Son of Syria

by Schafer, Ben

  He did as I requested. I tossed my rifle into the SUV, did a quick check to ensure that everyone was seated, then pressed the accelerator to the floor. The engine roared to life and we shot out of the parking lot accompanied by a screech of burning rubber.

  Someone in the back seat gasped as we came around to the front of the office complex. I didn’t have to turn my head to see what triggered the outburst. The wreckage of the Huey burned in the parking lot, a grotesque funeral pyre for the men inside the cockpit. Metal was twisted beyond recognition and the rotor blades were completely shattered. Shards of the fragmented engine were embedded in cars and concrete alike. Smoke billowed from the shattered glass canopy, obscuring the crew from view. I hoped for their sake that they died on impact. It was a better death than choking in the fumes or roasting alive. Either way, there was nothing we could do for them.

  We had exacted a heavy toll on their murderers, but I knew that there were more out there waiting for us. “Jamil and Nadir, roll down your windows and keep an eye on the surrounding buildings. If anyone starts shooting, please encourage them to stop.” Jamil stuck his rifle out of the right window while Nadir covered the left.

  Sure enough, only a few moments passed before some idiot across the street from Imady Consulting began shooting at us. It was a slow, steady rate of fire. A sniper, then, with what I guessed was a bolt-action rifle. If we had come in or out through the front door we would have been easy targets. Bolt-action guns have great accuracy, but they have a poor rate of fire. By this point we careened across the asphalt at a speed somewhere between reckless and suicidal, so the sharpshooter had no chance for an accurate shot. Jamil took a couple of shots in the direction of the sound, but it was hard to pinpoint the source in the urban canyon.

  Meanwhile, I kept my eyes peeled for the tell-tale flash that would indicate a RPG had been fired. There was little we could do against such a threat except move unpredictably to make it hard for them to get a clear shot. We had to get out of effective range. My eyes were so focused on the surrounding buildings that it barely registered that there was another car stopped in the road of us. I swerved at the last second to avoid a little red Honda Civic that was in our way. The driver responded with a flurry of shouts and honking, but we were past him in an instant. By then, the office building was a white block shrinking in the distance.

  I avoided the major highways near Imady Consulting. If the gunmen were as well-connected as their leader suggested, then they might have been watching those routes to and from the target. But they couldn’t watch every back road, and I took advantage of that. I drove a circular path, looping occasionally on the same road to ensure that no one followed us. No one who was honestly trying to drive somewhere would drive on the same road two or three times and in opposite directions. We would appear lost at best and crazy at worst, but it was a good way to ensure we were in the clear.

  Once I was certain no one was following us, I pulled into the parking lot of a tiny but well-maintained two-story building. There was a quaint, family-run cafe downstairs and what looked like apartments stacked above it. I performed one last check with the mirrors, then turned off the engine.

  “Why are we stopping?” Khamilah asked. “In case you’ve forgotten, there are men trying to kill us.”

  I turned in my seat so I could see her. “Relax. Nobody followed us.”

  “He’s right,” Nadir said. “Kyle took the appropriate precautions.”

  “Thank you, Nadir.” I addressed the rest of the group. “Right now, we need to figure out our next move. Now, we could pull over in the middle of the desert if it would make you feel more comfortable, but I’d rather make plans over lunch.”

  “I agree,” Jamil said. “I’m starving.”

  “With everything that just happened, I could use some coffee,” Nadir added.

  “Okay. Nadir, take everyone inside and find us a place to sit where we won’t be disturbed.” Nadir nodded, and everyone began filing out of the Land Cruiser. Jamil turned to follow the group, but I put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back. “Can you stay back for me? I could use your help with something.”

  “Sure.”

  I moved around to the back of the vehicle and opened the trunk. Inside, buried under boxes of books, was a cargo mat on the floor of the trunk. It was one of those things that had carpet on one side and little rubber spikes on the other to keep it steady. The boxes swayed as I tugged on the mat, but I managed to extricate it without causing an avalanche. I shut the hatch, then handed the mat to Jamil, “Wrap the guns in this then toss them in a Dumpster.”

