by Kyle Mills
Catherine threw herself against the door, but it was going to take a lot more than the soft shoulder of a hundred-and-twenty-pound woman to get it open. Finally, she turned and shouted, "What's going on? Why won't he let me in?"
Brandon shrugged.
"The crates!" she said, steadying herself against a sudden bout of turbulence. "We can slide them into the door."
She teetered over to one and grabbed the edge, but he didn't move.
"What's wrong with you?" she yelled. "Help me!"
"Can you fly it?"
"What?"
"The plane? Can you fly it? Because if not, smashing an atomic bomb through the door isn't going to get us very far."
She couldn't move the crate by herself so she staggered back to the cockpit door and pounded on it some more. "Open the door! Can you hear me? Open the door!"
"Catherine! Sit down! You're going to get hurt. We're landing and there isn't anything you can do about it."
She looked around the windowless fuselage and gave the door one last frustrated kick before sitting down next to him and grabbing hold of a strap securing one of the crates. She stared straight ahead for a few seconds, then looked over at him. "You know something, Brandon. What is it?"
"Don't worry. You're going to be fine. They're just dropping me off somewhere so there aren't a lot of awkward questions."
"Awkward questions about what?"
"If I'm there when your aircraft carrier shows up to get the nukes, a bunch of people are going to see me and recognize me from the news reports about the Fed job. Better for me to go away before that. It makes things simpler."
Her expression of defiance was clear even in the bad light "No way. Not for me."
"I know. But in the end, you won't say anything."
Defiance turned to anger.
"Of course, I'm going to say something! I--
"Oh, come on, Catherine. Scanlon will hit you with a bunch of words like 'unfortunate' and 'unavoidable' and tell you how millions of lives were at stake. Then he'll hum 'The Star-Spangled Banner' and you'll never give me another thought."
He realized how unnecessarily harsh his words sounded, but he was having a hard time controlling the anger building inside him. He hadn't wanted to die in that cave, but if he had, at least he would have gone down trying to save millions of lives. Now he was dying for nothing more than to keep a few powerful men from being mildly inconvenienced.
"Hey, fuck you, Brandon! You think --"
The wheels touched down hard enough to cause them both to slide helplessly across the floor and into the cockpit door. Brandon wrapped his arms around her as the plane bounced wildly along what felt like a field of boulders, trying to force the crates behind them from his mind. If one broke free, they were going to have a whole new set of problems.
The plane pitched left suddenly, driving Brandon's head into a fire extinguisher hard enough to fill the air with the dull ring of metal. He was barely aware of the plane coming to a stop and Catherine's weight disappearing from him. He blinked hard when a bright light washed over him, but couldn't focus or regain enough equalibrium to sit up.
There was shouting -- a woman's voice, then a man's, then Catherine landed on top of him again. By that time, his vision had cleared enough to see the pilot opening the door in the side of the plane and he squinted out at what looked like an endless blue sky hanging over an equally endless plain.
Catherine stood again, this time grabbing him by the front of his jacket and pulling him to his feet. With an arm slung around her shoulders, he was able to remain upright, but beyond that he couldn't do much more than watch the pilot as he disappeared through the door and was replaced by two Arab-looking men pointing rifles.
Chapter FORTY
The office was small and barely furnished: a metal desk of a vaguely seventies design, a couple of chairs, and badly painted walls devoid of artwork. If there had been a set of windows behind the desk, it would have reminded Scanlon of a private investigator's office from an old black-and-white movie.
He tested the handcuffs holding him in his chair, only to find that they were just as secure as they had been five minutes ago. He'd considered shouting for help, but at this time of night there would be no one to hear. Besides, the two men who had brought him there were undoubtedly standing just on the other side of the office's only door.
And so he would wait. For what? Hamdi. And death. There was little doubt of that after they'd killed Steve Ahrens. He'd never keep quiet about that. Not if he was still alive.
