by Matt Rogers
Sayyid had yet to appear.
‘Fuck this,’ he muttered to himself.
There were too many uncontrollable variables. The two soldiers on one side of the Land Cruiser could recover at any moment. One of them was still armed. Sayyid could be anywhere — this was his encampment, after all. There were a dozen different ways he could manoeuvre himself into a better position without Slater being any the wiser.
And — most importantly — right now Slater could be choking down loose viral particles of God-knows-what. The longer he spent on the mountainside, the less confidence he had in his ability to survive unscathed.
Swearing under his breath, he ducked his head and threw caution to the wind.
He skirted around the side of the Toyota, using the vehicle as a barricade to separate him from the two soldiers. He didn’t know how lucid they would be.
The driver’s door was unlocked. Slater threw it open and ducked into the cabin.
The windshield detonated under the impact of a bullet, glass shards cascading inside the vehicle. Slater brushed a smattering of the fragments off the steering wheel and slammed the Land Cruiser into gear.
He twisted the wheel, keeping his head low, clueless as to Sayyid’s location. He heard panicked yelling outside, coming from everywhere at once.
To hold them at bay, he reached up with the Kalashnikov and fired a blind three-round burst out the gaping hole in the front of the cabin where the windshield had once rested.
The shouts died off.
Hopefully Sayyid had ducked for cover.
Slater completed a hundred-and-eighty degree rotation in the Land Cruiser and stamped on the accelerator. The truck surged across the uneven ground, its suspension jolting and bouncing as the vehicle lurched from rock to rock.
When he felt it was safe to lift his head, he shot upright and spotted the same trail leading back down the mountain, boxed in by towering rock formations.
He yanked the wheel to the left, correcting course.
Twin streams of automatic gunfire riddled the back of the Land Cruiser, ricocheting off the rear tray and sinking into the back wall of the cabin. Slater grimaced and ducked again, opting to avoid catching a bullet for his troubles.
When the Toyota roared onto the dusty track and the entire cabin shuddered under the stress of handling the off-road terrain, he righted himself again.
He let out a long exhale, trying to calm down.
To no avail.
The trail was frighteningly steep — too much pressure on the accelerator and Slater would enter into an uncontrollable skid. Despite every fibre of his being screaming at him to get away from the plateau as fast as humanly possible, he kept a measured pace.
When he came across the portion of the trail where he had gunned down the first three tribesmen, he slammed on the brakes and skidded to a halt alongside the identical truck he’d initially ascended the mountain in.
The truck belonging to the Al-Qaeda mercenary.
Veins pumping with determination, he abandoned Sayyid’s vehicle. The trio of corpses rested where they had been shot. Out of the corner of his eye, Slater noticed that one of the bodies had been turned over.
Sayyid and the two soldiers must have passed this point on their way up.
They would have suspected Slater from the get-go.
He had bought himself just enough time with the talk of getting shot at to make them hesitate, wondering if there was another assailant somewhere on the mountain.
It was the reason he was still breathing now.
He kept his eyes away from the headless kid on the side of the road, aware that if he spent too long scrutinising the body he would head back up the trail in a blind rage.
He had to keep his anger reined in.
For now.
He ducked back into the first Toyota, firing it up and setting off down the path. Sayyid’s Land Cruiser rested abandoned, doors open, in the middle of the trail. Hopefully it would confuse them long enough for Slater to put distance between himself and the mountainside.
Things were moving too fast.
He needed time to stop.
Time to think.
He fixed his gaze on the track ahead and kept his mouth shut, kicking up dust on either side of the vehicle.
Racing toward Qasam.
20
He roared back into Qasam’s limits at mid-morning, causing enough of a scene to attract the attention of any townspeople he passed by. They looked up from their seated positions on doorsteps and modified car seats, taking a break from picking leaves off khat plants to watch the pick-up truck fly past at breakneck speed.
Slater screeched to a halt in front of Abu’s residence, praying that the man was home.
As soon as he stepped out onto the potholed laneway, the familiar blue door flew open. Abu hurried out onto the street, worry creasing his features.
There was no sign of the boy’s mother.
Good, Slater thought. I’m in no state to explain anything to her.
He still needed to process exactly what had transpired.
‘You’re not working today?’ Slater said, crossing the street to pull up alongside the man.
The small talk felt ridiculous in the wake of what had unfolded in the highlands.
Abu shook his head. ‘Not after what happened. I delayed my visit to another plantation. I needed to see whether you’d make it back.’
‘Here I am.’
‘What did you find?’
Slater grimaced. ‘Let’s go inside.’
Abu ushered him back into the same spacious living quarters. He gestured to the same cushion that Slater had slept on the night before.
Slater dropped gratefully to the floor.
For the first time since the day had begun, he could let the tension out of his limbs.
Ever so slightly.
No-one would shoot at him in here.
Abu sat on one of the cushions opposite. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
Slater exhaled softly and dabbed his forehead with the corner of his shirt. It came away soaked in sweat. He hoped more than anything that the constant perspiring was a result of the intense heat, and not a more … deadly condition.
‘I have no idea what the hell is going on,’ he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
Still in disbelief.
