by Richard Fox
“I don’t kill with a grin, but I make sure the people I kill are the ones that need killing,” Ritter said. He took a deep breath and stretched his arms over his head. “You feeling better?”
“Not really,” Kovalenko said.
“Trust me on this. When you get back to the States, if asked, keep the killing to yourself. Civilians react one of two ways: they’ll fawn all over you, and you’ll feel even worse for what you’ve done; or they’ll treat you like you’re some sort of baby killer. Neither option is good. Besides, killing isn’t something you can understand without doing it.”
“What do I do in the meantime?”
“Accept it, if you can. I think you can do that. Anyone totally opposed to killing won’t voluntarily join the Army in wartime. If you don’t want this life, if you don’t want to see how far down the path you can go, then leave the Army once this tour is over,” Ritter said.
Kovalenko stood, his face dour. “Thanks for talking with me, sir. You’ll keep this between us, right?”
“I wouldn’t be much of an intelligence officer if I couldn’t keep a secret, would I?” The cell phone in Ritter’s shoulder pouch vibrated. He pulled the phone out; Abu Ahmet was finally calling him back.
“I have to take this,” Ritter said.
Abu Ahmet shut the door to his BMW and patted his flank where his pistol should have been. The pistol’s phantom weight unnerved him more than driving past the truck loaded with explosives and parking outside the Americans’ base. They were at war with al-Qaeda, but Abdullah had insisted they travel unarmed to this meeting.
Abdullah, wearing the sheer black robe with the gold trim of a sheikh, adjusted his new and unfamiliar mantle. He bent over to inspect his teeth in the car’s rearview mirror and ran his hand over his well-manicured goatee.
“You’ll look handsome when they take your picture at the Americans’ prison,” Abu Ahmet said.
Abdullah clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Have some faith, Abu Ahmet. They invited us over as their guests. They may be crusaders, but these Americans aren’t barbarians.” Abdullah waved to the Soldiers waiting for them at the gate to their patrol base. He walked toward the entrance, Abu Ahmet beside him.
Abu Ahmet stared at the gray concrete wall surrounding the patrol base. For years he had known his war against the Americans would end in one of two ways: at the receiving end of one of their missiles or inside those walls, destined for an American prison. Strolling into the base had a particular sense of irony.
“Don’t be nervous. I’ll do the talking,” Abdullah said.
“We are lambs delivering ourselves into the mouth of the lion. I’ll be as nervous as I want to be.”
The mess hall served double duty as an ersatz meeting hall. The tables were folded and stacked against the wall to make room for a low table and four metal chairs, where Ritter and Shelton sat across from the visiting Iraqis.
Ali, the interpreter, carried a tea set into the room and placed four small teacups in front of those seated and poured the piping-hot tea onto the sugar in the base of each glass teacup. The sheikh looked shocked to see a proper Iraqi tea service. Ritter dismissed Ali, who took his time leaving the room.
Abdullah took a cautious sip from the tea. He nudged Abu Ahmet with his elbow, who then picked up his teacup and held it under his nose.
“Sheikh, do you not like the tea?” Ritter asked in Arabic.
“I’m sorry, but this tea is very different from what we’re used to,” Abdullah said as he took a deliberate sip. “What kind is it?”
“It’s an American tea,” Ritter said, “called Lipton.”
“Lip-ton,” Abdullah said.
“What’s wrong?” Shelton asked.
“Nothing, just small talk about the tea,” Ritter said.
“Speaking of, where the hell did you find the tea set?”
“I brought it from Victory. I’m your Iraqi engagement coordinator. Me without a tea set is like you leaving the wire without your rifle,” Ritter said.
Shelton shrugged and checked his watch. “It’s been half an hour of small talk. When can we get to the point of this meet and greet?”
Ritter had insisted on keeping the initial conversation light to “build rapport,” which struck Shelton as nothing more than wasting time. As per Ritter’s instruction, he thanked the Iraqis for warning them of the car bomb attack and repeated his thanks two more times. In Arabic, according to Ritter, if you really mean something you say it three times. A single thanks would come across as insincere.
