The Empty Quarter

by David L. Robbins

  A fourth American, another young one, slid aside in the dirt to make room. Arif dropped to his knees beside Nadya. The American held two plastic bags, one of blood, the other clear fluid, for them to drain into her bare arm. Three more bags of blood lay nearby. Arif kneeled into the copper stink of a burqa he’d never seen her wear before. The soaked cloak had been lifted high, exposing her left leg above the groin where the jaws of a contraption bit into her pelvis over a drenched bandage. Her wound must be grievous to have bled this badly. She lay inside a metal basket, a stretcher; the Americans had intended to take her with them before Mahmoud’s trucks surrounded them.

  Arif touched her bare leg, fighting nausea from the cool deadness of it, the spatters of blood. He rested his palm lightly in the blood, against her flesh as he had done for twenty-five years of marriage, this thigh and this hand.

  The young American said only, “Sorry.”

  “Must you look at her like this?”

  The American nodded.

  Arif gathered up her hand. Her gaze rolled to him before her head could follow.

  “Arif.”

  “My love.” He raised the back of her hand to his lips. “Should I cover your face?”

  Her dark eyes had lost none of their depth, their night; they twinkled.

  “No. Thank you.”

  “What happened?”

  She glanced at the strangers around her. Nadya walked a razor’s edge of wakefulness. The Americans gave her blood, but how much had she lost to be so shallowly conscious? She whispered, Arif lowered his ear.

  “At the clinic. Chloroform.”

  The kerchief beneath the pickup. Her keys in the dirt.

  The diplomat crouched beside Arif and spoke English.

  “Khalil is a soldier. He had orders and a duty to obey them. These air force men, they’re rescuers. They had no part in taking your wife. They knew nothing about the mission. They’re not responsible.”

  Arif clasped his wife’s hand harder and answered without looking at the diplomat.

  “Who is responsible? You?”

  “No. And I don’t know who gave the order. Or why.”

  “Do you even know why you are here?”

  “No.”

  “I do.”

  Arif set Nadya’s arm across her waist. Her eyelids fluttered as she fought not to pass out. The youngest American readied another bag of blood. Arif stood to his full height, taller than any of them. In his corner, the Yemeni shivered alone inside his own arms.

  “My wife’s father is a very powerful man in the Kingdom. He believes I tried to kill him, and in return has ordered me killed. He went to the CIA to have it done. But they could not send a drone for me unless I posed some threat to an American. So my father-in-law arranged for that Yemeni pig to kidnap Nadya. He gave them a head start, then tipped me off. He knew I would pursue. He planned it. As soon as the Sai’ar told me you were in the car, I knew. You, Joshua. You are that American. You are the bait. I chased you, and now I can be murdered. He has already tried once tonight and failed.”

  The diplomat sputtered. “You didn’t even know I was in the car.”

  How could this man be so naïve? How could he say none of them knew, not one of them was to blame? Orders were given by others, yes, but these men followed them. For that, ghostly Nadya lay at their feet barely alive, Ghalib was in cinders, three Sai’ar had been gunned down beside the desert road. An unbreakable ring of guns surrounded their mud hut, waiting on Arif’s word. Arif would lay blame as he saw fit, and he would take a full measure in return.

  He snarled at the diplomat.

  “Truly, do you think that mattered?”

  Arif bent again beside Nadya. Her face had rolled away from him. He slid his arms beneath her on the litter, to lift her away.

  Chapter 32

  “You can’t do that, pal.” LB lapped a mitt over the Saudi’s arm before he could lift the princess out of the Stokes litter. “You need to take your hands off my patient.”

  Arif glared, incredulous to be spoken to, and touched, like this.

  “This is my wife.”

  “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  Berko closed in, the only one in the hut who’d have a chance in an unarmed tussle with the big Saudi.

  Arif removed his arms from under the woman barely aware of the tug-of-war going on above her.

  Bearded, dark, in loose-hanging clothes and sandals, Arif fit in this desert world. Standing in the white beams of six trucks, a limitless dark sky for a crown, Arif had the bearing of a king here, one with guns and clans behind him. He shot a look that made LB want to take a step back.

