«Are you sure? I can't see a damn thing, man. Come on, they may be the footprints of the boy we found earlier, right?»
Hawk shakes his head slowly.
Not a boy...
«May be, but I'm not sure.»
USA base CNT222
The fluorescent tubes' cold light concurs to generate a sterile, impersonal environment. Long white tables filled with advanced medical analysis tools run along the walls.
Emily Moore is bowed at work on blood samples taken from Ahmed and the wounded soldier.
Macready and Ironside are awaiting the outcome of the analysis, whispering softly a few meters behind her.
«I've sent a team to check south-west, at the place indicated by the boy. They found the bodies of three men and four dromedaries.»
«This means that the boy said the truth», says Ironside.
«I had no doubt about this», Macready goes on. «The nomads of the desert have a honor code and a very rigid behavior. Our guest had a targui, a headdress given to males when they make their official entry into the adult world. He's just a boy, I'd bet that's the first time he leaves his village. In short he isn't yet corrupted by the outside world, and he is careful to behave as a wise and impeccable man. However», Macready makes a gesture with his hand as if to dismiss that parenthesis. «Our boys identified the tracks of two jeeps, they are after them. The robbers seem to have headed to the rocky hills area.»
Macready ends up his update, and both turn their gaze watching Moore. She's placing a slide under the lenses of a microscope. The Major looks thoughtfully and lingers for a few moments watching the scientist at work. Her red hair tied behind her back, the speckled skin with freckles.
Who knows how she may look without those nerdy glasses...
Then the soldier turns back to Ironside. «How do we handle the whole thing with the media?»
Ironside makes a face, to point out how the matter is a quite bigger fish to fry. He finished updating Thompson just a few minutes back, and his superior has been very clear on this aspect.
«Listen to me John», he said. «Officially the plane has just disappeared. Our intelligence services broke into the radar plotting and satellite database, altering the data so it's impossible to reconstruct its route. Actually, the only thing that the media know is that the Boeing has just disappeared after takeoff from Cape Town. This will give us valuable time to try and fix everything. When the situation settles down, we will decide how to move.»
Ironside guessed how things will go. With a good chance some scrap will reappear somewhere else, even considering the possibility that it's necessary to impute responsibility for the disaster to someone who's going to be a scapegoat face. The data will be altered again, they will spawn names of potential hijackers and a large group of journalists, writers, blogger and trolls on the government payroll will help direct awareness of the masses in the most appropriate manner. Alternatively, it may become another case of a missing plane. After all, Africa is a huge continent. That's it... real truth hardly reaches the people.
«And what about the remains of the passengers or any survivors?», Ironside asked Thompson, already knowing the answer.
«In the event they find any survivors, report it immediately. We will study what to do. However I don't think that you will find any. As for the remains... There aren't any, John.»
Long moments of silence had ran after Thompson's last words. His voice had taken on a mock fatherly tone when he continued : «We can't take chances, John. There's too much at stake. Handle it on the site, that's why you're there. I have full confidence in you.»
Macready clears his throat, recalling Ironside from his thoughts and bringing him back to the present. The soldier looks at him quizzically.
«Major, your men must clear everything from the area of the crash. Retrieve the black box, place it in a container able to block its signal and make sure that no one can find it or get his hands on it until further orders. Be sure to gather the remains of the bodies of the passengers and their luggage, as well as the crew, and burn them to ashes. There will be no media side, at least for the moment. May God understand and forgive us all.»
* * *
After about thirty long minutes, Emily Moore takes off her gloves and glasses, laying them on a nearby white table. She spends some moments with her eyes closed.
When did I sleep the last time?
Macready approaches behind her, handing her a cup of hot coffee poured from a thermos. «Any news about the analysis?»
«Nothing, apart from a slight dehydration in the boy's blood, there is absolutely nothing. The same for the wounded soldier. At first glance, both fit as a fiddle.»
«So in your opinion they don't show any contamination?»