  Jamil stared at me. “What if we run into trouble again?”

  “I can’t promise that we won’t have any more trouble. But if we hold onto those guns, I can guarantee that we will. The army has checkpoints all over the city. If they catch us with these guns, the army will suspect us of being part of the rebellion and we all go to jail for a long time.”

  Jamil shook his head. “They’d just shoot us and be done with it.”

  I held my hands out to my sides. “Just don’t be seen, okay? We can’t afford to deal with the police right now.” Jamil nodded and began piling the AK-47s onto the rubber mat. A thought struck me. “Hey, I’ve got a question.”

  “Yeah?”

  I followed him around the side of the building. “I thought you led the others out of the stairwell.”

  Jamil hefted the heavy package into the Dumpster, then nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

  I frowned. “Then why was Nadir the one who noticed the gunman? Or had you already passed when he reached for his pistol?”

  Jamil wiped his brow. “I saw you talking to a guy. Couldn’t see a pistol, though. But I guess he could have had something strapped to his left side.”

  “That’s right,” I confirmed.

  Jamil nodded as if that answered my question. “That’s it, then. I didn’t see that he had a gun. How could I?”

  My frown deepened. “But somehow Nadir saw it.”

  Jamil shrugged. “Who knows? The guy worked for the government. Maybe they taught him to read body language or something.” He noticed my expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I lied. From the look on Jamil’s face, he didn’t buy it. Maybe he wasn’t as dumb as some of the others seemed to think. “Okay, fine,” I conceded. “But this isn’t something I want you to tell anyone. I don’t want them to get the wrong ideas.”

  Jamil put his right hand on the wall and leaned to the side, trying to look relaxed. It might have worked if he hadn’t recoiled after touching the bricks. A grimy black film coated his hand. “Now you got me interested,” he said as he wiped his hand on his pants. It was still filthy, but apparently within his acceptable standards. “You don’t want them to get the wrong ideas about what?”

  “Less what than who,” I corrected. “I was talking to the assassin because I was trying to find out who had hired him.”

  “Sure,” Jamil said. “Did he tell you anything useful?”

  I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. He was on the verge of saying something, but Nadir shot him before he could say it.”

  “Huh.” He stroked his chin with his grime-covered hand and it left tiny streaks of black on his skin. “Do you think Nadir knew that he was going to tell you who was behind the hit? That he killed the guy to shut him up?”

  My shoulders slumped. “I don’t know what to think right now. But someone needed inside information to put that ambush together. Until now, I thought that the helicopter crew made a mistake and somehow blew their cover. But if it was someone inside the group . . .” I didn’t have to finish the thought. Such a scenario could be a total disaster.

  Jamil nodded. “Okay, but if Nadir is trying to wreck our escape from Syria, he could have made his move much earlier. We were waiting at St. Paul’s for over an hour before you arrived. That would have given him plenty of time to do whatever he wanted to do. And I still can’t see why he’d give us up. Unless you think his ‘ret
irement’ was fake.”

  “Even so, I have a hard time believing that he would put his wife in the line of fire like that,” I said.

  “Maybe it didn’t go according to plan,” Jamil replied. “I mean, they weren’t expecting you to be there.”

  I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “All I know for sure is that Nadir saved my life when he shot that assassin. Maybe I should just be grateful for that.”

  Jamil studied me for a moment. “Now that the idea is in your head, it’s going to keep gnawing away at you.”

  “I can’t keep us safe if I have to split my focus. But I don’t want to end up with a knife in my back, either.”

  “Well, I know I was a real hero back there, but I’m no soldier,” Jamil said with a chuckle. Then he saw that I was serious. “I can keep an eye on him for you. I agree that something is weird here. If Nadir is working against us, I’ll warn you if he makes another move.”

  Some of the tension eased out of my shoulders. “I would appreciate it. But don’t be obvious about it. Like I said, there’s no reason to give the others the wrong idea.”