The real question was why.
He could only assume that the warheads were fakes or the Ukrainians had stolen the money and kept them. Those had always been risks, but Hamdi had no direct exposure to them. Obviously, he didn't trust Scanlon to keep his mouth shut and was going to shut it for him -- severing the only link to him. Very thorough.
The door behind him opened and Scanlon twisted around to watch Hamdi enter.
"Hello, Richard."
"Edwin."
"I'm sorry we have to meet under these conditions."
"Why are we? I understood the risk I was taking. I would have kept your name out of it."
Hamdi closed the door and took a seat behind the desk. His expression was a mix of sadness and resolve, though Scanlon noted that the resolve was etched a bit deeper.
"What happened to Catherine and Brandon?"
"By now, I imagine both are dead."
Despite knowing that would be the answer, the words spoken aloud hit him hard. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to fight off images of Catherine as a young girl. Of her graduation. Of moving her into her first house. Of the death he'd sent her to.
"I'm sorry, Richard. She was a wonderful young woman. And I'd actually come to admire Brandon."
"What happened?" he said, cutting Hamdi off. "It was all a hoax? Or do the Ukrainians still have them?"
"Neither. We have the weapons. The transaction went perfectly. If anything, the substitution of Brandon probably was a positive development."
Scanlon straightened in the chair, his handcuffs ringing loudly in the small room. "Then what the fuck's going on, Edwin?"
Hamdi frowned and averted his eyes toward the desk in front of him. "One of the most difficult decisions I've ever made was whether to let you die thinking everything had gone to your plan or to tell you the truth. In the end, keeping you in ignorance seemed . . . disrespectful."
Scanlon leaned forward as far as he was able. He'd never fully trusted Hamdi, but that was more the result of his nature than any real reason to believe that Hamdi's motivations weren't the same as his own. "Then I guess you have the floor, don't you, Edwin?"
Hamdi didn't respond immediately, obviously considering his words carefully. "I never intended to turn the warheads over to the authorities, Richard. Right now, they're being hidden in various strategic positions around Israel and the Occupied Territories. They've been modified with timers, and in three weeks they'll detonate. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you -- the truth is that your help in the planning and execution of this would have been very welcome. But, of course, it's not something you would have agreed to involve yourself in."
Scanlon opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His mind began replaying his long relationship with Hamdi, but he could find nothing that reconciled what he was hearing with the man he'd come to know. Sure, he had no love for the Israelis, but he'd always framed that distaste with logical political arguments and offered equally practical assessments of Arab failings. Had it all been a lie? A cover? After an entire life in law enforcement, was Scanlon so easily duped?
"You're . . . You're telling me that you're just another fucking religious fanatic? Another psychotic anti-Semite? You --"
Hamdi held a hand out, silencing him. "Please, Richard. Of course not. At best I'm a pragmatic agnostic. And in many ways I admire the Jews. They wanted Palestine and they did what was necessary to get it. That kind of determination is what it takes to suc
ceed in the Middle East. What was it you yourself said about the Iraq war? That in order to win, we needed to stop apologizing and go out and kill a hundred thousand civilians, then make it clear that we would kill another hundred thousand if necessary. That when we suspected someone of insurgency, we should kill him, his family, and everyone in his village. But you also recognized that Americans simply don't have that kind of resolve."
"That's not exactly what I said, though, is it, Edwin?" Scanlon said through clenched teeth. "I said we don't want to have the resolve. We aren't butchers, and we aren't willing to become butchers."
"And so we embark on a war in which the primary strategy for victory is hoping that the Arabs welcome their Christian invaders with open arms?" Hamdi shook his head disapprovingly.
"So you're telling me the Israelis did exactly what they had to in order to hold that land, and for that you're going to unleash a nuclear holocaust on them? Think for a minute, Edwin. That doesn't sound insane to you?"