«I did not say that», she replies, amazed by her own abrupt voice, then her face relaxes. «I'd say there is nothing apparently wrong. However, if you don't mind, I'd rather hear Dr. Ivanov's opinion.»
Macready just nods, and leaves the lab without another word, when a young soldier arrives in a hurry, almost slamming against him.
«What happened?», exclaims the Major, noticing the short breath of the soldier. Moore and Ironside join them.
«Sir, we have lost contact with one of the helicopters!»
Macready doesn't seem perturbed by the news. His voice is unnaturally calm. «Try and localize its GPS signal. Take standard fire-fighting measures in advance. I will be right there on the surface.»
Then the base commander takes a left hand to his ear, activating a headset intercom. «Vasquez, take Ivanov to the main lab. Stay there at the disposal of Dr. Moore, and do not lose sight of that man for a single moment.»
Algerian Desert
On the trail of the raiders
Sergeant Seagull observes the yellow and vast expanse of sand that stretches endless in front of him, fading in the warm horizon. His clear green eyes explore the desert looking for strange elements. He holds a cigar between his teeth, a gift from the chef Ugo, a still intact El Rey do Mundo.
The sun is already high in the sky and the dunes seem to tremble, roasting in the scorching heat.
The team, consisting of eight men, moves on two Humvee traveling side by side, leaving a small swirl of dust and sand behind them.
Suddenly the man next to him, visibly a body builder with Latin facial features, points at something in the distance on their right.
A slender dark thread of smoke hovers in the heat.
«Christer, two o'clock», says Seagull to the driver of the other vehicle.
Acting in sync the two trucks slow to a stop. From the roof of one of them a trap door opens.
A soldier dressed in a camouflage suit pops out to peer into the distance with binoculars.
At the same time another soldier pops out from the other vehicle's roof, staring in the same direction through the lens of a Barrett M82 sniper rifle. His viewfinder moves, overlapping the sight with a numbered grid, while the marine checks the noteworthy items.
«It looks like a makeshift camp, I see broken wooden boxes and the ruins of a shack. There is something a few meters ahead... It's the carcass of a jeep. I can see no hostile, the site seems an abandoned camp, but those assholes may have seen us and hidden somewhere nearby to ambush us.»
The two soldiers drop inside their respective vehicles, which resume their pace. They shortly reach their target.
The soldiers stop at about thirty meters from the rough shelter. The shaft is just a half-rusty metal-sheet, supported by three piles of stones that seem to defy physics, standing up for some miracle. Behind it, not far away, a half-charred jeep lies on its side. One of the rear tires is burning feebly. Other tire tracks fade out in the distance.
«Jennings, take a look around here», orders Seagull to the crew of the other vehicle. «We are going after their tracks, join us as soon as you finish the inspection here.»
The Humvee with Seagull and three other soldiers moves on, quickly moving away toward the low rocky hills tha
t pierce through the sea of dunes in the distance.
The other team exits the vehicle, the soldiers fan out moving cautiously.
They quickly notice a series of dark spots on the ground and a large number of bullet shells.
Christer Black is the most minute of the four soldiers exploring the scene. He's a clean-face, good boy. Despite his surname, his impeccably combed blond hair, so light to be almost white and his ice-colored eyes, have earned him the nickname of Ghost. The man bends down to pick up one of the shells, sensing its weigh in his fingers and sniffing it. «It's from a machine gun. There was a firefight here, not more than one or two hours ago», he communicates to his colleagues who meanwhile have moved in a fan-like fashion and are about a dozen meters ahead of him.
One of them notices a video camera, still fixed on a tripod with its legs sprawled on the ground.
Black walks toward the group, when a familiar sound catches his attention.
He turns around, raising his weapon instinctively.
The boy observes the creature just a few meters away from him with a surprised face, then he smiles, lowering his rifle.
A dog watches him, whining and wagging his tail. The animal appears uncertain. Almost as he wanted to approach but hesitates for fear.