“Have at it. I’ll translate as you go,” Ritter said. Shelton opened his mouth to speak, and Abdullah promptly cut him off.
“Captain Shelton, we need your help fighting al-Qaeda. We need weapons, ammunition, and money to defeat these animals who’re raping our country,” he said. Abdullah paused and looked at the dumbstruck Ritter.
“Well?” Shelton said.
Ritter shook his head quickly and translated for Shelton.
“There is no way in hell we can give them weapons and ammo to…what? A militia? The brigade commander will lose his shit if I even ask, and so will the lawyers. Tell them I have all the weapons we need to beat al-Qaeda. We just need them to tell us where they are,” Shelton said.
“I’m sure we can work out a deal where—”
“No.”
“This is an opportunity to—”
“No.”
Ritter bit his lower lip and translated Shelton’s refusal to the Iraqis.
“Mr. Ritter, my tribe is leading the fight against al-Qaeda. If we can show that the Americans support us, then the other tribes will follow our lead. Right now, we can do little more than throw rocks at those terrorists,” Abdullah said.
“Weapons and ammunition are a problem, but providing you with money is easier. Reward money. Lead us to our missing men, and the reward is a quarter million dollars,” Ritter said.
Abu Ahmet and Abdullah exchanged glances.
“We don’t know where they are. No one in our tribe had anything to do with the kidnapping, but we could find some of those involved. What kind of reward would that be?” Abu Ahmet said, his first contribution to the discussion.
“What’s your reward budget?” Ritter asked Shelton.
“I have to follow brigade’s approved list. Five hundred for an IED, two thousand for someone on my target list. You want to catch me up?”
“We’re negotiating.” Ritter pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and gave it to Abu Ahmet. “That man, Abdul Karim, was involved in the kidnapping. He’s worth ten thousand if we get him alive.”
“Dead?” Abu Ahmet asked.
“Nothing.” Ritter’s answer elicited a heavy sigh from Abu Ahmet. “There are others we need: the man who attacks this base with mortars, anyone responsible for attacks on Americans.”
Abu Ahmet froze at Ritter’s words. “I know the mortar man—I know where to find him. He is part of a tribe allied with al-Qaeda,” Abu Ahmet said.
Ritter translated for Shelton as he considered Abu Ahmet. In an interrogation Ritter would have used Abu Ahmet’s verbal slip to pry open Abu Ahmet’s insurgent connections. No one was so knowledgeable by accident.
“We will do what we can, but we need help now. How can I show the tribes that the Americans are with us?” Abdullah said.
“He needs some wasta, something to show some influence,” Ritter said.
“The robe doesn’t cut it?” Shelton said with no small amount of snark. “We tried a medical visit a month back, but there were IEDs on the route that slowed us down, and maybe six people showed up.”
“We can bring doctors and medicine,” Ritter said.
Abu Ahmet rolled his eyes. “Last time, you brought only male doctors. Our women can’t see a strange man—”
“We will bring female doctors,” Ritter said. He paraphrased the conversation for Shelton.
“Why are we wasting time on a medical? What about Brown and O’Neal?” Shelton said.
&
nbsp; “A few cups of tea are a start, but trust is something we have to build with them.”
Shelton’s nostrils flared. “You tell that to my men sitting in a shack somewhere, waiting for al-Qaeda to film their beheading.”
“We’re moving forward. If we rush this, we lose this,” Ritter said patiently.
Three knocks banged on the tin door to the mess hall. Lieutenant Park stuck his head inside. “Sir, the engineers are ready to blow the truck,”
Shelton stood. “Tell them we have something to show them.”
Ritter and Abu Ahmet stood next to the headquarters building and watched as Abdullah negotiated the rickety ladder to the guard tower. Shelton, already in the tower, encouraged the young sheikh with an outstretched hand. Abu Ahmet pulled a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and offered one to Ritter, who accepted.
“You don’t want to see?” Ritter asked.
“My legs aren’t what they used to be.” Abu Ahmet hiked his dishdasha up to his knee; a mass of scar tissue covered his right calf. “Iranians,” he said. “There’s more to see, but I’ll spare you the show.”