  “If I do not leave with my wife, you will all die.”

  “And if you do leave with her, she’ll die.”

  Arif’s features remained graven, as if he didn’t comprehend that both paths would kill the princess.

  “Jamie.”

  From his place beside the princess, the young PJ spoke without looking away from his charge. He made his points gesturing over his tools and her wounded body like an instructor.

  “She’s got a torn femoral vessel in the pelvic region. That’s why we’re using this clamp, the wound’s too high for a tourniquet. She’s lost about forty percent of her blood volume. We got her hooked up here but she’s still in shock. She needs to be in a hospital as fast as she can get to one. Without a steady stream of blood and fluids, she’ll die. Even with that, she might not make it. And she’s at risk to lose this leg from the hip down.”

  Jamie, a sincere boy, looked up from his knees.

  “Buddy, that’s the truth.”

  Arif’s lips bared his gritted teeth. He balled both fists. Gazing at his unresponsive, uncovered wife, he seemed ready to scream. LB couldn’t name what flashed across the man’s face, all too fast to fathom. Then Arif’s features eased. He seemed only distant, somewhere else. In a memory, maybe.

  “You have ten minutes.”

  Arif turned to leave the hut. Berko barred his way.

  “Sir. It might take us a little longer to figure this out.”

  “I would not advise it.”

  “Why ten minutes?”

  “Because you are Americans. You have more of something coming. Another team of killers, another drone, a satellite. And as you say, my wife needs a hospital. Bring her outside before ten minutes.”

  “Or what happens? To be clear.”

  “To be clear. I will not engage you in a battle while you wait for reinforcement. We will simply destroy this hut with you in it. You’ve seen that this can be done.”

  “We have.”

  “Then as-salam alaikum.”

  Arif dodged Berko’s wide shoulders. LB called after him.

  “What about your wife?”

  Arif strode to the end of the hut, past the diplomat, Mouse, and the Yemeni spy. LB trailed the Saudi and, in the doorway, spun him by the shoulder.

  “I said what about your wife?”

  Arif knocked LB’s hand off him. He scraped teeth over his lower lip, chewing on his beard while he corralled his plain urge for violence. LB didn’t back off, pointing behind him at the princess swimming in and out of consciousness.

  “You so hell-bent on revenge that you’d kill her with the rest of us?”

  “If you do not bring her to me, it is you killing her.”

  “What if we give her to you? You got a doctor or a medic in your crowd out there?”

  “No.”

  LB lit into the big Saudi.

  “So you plan to drive her across the desert in the back of a pickup. What happens if the clamp comes loose and she bleeds out? It’ll take two minutes, then she’s dead. You’ve got to know exactly where to put it, what pressure to use. We’ll give you blood and fluids, but you don’t know how to use them. What if she doesn’t come out o
f shock? She’s still bleeding, how’re you going to keep the wound sterile, the bandage changed? And can your hospital save her leg even if she makes it there? Think this through.”

  “Why did you come here, Sergeant?”

  “To rescue your wife. You need to let me do it.”

  “Then you,” Arif drilled a finger into LB’s vest, “will go with her. You’ll save her.”

  “All right.”

  Berko stalked across the dirt floor. He raised his voice so that it would arrive before his boots did.

  “No.”

  The young lieutenant took long strides through the crisscrossing lights. LB hurried to make his deal.

  “What about the rest of these guys?”

  “I cannot say. There are debts to pay.”

  “You’re running the show out there. You’ve got to say.”

  Reaching the doorway, Berko tried with a quick gesture to shut LB down before he could protest. LB didn’t quiet on the first try; Berko shoved a hard finger between their faces.

  “Be quiet.”

  “Sir.”

  “Right now.”

  LB bit his lower lip. Berko turned his attention to the Saudi.

  “We’ll do everything to resolve this peacefully. But I won’t let one of my men go with you. You can’t guarantee his safety.”

  “I cannot guarantee it here.”