«Hey, come here», says Christer, crouching on the ground to appear smaller and reassure the dog.
«Black, what have you said?», one of the other marines shouts promptly. He's a black with a massive body, whose face is swollen on one side by a clump of chewing tobacco. The Humvee stands between them, and from where he is, he can't see the dog.
«There's a dog, Ralph.»
«A dog here in the desert?», replies the other, while getting closer. «Be careful, that beast might be rabid.»
«More than you?», the boy jokes. «Relax man, I was born in the Mississippi's fields, my father used to bring home every stray dog he met. I grew up with them, and I can recognize the rabies symptoms. It's likely that he was with the men who were here, he must be dead thirsty, poooor boy.»
The dog lets out a yelp as the other soldier approaches, snuggling with his tail between his legs.
«Easy, easy... You are scaring him... Go ahead, Ralph, I'm coming soon.»
The other lets out a grunt in response, then walks away spitting a long dark stripe on the sand.
Black tries to get close to the dog, who meanwhile rolls on his back in a sign of submission, still wagging his tail. The boy crouches to pat the dog's belly, while the animal licks his gloves letting out delighted whinings.
«Good boy», says Black with a smiling face. At these words the dog stands, pricking his ears and staring at him. Then, confirming that he has understood what the soldier has just said, straightens to raise on his two back legs, giving a remarkable proof of balance. Black also stands up, more and more intrigued by his new friend.
«That's a good boy», he whispers as he takes the two front legs of the animal, who licks his hands in that improbable ballet.
Then the dog walks suddenly away with a jerk and stops to sniff at the ground about twenty meters away. He starts digging in the dusty desert sand.
What's up now?
The boy looks at the animal raising a small cloud of sand while digging. Ralph's hoarse tone bites behind him. «Hey Ghost, forget that little bastard, we have a job to do!»
«Cooomiiing», is Black's reluctant reply. The boy starts heading for the other.
Anyway, after a few steps he feels a tap on his left calf, accompanied by a familiar moan.
The dog is just behind him, and seems to have found something that he settles at his feet. The boy is surprised about the behavior of that dog that he has just met. He crouches down to pick up the object, shiny with saliva. It's an oddly shaped stone.
The dog gets up on his hind legs, barking at the boy, then steps back on all fours and takes off, stopping after about three meters. He looks at the soldier again, barking.
«Ah, you wanna play... That's fine boy. Just a few drills, okay?»
The soldier throws the stone away, while the dog rushes to take it back.
On the other side of the camp the others go on with the inspection.
«Seems they took to their heels in a hurry», says one of the soldiers, crouching to inspect a rifle, an old AK-47. «They left here their magazines... bags of supplies... plus their weapons...» Then pointing at the camera: «...and that one.»
«Stu, check if there's something saved in its memory. If we are lucky we might understand what happened here», says Jennings, the team leader. «Ralph, where's Black?», he shouts out to the soldier that is twenty meters away, busy checking the half-burned jeep lying on its side.
«He stood back guarding the car, Gold. I'm checking this area.»
Meanwhile, Stu fiddles with the camera. «It won't turn on, maybe the battery is dead.»
«Check it, maybe there is still a memory card inside.»
«Yeah, just doing it... Well well well, here it is, eight gigabyte.»
The marine plugs the card into a tiny tablet that he pulled out from his backpack, and he browses the menus, finding several recordings. «There are a number of movie files, minor stuff... Wait! Ooh this is quite interesting...»
Others turn their eyes towards the soldier who examines the recording with an insane grin on his face.
«Ralph, come and see!»
«What's up?»
The other seems not to have heard him. He keeps his eyes on the screen, in a demented laugh.
«Holy Mother of God, look at those boobs...», he starts suddenly. «You may hang your rifle at those nipples!»
«Come on, Stu! Stop clowning!», echoes Jennings. «Check the other files. See if you can find out what happened here!»
The soldier obeys with a grimace, scrolling through the various recordings. After a long moment he launches the playback of the second-last recording.