  “And if it’s the right idea?” Jamil asked.

  I grimaced. “Then we deal with it. But only when we’re certain. I’m not going to have this group tearing itself apart with suspicions and intrigue.”

  “You’ve got it.”

  “Anyway, we’ve got more immediate concerns,” I told Jamil. “Go on ahead and get something to eat.” I looked at the grime on the wall. “And be sure to wash your hands. I’ll meet you inside when I’m done.”

  “Where are you going?” Jamil asked.

  “I’ve got to make a call.” I waited until Jamil entered the cafe, then pulled the satellite phone out of my pocket. I dialed in the number I had memorized from the briefing in Malta.

  It took four rings before someone answered with a gruff, “What?” The voice sounded like a throat cancer patient after they gargled with gravel. It was the kind of voice that made an impression.

  “Captain Grimm?” I asked.

  “Well, it sure ain’t Santa Claus. This Jirair?”

  I grinned despite the dire situation. Captain Grimm had a surly reputation, but when I worked with him he seemed to be a good man. “It is. And I’m glad to see your sense of tact is as keen as always.” My tone grew serious. “Listen, Captain, something has gone wrong. I am executing Code Bravo.” Code Bravo was our technical-sounding way of saying Plan B.

  “I just got off the phone with your boss, who said the same thing. What happened?”

  Interesting. Cuvier already knew about our situation. He must have tried to contact the helicopter crew and realized what was up when they didn’t respond. “We were ambushed. Our transport was shot down before we could get on board.”

  “I’m sorry, kid.” There was a rough, grinding sound. It took me a moment to realize that Captain Grimm was chuckling. “At least it didn’t happen after you got on board.”

  He meant it as a joke, but it triggered something that had been stirring in the back of my mind. If the assassins only wanted to kill us, why didn’t they wait until we got onto the aircraft? It would have been faster, cheaper, and far more likely to achieve maximum casualties. The only explanation was that they wanted us to survive. As I mentally replayed the events at Imady Consulting, I realized that the gunmen only shot at us, at me, after I shot first.

  Whoever was after us wanted us, or at least some of us, alive. And Nadir may or may not have killed a man to protect the identity of the people behind the plot. This whole thing kept getting weirder.

  “Captain, I don’t know who is pulling the strings here, but they’ve got significant resources. I’m starting to think that this is a lot more complicated than I was led to believe.”

  Another attempted chuckle. “Story of my life, kid.”

  “I’ll read the autobiography when it comes out,” I quipped. “Until then, I don’t want to spend another moment in this country more than necessary. How soon can you get here?”

  The line was silent for almost a full minute. I started to think that the call had been dropped when I heard, “—peat message. Are you still there?”

  “I’m here, Captain. I said that I need an ETA; the sooner the better.”

  Captain Grimm took a moment to respond. He was probably talking to someone on his end. “Sorry, Jirair,” he said. “We’ve got some interference on the line.”

  “Yeah, I noticed. Any idea what the problem is?”

  “No, but all this extra equipment your people hauled onto my ship is probably screwing with the transmissions.” His voice grew quieter, more intense. “Look, son, I like you,” he whispered. “That’s why I don’t ask any questions about who you are or what you are really doing. CIA, MI-6, Men in Black; I don’t really give a damn. But if this thing comes back to bite me in the ass—” He was cut off by more static on the line, but I got the idea. I liked the captain and felt a little guilty for keeping him in the dark, but it was as much for his safety as ours.

  I looked up and down the street for anyone who might be listening to the conversation. No one was visible, but that didn’t necessarily mean that I was alone. By speaking in English, I gave myself a little bit of an advantage, but it would not be too hard for anyone eavesdropping to find someone who could translate.

  At this rate, paranoia was going to give me a heart attack before a bullet could get me. “Your ass is fine, Captain. And I appreciate your understanding. I’m doing everything I can to keep your name out of this. I just need to you to trust me a little longer.”