"Don't act as though you don't understand what I'm trying to accomplish, Richard. We both know that in a time of proliferating WMDs, the existence of Israel has become an impossibility. Whether that fact is the fault of the Arabs or the Jews is irrelevant. America and the Jews have become a single entity to the Muslims -- another fact you're fully aware of. So far, we've avoided a major attack on the U. S. mainland, but how much longer? How much longer will we allow a few million Jews to hold the safety and prosperity of the entire world hostage? Hard decisions have to be made. The needs of the many must supersede the needs of the few."
"They've pulled out of Gaza, Edwin. They ----.
"Yes, they pulled out. And then they did everything possible to see that the Palestinians failed -- from keeping security provisions in place that would stifle their economy to sending people to fan the flames of hatred between the different Palestinian factions. The Jews are every bit as bigoted and fanatical as the Muslims -- make no mistake of that. They would kill every man, woman, and child in the world to hold the land that they believe God gave them. But again, I'm telling you what you already know."
"Jesus Christ, Edwin! Listen to yourself! Israel has started down the path of peace. They're tearing their country apart trying to find a way to live with the Arabs."
"To no effect, I'm afraid."
"You're going to kill millions of people! You'll be the greatest mass murderer in history. What the fuck gives you the right --"
"In fact, an al-Qaeda splinter group will be the greatest mass murderers in history. My role will be to direct America's policies in a way that creates a lasting peace. In fact, I hope to minimize casualties as much as possible. The Israeli government will be warned, and I've allowed time for evacuation. Obviously, it will be challenging logistically, but certainly possible with the help of the international community."
"You expect a whole country to just pack up and leave? That's your plan?"
He shrugged. "Of course, many people will choose to stay for whatever reason, and they'll be killed. But that is their decision, not mine. And as a practical matter, they will be the most fanatical and, therefore, the most . . . expendable."
"Didn't Hitler say something like that when he got started?"
"Oh, come now, Richard. Hitler used millions of peaceful Jews as a tool to rally his people into a vicious war. Do you really think that's a good analogy? I'm simply relocating millions of Jews who are threatening the entire planet's stability."
"Relocating? Jesus, Edwin. To where?"
"I imagine that most will be absorbed back into the countries they came from."
Hamdi's outward appearance suggested little but resolute calm. He had obviously convinced himself that he was the impartial architect of the only possible solution. But Scanlon knew that was bullshit. No one was impartial.
"And why were there so many Jews in other countries, Edwin? Because they had been driven out by the persecution of the Arabs. What's next for you? Are you going to nuke the Midwest and give it back to the Indians?"
Hamdi smiled humorlessly. "The Jews will be reabsorbed by the Western world, and the Palestinians, with a bit of coaxing, will be absorbed by the Arab world. And with that, a problem that we both know was going to end in disaster will simply cease to exist. The West Wall, the Al-Aqsa Mosque, and everything else will be gone. The land that gave rise to the disastrous myth of God will be a wasteland of irradiated sand. And because this was done by a Muslim terrorist organization, the Arabs will see it as a victory despite the hardship it will pile on them. They always do. As for the Jews, they will no longer have a Holy Land to kill for, and they'll busy themselves building new enclaves from which to practice their particular brand of racism."
"So your solution to disputes between people is to destroy the thing they're arguing about? That's a great plan, Edwin. Think how many neat little solutions you could come up with if you just had a hundred more warheads? You could get started right away on Tibet. And what about Kashmir? Of course, there wouldn't be much of the world left after you were done."
"Perhaps not," Hamdi said seriously. "Or maybe people would learn to create equitable solutions to those disputes in the face of the alternative."
"Amazing how well behaved people can be when you have a gun pressed against their temple."