“Abu Ahmet, Captain Shelton and I have different resources we can offer in your fight against al-Qaeda,” Ritter said.
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t have the same restrictions Shelton has.” Ritter handed Abu Ahmet a pack of cigarettes. Abu Ahmet opened the pack; it was stuffed with hundred dollar bills.
“Five thousand to cover your immediate needs. Bring us Abdul Karim or anyone who can help find our missing Soldiers, and I’ll get you the weapons and bullets.”
Abu Ahmet ran a finger along the edge of the bills and shoved the pack into a pocket. “I should keep this arrangement quiet?”
“It’s easier that way,” Ritter said. “We haven’t spoken about the man behind the attack, Mukhtar.” Abu Ahmet’s eyes narrowed at the name.
“There is blood between us. If we find him, handing him over alive is impossible,” Abu Ahmet said.
“He knows where the missing men are. If we have them back, then I don’t care if he lives or dies,” Ritter said.
“Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole! Fire in the hole!” an engineer yelled from the rear hatch of his MRAP.
“Cover your ears,” Ritter said as he placed his palms over his ears.
Seconds later, the car bomb exploded with a crack that sounded like a thousand-year-old sequoia snapping in half. The blast wave shook the ground beneath Ritter’s feet and blew the sheen of dust covering the base into the air. The base’s antenna mast bent against its restraints. A pair of elastic bungee cords lost the battle and snapped off, chasing the blast wave.
Ritter uncovered his ears; the smell of burning diesel and flesh filled his nose. He looked up and saw a puzzled Abu Ahmet looking down at him. Why was he on his knees? He looked around for the Iraqi he’d been interrogating only moments ago.
“Jennifer!” he cried as he came to his feet. Ritter stumbled back against the wall.
Abu Ahmet grabbed his shoulder. “Are you all right, habibi?” He used an Iraqi word that roughly translated to “my friend.”
Ritter pressed his fingers against his right temple to stop a sudden headache. He took several deep breaths and told himself what was happening. It was psychosomatic. Nothing more. Not another concussion. He fought to pull his mind away from the day Jennifer had died. The blast must have triggered something inside him, some part still damaged by the blast.
“I’m fine. Just louder than I anticipated.” He squared off against Abu Ahmet. “We’ll arrange for the medical visit. Help us find the missing Soldiers, and we’ll help you with your fight against al-Qaeda. Deal?” He held out his right hand.
Abu Ahmet shook his hand. “Deal.”
Chapter 20
“The outer cordon is two gun trucks a hundred meters from the school.” Shelton tapped a pen on an aerial photograph of a building with a large courtyard. “A second checkpoint is here...covering both avenues of approach. We’re expecting the Iraqis to bring their women to this, so that comes with its own set of problems.”
“Everyone gets the wand and a pat down, right?” Marist said.
“No, don’t touch them. You can search the men on the way in. We’ll have female Soldiers at the entrance to search the women,” Ritter said.
The assembled lieutenants shifted in their seats and grumbled at the instructions.
“Sir, hajjis just sent a truck full of fuck-us-up to our doorstep. You don’t think they’ll stick a bomb under one of those sheets their women wear? And you want us to just let them waltz right past us?” Marist said.
Ritter closed his green notebook and set it on the map table between the company’s leadership. “There are some necessary tactical risks needed to make this work.” He crossed his arms.
“Since when are we dancing to hajji’s tune on how we do things?” Marist asked.
“Since we need them on our side,” Ritter said. “You’ve done things the Army way since you’ve been out here, and where are we? The locals hate our guts and let al-Qaeda set up shop in their backyard. Now we have a chance to pull them away from al-Qaeda, and the playbook we’ve been using won’t get us the results we need. That’s why we’re doing this medical visit. At their request and on terms they can agree with,” Ritter said.
“Sir,” Marist said to Shelton, “we can’t let the Good Idea Fairy put us at unnecessary risk. Every time we go in that part of our sector, we get hit. Doing things Captain Ritter’s way—no offense, sir—is going to get us killed.”