  “All right,” Grimm sighed. I was relieved that my message had gotten through to him. “But I want double my usual rate. Call it hazard pay, if it makes you feel better.”

  “Consider it done,” I promised. Hannigan would have a fit, but I knew Cuvier would back my play. Captain Grimm was a good man to have as an ally, and Hannigan would be wise to make sure that he stayed that way.

  “I’ll get the guys in the radio room to find a-” I frowned as more static cut into the transmission. “—ould be in Tartus ready to go in about twenty hours.”

  I kept my voice calm and under control. “That timeline is no good, Captain. These people are at immediate risk, and I’ve got nowhere to stash them for that long.”

  He sighed. “Jirair, we are working as fast as we can. But we weren’t ready for something like this, and it takes time to go through all the normal pro—” another burst of static interrupted him. I ended the call.

  There wasn’t much left to say.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  THE café had a Western flair to it and would have been at home in an Arab neighborhood of any major American city. A young man wearing a greasy apron over a yellow T-shirt stood behind the counter, but aside from him we were the only ones in the building. I could see that the others had ordered and had already made significant progress with their meals. I knew from experience that near-death experiences can really work up an appetite.

  I started to approach the counter to order some food for myself, but stopped when I saw Azima waving to me. There was one open space at the table, between Azima and Omar, and there was already a plate of food waiting.

  “I ordered for you,” Azima said when I approached. “Chicken shawarma with some fries on the side.”

  “You remembered,” I said as I slid into my seat.

  Azima shrugged. “We ate shawarma almost every day when we were kids. I figured that your appetites couldn’t have changed too much.”

  “I can’t believe that you people can eat like this after what just happened,” Khamilah scolded, her own place at the table clear of any food. “The mere fact that there are men out there trying to kill us makes me—”

  Azima hushed her. “Keep your voice down.”

  Khamilah rolled her eyes. “Why? Because of the kid behind the counter? He works here, he’s not a spy.”

  “Either way, their concern is justified,” Nadir said. He looked to me. “But I want to hear you
r opinion. Do you think the gunmen were rebels?”

  Omar recoiled at the notion. “That’s insane!”

  “Come on, Omar,” I said. “A heavily armed group of attackers playing outside the normal rules? That sounds like rebels to me.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “Why? Why would they want to kill us? What possible good could come from that?”

  “Because they see you as a traitor and want to see you silenced?” Khamilah suggested, an expression close to glee crossing her features.

  Nadir put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. It looked like he was trying to rein in a wild horse rather than display affection. “My dear wife,” he said with artificial sweetness, “why would you torture the poor boy when you know that I was the far likelier target?”

  I raised an eyebrow and traded a significant glance with Jamil. “And why is that, Nadir?”

  He looked down at his plate and began idly pushing a ball of falafel around with a piece of pita bread. “Let me just say that I have—” He paused and looked around the cafe to ensure that no one was listening.

  The young man behind the counter seemed more interested in the vertical stacks of rotating meat, a staple of shawarma cuisine, than in anything his customers were saying. Confident that no one was eavesdropping, Nadir finished his thought. “I have done certain things on behalf of the government. Things that, at the time, I believed would make my nation safer. Things I now regret.”

  “The sorts of things that would make you a prime target for rebel retaliation?” I asked. “The kind of things that would make your enemies shoot first and ask questions later?”

  He nodded, a look of profound sadness on his face. “Very much so, yes. And I’m afraid that, by associating yourselves with me, you have all been made targets, as well.”

  “Fantastic.” Jamil said, mouth stuffed with shawarma. “You have the army and the rebels chasing you.” He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “And I thought I had problems.”

  “Hold on,” Azima interjected. “We don’t know that the rebels are even responsible.” She dipped a piece of pita bread into a dish of garlic sauce and tried giving it to Hashim, who stubbornly refused to eat anything that wasn’t a French fry. Azima sighed and popped the bread into her mouth instead. “I’m just saying that it might be dangerous to jump to conclusions at this point. It could blind us to the real threat.”