‘What is it?’ Abu said. ‘What happened?’
‘The boy is dead,’ Slater said.
He felt the need to get that out of the way first. Abu’s face fell, and Slater could tell that the man felt genuine distress at the announcement.
Unfortunately, the kid was now the least of Slater’s worries.
In fact, as much as he was ashamed to admit it, the headless body had passed from his mind entirely.
His thoughts were choked with images of the dying wolf.
Something sinister was at play here.
He was sure of it.
‘I can inform his mother,’ Abu said. ‘She might take the news better if it comes from a fellow Yemeni. I think if a total stranger told her that, she might not be able to stomach it.’
‘She won’t be able to stomach it regardless,’ Slater said.
He had seen grieving parents before.
Too many times to be comfortable with.
‘May I ask how he died?’ Abu said.
‘You may,’ Slater said. ‘But it’s not an answer you want.’
‘What do I tell the mother?’
‘He passed away. That’s it. It was quick and painless.’
‘Was it?’
Slater said nothing.
Abu hesitated before changing the subject, furrowing his brow as the realisation set in that the boy’s death had been anything but brief. He bowed his head, composed himself, and resumed conversation.
‘I don’t think that is what’s bothering you,’ he said. ‘You seem rattled, Will.’
‘I am rattled.’
‘Would you care
to explain?’
Slater shook his head again. ‘I can’t put it into words.’
‘There is blood on you.’
‘What?’
Abu gestured to Slater’s forearms — he looked down to see tiny crimson spatters lacing his skin.
‘Ran into a problem or two,’ he muttered.
Abu leant forward, uncomfortably close.
‘Tell me,’ he demanded. ‘Maybe I can help.’
Slater told him. He started with the discovery of the boy’s corpse, leaving out the more gruesome details about the decapitation, then moved onto the encounter with the three tribesmen. He explained pressing up into the encampment, discovering remnants of some kind of bioweapon. He described the wolf as best he could, bleeding from every orifice, barely able to keep itself upright, hacking up blood and stumbling around. Then he finished on running into the soldiers, and the mysterious tribal leader known as Sayyid.
He imagined Abu would believe none of what he had just explained.
Surprisingly, the man’s face turned deathly pale.
‘The soldiers,’ he said. ‘What were they wearing?’
‘Pressed uniforms,’ Slater said, cocking his head at the strangeness of what Abu had decided to focus on. Out of all the odd components of his tale, he hadn’t imagined he would be quizzed on the military outfits. ‘They were dark navy. Almost black.’
‘Were there any insignia on them?’ Abu said, his tone abrupt.
He needed answers.
Fast.
Growing increasingly worried, Slater shrugged. ‘There was something on their breast pockets. I couldn’t quite tell.’
‘Give me any details.’
He narrowed his gaze, sinking back into his memory, trying his best to remember accurately. ‘I think it was a gun and a sword, crossed together. With some kind of arrow in between. I wasn’t paying much attention to it.’
Abu froze, paling even harder. Slater became worried he might faint.
‘What?’
‘I don’t understand…’
‘What’s not to understand? I mean — besides most of what I told you.’
‘I’m fairly certain they are the private guards to the Brigadier-General. Not military. Private soldiers.’
‘Same thing, right? They were contracted, I assume.’
‘No,’ Abu said sternly. ‘This doesn’t make any sense. I know of the Sayyid man you speak of. He has lived in the highlands his entire life. He does not associate with the Armed Forces in any capacity. I cannot imagine this would occur. The Brigadier-General hates the tribesmen with a passion.’
‘People change.’
Abu shook his head. ‘Not these kind of people. Are you sure they didn’t have Sayyid in custody?’
Slater paused for a moment. ‘No. Definitely not. If anything, they were working for him.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense.’
‘None of it does. I don’t see why you’re so fixated on the soldiers. Who cares what they were doing there?’
‘Because if the Brigadier-General is involved,’ Abu said. ‘Then there is reason to worry. I don’t think the tribesmen pose much of a threat on their own.’
‘They hacked a young kid to death,’ Slater hissed. ‘Of course they pose a threat.’
‘If what you said is true, then I was right.’
‘About…?’
But Slater knew. He almost didn’t want to admit that this was happening. He pressed a pair of fingers into his eyelids in frustration as Abu began to speak.
‘I told you they were hiding something,’ the man said. ‘It’s always been a hunch. What you saw seems to confirm it.’
‘I still don’t know what I saw.’
Slater trailed off, thinking hard.
‘You’re hesitant,’ Abu observed. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I just can’t believe something like this is happening again,’ Slater said. ‘I’ll admit it — when my old occupation petered out, I went looking for trouble. I came to this country looking for confrontation, in any way, shape or form. I guess it’s an addiction. It’s how I’m wired. But … this?’
‘We don’t know anything yet.’
‘I know,’ Slater said. ‘I know this is worse than anything I could have been anticipating.’
‘It’s not your responsibility, though.’
‘Yes it is. Like I said, it’s how I’m wired.’
‘So what are you suggesting we do?’
Slater stared out the window as the sun speared above the opposite building and filtered in through the frame. He stayed quiet, deep in thought.