Stu observes the footage on the tablet's screen, recognizing the makeshift camp where his team is right now. With some differences: the jeeps, which are visible in the background, are two. In the foreground a scene already seen other times fills with dismay the heart of the man. «Fuck! Oh fuck! Jennings! Jennings come and see!»
«If this is still some bullshit I swear that you are going back to the base walking, Stu», replies Jennings while joining the other soldier. However, his expression changes when he sees what happened in that place less than an hour before.
«Damn it, Stu, set the volume up to the max!»
There's an old man, his face is emaciated, with sunken eyes and long white hair, despite the top of his head being bald. His mustache is exceptionally long, he is kneeling a few meters in front of the camera.
Behind him, two armed men, one with his face concealed by a black cloth wrapped around the head which lets out only his eyes. The boy whose face is visible has an assault rifle on his back and reads a sheet of paper like it was a parchment. He speaks Arabic and sometimes tries to express himself in a broken English. The other man wears dark clothes, he's just behind the prisoner, and holds the collar of his jacket from behind. In the background they hear a dog barking and showing up briefly on the screen. The animal barks and growls furiously, about one meter before the hostage. One of the men shouts something and moves as to kick the animal, which dodges nimbly and keeps barking loudly. The footage shows a third man, who grabs the dog and walks away taking him out of the scene. The movie goes on for a few minutes, while one of the two robbers goes on with his ranting. The elder prisoner responds occasionally, addressing the men with a series of insults.
«The audio is a shit, damn... Can you understand what he's saying?», asks Stu to Jennings.
«Not entirely. From what I see they wanted to shoot a footage to ask for a ransom, but something is not convincing me. The dog's barking covers their voices. I think these are merely a band of jackals. Look at the face of that one, he is barely twenty years old. These assholes have put their hands on the survivor and want to gain somet
hing, but they don't even know what they are doing. They're improvising.»
After about five minutes, the man ends his speech and steps away from the other robber and the kneeling hostage. He stops at the edge of the view of the camera.
«Oh, that's good», says the old man. «That bitches' raving was a real pain in my ass. Now go! Fuck that bitch you call mother, unless she is sandwiched in a camels' gang-bang!». His words vanish into a heavy cough, before he spits to the robbers. At that gesture, the man behind him raises his rifle gun, hitting the elder's skull with its butt. The noise of the hit sounds too high. The old man looses consciousness, falling heavily to ground.
A heated debate fires up between the raiders, arguing loudly and pointing to the man lying motionless on the ground. One of the bandits stoops to check him on its neck, then he turns back to the others, raising even more the tone of his voice.
«What are they saying?»
«I believe the hostage is dead. That idiot has beaten him too hard, he must have broken through his skull. Now they're arguing about what to do next.»
The three robbers in the footage seem to disagree. One of them, the one with the face covered by the black cloth, speaks with a hoarse guttural voice that covers those of the others. He makes eloquent gestures with his AK-47, pointing at the hostage and the camera. The others seem to give up, as if frightened, and they haste to obey him, although unwillingly.
«That son of a bitch is their leader», murmurs Jennings tight-lipped.
One of the robbers leaves the group, walking towards the camera, while another moves to the left of the screen. The video stops here.
«Is that all?», asks Jennings.
In response Stu moves through the tablet's file-explorer, selecting the next movie, the last one. After the playback starts, the scene seen before seems to repeat. The man who was reading the paper now wields an assault rifle, he has his head down, and he's singing a monotonous litany.
The group's leader, who hit the hostage earlier, is in the center of the camera view, with the old man on his knees before him. He is holding up his head by his hair, but this time the old man doesn't react. His eyes are closed and he seems stiff and white as a corpse. The man behind him, pulls a long knife from a liner hanging on his chest, then he bends placing one knee on the old man's back, raising his head by pulling it back by his hair. With his left hand he quickly moves the blade, rapidly severing the man's throat.
Cellular Activity- The Djinn Page 12