Shelton’s perpetual frown slunk lower than usual as he nodded along with Marist’s reasoning. “This is the plan we’re going with. If Sheik Abdullah is bird-dogging us into a trap, we’ll know pretty quick. I don’t think that’s the case, as his guy Abu Ahmet could have let us eat that car bomb if he’d kept his mouth shut.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Lieutenant Park said. “The medics are supposed to be here any minute, and they’re staying the night. How many women will be on our patrol base?”
Sergeant Young’s eyes widened as he looked over the roster of incoming personnel.
“Six, including some civilians,” Young said.
Shelton cursed and slammed his pen on the table. “Tell every last one of your Soldiers that the Lord of the Flies existence they’ve enjoyed here is suspended until the female Soldiers leave. Take down the titty pics, and if anyone hits on our fellow servicewomen, they will be on shit duty until this war ends. Understood?”
Sergeant Greely burst through the door to the operations center. “Sir, you’ll want to see this!”
The TV in the recreation room had two functions: video games or news. As the room filled with Soldiers, the television served the latter purpose.
“While this report is unconfirmed, it is believed to be authentic,” the news anchor said from off screen as grainy footage showed two white ID cards lying on a table: Brown and O’Neal’s military identification cards. The Dragon Company Soldiers watched in silence as the anchor continued. “Al-Qaeda in Iraq claims that they have the two Soldiers, whom the Army has classified as ‘duty status whereabouts unknown,’ and will kill the Soldiers if the search for them isn’t called off immediately. A spokesman for the Army has yet to issue a statement on this new development. To recap—”
“Goddamn it,” Shelton said as he left the room. Ritter followed him back to the operations center.
Shelton walked up to the wooden desk with the plans for the upcoming operation and kicked it hard enough to send it crashing into the wall. A leg snapped off and rolled like a struck bowling pin in front of the wrecked table. Shelton placed his hands on his hips and let his chin rest against his chest.
“What does this mean, Eric?” Shelton asked.
“Hard to tell. The video has no proof of life. We didn’t see their—” He caught himself before he could say the word bodies. “We didn’t see them. This isn’t the way al-Qaeda normally exploits prisoners. In a way this is good ne
ws.”
“Good news? They just threatened to kill my men if we don’t stop looking for them.”
“They wouldn’t do that unless they’re alive somewhere. Mukhtar…He has a reputation when it comes to prisoners,” Ritter said. He was treading close to knowledge he was forbidden to share.
“What sort of reputation?”
Ritter swallowed hard. “Mukhtar used to work for Khalid Sheikh Mohammed, the man who planned the 9/11 attacks and murdered that reporter, Daniel Pearl. Khalid taught him to finish off his prisoners, the sooner the better. They’re too much trouble to keep on hand for too long.” Ritter didn’t mention Mukhtar’s involvement with the kidnapping and murder of a CIA operative in Pakistan; that would generate questions Ritter was forbidden from answering. “If Mukhtar wanted them dead, he’d have killed them within hours of kidnapping them and sent the video to every news agency in the Middle East. That hasn’t happened, so he’s keeping them alive for a purpose.”
Shelton turned, a glimmer of hope in his eye. “So they’re alive?”
Ritter nodded.
“Why the video? Is he taunting us?”
“Taking a Soldier hostage is unheard of. This raises his profile with the rest of al-Qaeda; he’s bragging.” If Shelton convinced himself that his men were gone, then there would be no incentive to cooperate with Abdullah or Abu Ahmet, and their only links to Mukhtar and the missing Soldiers would vanish. Ritter didn’t believe half of what he was saying; he hoped his stream of bullshit was working.
“All right, all right, I believe you. We stay the course until we find them.”
Ritter pressed a switch on his M9 pistol and slid the weapon into two parts, then placed the bottom assembly on the towel on his desk. He removed the spring and barrel from the upper assembly and pulled a shaving brush from his cleaning kit. Based on the number of traditional shaving brushes sold at American military bases, one might think the military was attempting to revive the art of shaving with a straight razor. In reality, the shaving brushes were ideal for cleaning sand from the many deep-and-tiny crevices of firearms.