‘Will?’ Abu said.
Slater looked up.
‘I think we pay the Brigadier-General a visit.’
21
‘This is a terrible idea,’ Abu said, squirming restlessly in the passenger seat of the Toyota.
Despite relentless protests, and a full half-hour of warning Slater about the consequences of sinking too deep into the political mess, Abu had been herded into the vehicle and they had set off down the mountainside. Now they sped along one of the countless dusty tracks weaving and winding through the flat Hadhramaut Valley, heading for parts unknown.
At least, unknown to Slater.
‘Who is he?’ Slater said as he peered at the far horizon, a thin yellow line from this far across the wadi.
‘The Brigadier-General?’
‘Yes.’
‘Abdel al-Mansur,’ Abu said.
‘How much do you know about him?’
‘Enough.’
‘I need details.’
‘What kind of details?’
‘Everything. How long’s the drive?’
Abu peered out the windshield. ‘Just over an hour.’
‘Then we have all the time in the world.’
‘Not if we run into a checkpoint,’ Abu warned. ‘Trust me when I say they’ll be looking for you.’
‘Who?’
‘If you keep up this pace — everyone. You’re already public enemy number one.’
‘Then it’s beneficial to us that there’s a civil war going on,’ Slater said. ‘Keeps the attention off us.’
‘Not the kind of attention you’re attracting.’
Slater paused, focusing on the shuddering suspension under his rear, weighing up what Abu had said. ‘You don’t have to be here, you know…’
Abu glanced across. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘No-one’s forcing you to come along.’
‘And what are you going to do without me?’ Abu said. ‘Drive around Yemen in circles until you stumble across what you’re looking for? Learn Arabic in the space of an hour? I don’t think so.’
Slater shrugged. ‘I didn’t say I don’t need you. I need you more than anything. But I don’t want to ruin your life. Been doing that a lot lately.’
Abu sighed. ‘You already have, my friend.’
‘Abdel al-Mansur,’ Slater repeated, bringing the conversation back to its initial subject. ‘You said he wouldn’t be seen dead with the tribes?’
Abu shrugged. ‘From what I’ve been led to believe, he despises them. I’ve seen him in the media a handful of times and every time he refers to them as primitive and despicable. You never know, though…’
‘How long’s he been in his position?’
‘A few years now. He was a controversial figure even before the war broke out. Now he’s untouchable.’
‘Untouchable?’
‘He controls a substantial fortune, you see. Did so even before stepping foot in office. Many think that’s how he got to the rank of Brigadier-General in the first place. Bought his way in. Now that he’s in an advantageous position, he uses his wealth to employ a small army of private security. Precisely why I was telling you not to try anything. Yet here we are…’
‘How’d he make his money?’
‘Property, oil, construction. The same way anyone does out here.’
‘Is it rare to be that wealthy?�
�
‘It’s rare to hit it big and then choose to stay in Yemen by choice. Especially the Hadhramaut Valley. It’s why I was so surprised to see you here. No-one comes voluntarily. Maybe that’s why he’s met little resistance. It’s seen favourably that he’s stayed true to his roots.’
‘Where does he live?’
‘On the outskirts of Seiyun,’ Abu said. ‘That’s where we’re headed.’
‘I assume he has a nice place.’
‘Very nice. It’s a mansion.’
Slater didn’t respond. He was assessing, analysing, weighing things up.
‘What exactly do you propose to do?’ Abu said, his tone bitter. ‘What do you intend to achieve? I’m curious.’
‘I just want to talk to him,’ Slater said. ‘You heard me the first time.’
‘You won’t be allowed to set foot anywhere near him. His guards will shoot you down the second you open your mouth. They’re trigger happy, given the current state of Yemen.’
‘Then we’ll have a problem,’ Slater said.
Abu reached across, seized the wheel, and wrenched it toward him, deliberately veering the Toyota off the road.
Slater clenched his teeth in frustration and battled for control, stamping on the brakes. The rear of the Land Cruiser fish-tailed wildly, barely keeping traction on the loose sand.
When they ground to a halt, Slater reached across impulsively and slammed Abu back into his seat.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he hissed. ‘You could have got us killed.’
‘Oh, really?’ Abu said. ‘It looks like that’s what you’re trying to do anyway.’
Slater let out the breath that had caught in his throat and leant back against the headrest, eyes closed, calming himself. When he opened them, he began to speak.
‘You think I’m a reckless idiot looking for a fight,’ Slater said. ‘And you don’t think I can grasp what’s waiting at al-Mansur’s mansion. You think I’ll storm in on my high horse and get myself arrested, beaten, or killed. Maybe all three.’
Abu nodded. ‘Exactly.’
‘There’s nothing I can say to change your mind,’ Slater said. ‘I have a past. It’s taught me a lot. I’m not going into detail about it, because I came here to get away from it all. I came here to do my own thing. But I’m not swimming in deep waters — I can handle almost anything. I don’t expect you to believe that, but it’s why I offered you the opportunity to get the hell out while you still have the chance. Good things don’t happen to people around me. Seems I’m just that type of person, and there’s nothing I can do about it.’