"Don't be so melodramatic, Richard. It doesn't suit you. You act as though I made this decision yesterday based on an article in the newspaper. I've personally worked to broker peace between the Jews and the Palestinians. I've studied and written on the subject for most of my life. I've tried to direct America's policies --"
"And it's working! You've completely changed the administration's stance toward the issue. You're --"
"Too little, too late, Richard. I fought tirelessly for years and have managed to change a few insignificant policies, but not the attitudes that created them. What is the likelihood that the next administration will continue pushing in a direction that's at odds with what most Americans believe?"
"If they see that --"
"No. The problem with Americans is that they always want to force the fantasy of who they are on everyone else. They say that we can succeed in the Middle East by appealing to the moderates -- a strategy that doesn't even work in U. S. elections. We believe we are the only truly moral country, despite incredible murder and crime rates, the fact that we produce virtually all of the world's pornography, and consume most of its narcotics. We say that al-Qaeda are horrible terrorists because they killed thirty-five hundred people on September eleventh, but consider ourselves peace-loving when we kill and torture tens of thousands in Iraq. We demand democracy and then are surprised when, just like in America, religious fundamentalists are elected. The stage is set for endless fighting, Richard. You know this."
"So kill them all and let God sort them out? That's your solution?"
"The time for compromise and half solutions is over, Richard. The stakes are too high."
Scanlon pulled hard on his cuffs, nearly toppling the chair and feeling the bones in his wrists strained almost to the point of breaking. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have allowed this to happen? He wrenched his hands forward again, this time feeling the skin beneath the metal shackles split. Finally, he went still, his head hanging and warm blood dripping from his fingertips.
"Eventually, the oil will run out," Hamdi said. "And the Middle East will collapse back in on itself. The question is what will happen in the meantime? This is a giant step in the direction of controlling the region without killing millions of Arabs and turning America into a security-obsessed totalitarian state."
Scanlon heard a desk drawer open and looked up to watch Hamdi pull a gun from it.
"It won't surprise you to know that I've never killed anyone," he said. "I was going to have one of my men do it but again it seemed like an insult. I have a great deal of respect for you, Richard. In fact, I consider you a friend."
Scanlon stared at the black silencer extending from the gun's barrel but didn'
t bother pulling against the handcuffs again. There was no point. It was over. He'd killed Catherine, Brandon, and now how many others? A million? Two?
Had it all been arrogance? Had he gotten involved in this to prove that he was smarter than the men he'd left behind in the government? Had he been blinded by that?
"You'll understand if I don't take a lot of comfort from your friendship, Edwin."
Chapter FORTY-ONE
"Shit."
Brandon continued to lean on Catherine for support, though the effects of the blow to his head had dissipated enough that he could stand on his own. They both stood completely still, focusing first on the armed men screaming at them in Arabic, then on the warheads.
Brandon didn't speak the language, but the meaning was fairly clear. He raised his hands and shuffled along behind Catherine, who was being dragged toward the door by her hair.
The sun was hot overhead, and Brandon shaded his eyes as he jumped down to the sandy strip that passed for a runway. There appeared to be twelve men total, not including their pilot, who was quietly speaking to a guy who had the air of being in charge. Everyone was wearing desert fatigues and most were armed either with a shoulder-slung rifle or a holstered pistol. To their left were twelve parked vehicles -- everything from little economy cars to Mercedes to army trucks. Other than that, nothing. Blinding sun, sand, and sky.
Brandon shook his head in disbelief. He'd actually been overly optimistic in his prediction that he'd be dropped off, shot, and buried in an unmarked grave. Who would have guessed?
Catherine was about ten feet away, struggling against a dusty-looking man with one hand tangled in her hair and the other wrapped around a rifle. He was laughing, holding her head at waist level and jerking back and forth as she tried uselessly to free herself. The man guarding Brandon was more cautious, standing back a bit and aiming his rifle directly at Brandon's head.
"Let go!" Catherine shouted, and gave one last jerk backward. The man did as she asked, with timing calculated to send her toppling into a group of broken rocks.
"You okay?" Brandon said, prompting the man next to him to push the barrel of his rifle a little closer.