormous amounts of money to create a useful tool for such circumstances - what became the Grid.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
CHAPTER 9 – Interlude
I pulled the cloak over me and kept the headscarf atop my head. I asked Jamila to pull her scarf from about her shoulders and drape it over her hair, masking the striking beauty of her face. It was now nearly 1AM and not many people were about. I hoped that the few people who did see us thought we were a local couple out late, headed to the comfort of our home. The Machine kept watch and guided our route back to the hotel, ensuring we avoided close proximity to any groups larger than a few people.
“Any indications of police interest in the warehouse?” I tapped.
“None. The police have only been involved in local matters, as well as coordinating the visit of the individual from the Chinese Embassy. He is due to arrive this morning at 1125. No additional useful information regarding the Chinese has come to our attention.”
“What of Omar?”
“Sound asleep, protected by his five bodyguards and watched over by the Device. He does not appear to be aware of what has taken place.”
“The hotel?”
“Both Devices remain operational. One will watch over your entrance and the other will continue to watch your room and the outside corridor.”
“Where are you taking me?” asked Jamila.
“Battery life – all operational Devices?” I quickly tapped.
“Shortest life – 49 hours.”
“I’m taking you to my hotel.”
At this statement, she stopped and asked, some alarm in her voice, “Is that safe?”
“Perfectly. No one will see you come or go. You will stay in my room. You need to get some rest after tonight’s events. You will be safe, Jamila. I promise this.”
“And where will you sleep?”
“On the couch in the adjoining room. You will be safe, Jamila. I promise.”
She said nothing, only stood there, looking at me – hesitating, still deciding.
“Are we sufficiently alone to talk here?” I tapped.
“Yes, for the moment. I will advise otherwise.”
“Jamila, I have your passport here in my bag. You are free to go. Here and now. You have only to say so. I have no wish to compel you to do anything you do not want. I wish only to help you and to stop your husband. I will not harm you in any way. You must decide to trust me or not.”
“Show me my passport.”
I took it out of the bag and gave it to her. “You are free to go, Jamila. You can simply walk away right now if you wish. I will not stop you.”
She looked at me in the dim light. Then at her passport. She looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings all about her. Then back at me. “Where can I go? I do not even know where I am and I have no money.”
“You are in the Yemen, in Al Hodeidah. I will give you money if you wish to leave now. You need only be very careful to avoid Omar and his men.”
“You would really let me go? Now? Here? Give me money to leave?”
“If that is what you wish. But I cannot protect you from Omar if you are not with me. Once he learns of what happened tonight to Rashid and the other men and that you have disappeared, he will look hard – very hard – for you. He will do this out of deep fear of your husband. His search will begin today.”
She continued to look at me, thinking, assessing, deciding. Finally, she said, “It appears that I have little choice, and there is something about you that draws my trust, despite my fear of you.”
“You fear only the unknown, Jamila. Trust your other feelings. They will serve you well.”
I turned and walked ahead. In a moment, she followed me.
It took us another twenty minutes to reach the hotel. During that time, the Machine continued to guide us, twice abruptly directing me to change directions or stop and wait to avoid groups of men that had suddenly exited buildings we would have passed. From previous experience, I knew the Machine was using the few remaining Devices from my bag as scouts out ahead on our path to the hotel. Jamila noticed these abrupt changes.
When we finally reached the hotel, the Machine halted us in shadow at a gate entrance in a wall near its south side. I held up my hand, palm down, signaling Jamila to stop. She did so, intently watching me. The gate was open. Through it, I could see a few external lights illuminating the exterior of the building and its grounds.
“There is no one in the grounds about the hotel. The night receptionist – a man – is asleep in the office directly behind the reception counter. There is one other individual – a hotel guest – asleep in a chair in the lobby. He is not in a position to view the side entrance door. You should proceed.”
I nodded to her and walked through the gate to a side entrance door to the hotel. I put my hand out to push the door open.
“Stop.” I immediately took my hand away from the door and moved back away and to the side of the doorway, gently moving the woman in the same direction. “The hotel guest has woken and is now beginning to move in the direction of the elevator. Stand by.” I tapped acknowledgment.
I looked down at Jamila – she was staring at me expectantly – and raised my right index finger to my lips. She nodded, some fear in her eyes. I heard the sound of the elevator in the hotel interior.
“Please stand by. I’m having a Device check on which floor the man exits the elevator and the location of his room.”
I heard the sound of the elevator stop.
Several seconds later, the Machine reported, “The man exited on the third floor and is now entering a room there.”
Another 15 seconds passed. “The receptionist was not woken by the guest leaving the lobby. You may proceed directly to the stairs to your room. The other Device reports no one in the corridor on your floor.” It had taken the Device 15 seconds to return from the third floor to the hotel office in the lobby.
I again looked down at the woman and gestured her to follow me. She nodded nervously. We quickly and quietly walked through the side entrance and moved directly to the stairway 3 meters distant. I guided her up the stairway, down the hallway, into my room, quietly closed the door, and switched on the table light.
“I do not believe you were seen by anyone. The night receptionist is still asleep.”
I gestured for Jamila to sit in the chair near the door and again raised my right index finger to my lips. She nodded, while lowering her scarf from atop her head of raven-black hair to her shoulders.
I placed her sui
tcase down near the wardrobe and began walking throughout the room – the sitting area, the bedroom and bathroom – as if checking to ensure no one else was present, while I swept it for any electronic penetration, using my smartphone that I held out of sight from her as I moved about.
No anomalies were noted. “Room?”
“Clear.”
I turned to Jamila and smiled. “Please relax. We should keep our voices down. No one saw us enter. No one else knows that you are here. Not Omar. Not your husband. You are safely away from them now.”
She just stared at me. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“You are exhausted. You must sleep.”
“I am too frightened to sleep.”
“Do not worry, Jamila. You are safe. Truly. I will awake you should there be any danger.”
“And you will know if danger approaches, even if you sleep?” She was staring intently at me again, head tilted slightly to one side, as was her habit.
“Yes, I will know.”
“And how will you know, Michael?”
“As at the warehouse, it is something I can do.”
She just sat there and looked at me. Then she nodded, accepting my statement of fact.
“The bathroom is to the right - there - before the bedroom. Use the lock, just like at the warehouse.”
I closed my eyes to give her some privacy in these small spaces.
I heard her go to toward the bedroom and then move to the right and enter the bathroom. I heard the lock slide closed. A short time later, I heard the sound of running water.
“The woman’s extraction will take place tomorrow. The Grid has arranged the landing of a cargo aircraft to deliver harbor equipment at the airport. She has been manifested as a passenger on the aircraft’s outgoing journey. She will need to be at the cargo terminal of the airport no later than 1030 hours. You are to ask for Raoul Mendes on the Spanish Maritime Aviation flight. Your protocol is “six, time, rainy.” Raoul’s protocol will be “secondary, personally, inclement”. The manifest will contain her passport number for cross-reference. Please provide.”
I tapped my acknowledgement, then by the same method provided from memory her passport number.
The Grid Page 8