  “If you fire on us, we’ll fight back. We know what we’re doing. Lives will be lost. Not just ours. Can we talk about this?”

  “There’s nothing you can offer me but my wife. If you return her without one of your men, she will lose her leg, or die. I understand that. And if you keep her, she will die alongside you. What is there to negotiate?”

  “Sir, we can’t bring your wife outside to you. She’s the only thing keeping you from shooting us down in here.”

  “True. For another ten minutes. At the same time, you cannot keep her. It is difficult, young man. Do you pray?”

  “I do. But right now, I’ve got other things on my hands.”

  “No. You do not.”

  Arif swept through the opening in the wall he’d ruined. He picked his pistol off the dirt and walked into the starburst of headlights.

  Berko stomped through the hut, returning to the princess as if, from her stretcher, she might help the decision. The lieutenant spoke over his shoulder to LB in pursuit.

  “No. Final.”

  “Then what, LT? You tell me.”

  Berko kneeled next to Jamie, considering the pale woman in the jaws of the CRoC.

  LB insisted. “I can do it.”

  From his knees, Berko swung on him. “Back off.”

  “Permission to speak. Sir.”

  “Quickly.”

  LB walked around the princess, to squat across from Jamie and Berko.

  “This mission isn’t what we were briefed. It’s not CSAR; this is some spook rendition. We have every right to refuse to stick our necks out for this. We can leave the lady on the ground and fight our way out of here. But she’s dead if we do that, kidnapping or not. Some or all of us will be, too. You know it. Let me go. I’m the only bargaining chip you got.”

  “No.”

  “Sir. I’ve done a ton of missions.”

  “And I haven’t. That what you’re saying?”

  “Due respect. Yes. I’ll make it back. Ask Wally.”

  To calm himself, Berko blew a slow exhale. Beside him, the princess’s brow swayed slowly side to side with her rocking head and her low, openmouthed moans.

  “I know about you, LB. You did some tough stuff in the Rangers. I admire it, I respect it. Now you’re making up for it in the PJs. I got no problem with that either. But you’re not working alone. And you’re going to keep your goddam death wish in check. Do your therapy some other time, not on my first mission. We ride out together. No other option.”

  Berko nodded to himself. He’d done that well.

  Jamie and LB shrugged at each other. Jamie asked, “Where did that come from?”

  “I did ask Wally. He said to tell LB that if he started up.”

  Jamie tipped his head, masking a grin. Berko rose. LB put his hands on his hips, giving no ground.

  “Fine. Now what?”

  “I’ve got an idea. Let me check with Wally.”

  “You got an idea.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “An idea about what?”

  “Arif says he won’t negotiate. I think I know a way to make him.”

  Chapter 33

  Josh stood in the mud hut’s open doorway. Twenty yards off, in the grooves of dirt, two dozen weapons aimed his way. Behind those guns, the tribesmen’s headlights blinded the night; to see the dark with any clarity, Josh had to look straight up. This he did, wishing himself away.

  LB came beside him, exposing himself, like Josh, to the guns.

  “Captain. You might want to get behind cover.”

  “It’s all right. It’s kind of liberating standing here.”

  “How so?”

  “No pretense.”

  “You losing hope?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “We’re going to get out of here.”

  “Really.”

  “Berko says he’s got a plan.”

  Behind them in the hut, the young lieutenant worked his radio.

  “The kid?”

  “The kid’s a Guardian Angel. Like me. And we’re getting out of here.”

  On the other side of the electric and milky spill of the headlamps, Arif conferred with a heavyset, long-bearded man, one of the Abidah. Arif had a plan, too, and enough men and metal to back it up. Arif’s ultimatum to the PJs had been a Gordian knot that Josh couldn’t see a way to untie: the princess was to die, one way or another. That sealed the fate of everyone inside the walls in eight more minutes.

  “I was set up, Sergeant. So were you. So was Arif. His wife. Khalil. All of us.”

  “It’s tough.”

  “It eats at you.”

  “I been there. I know.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Gut it out. Do the job. Kick some ass later, if you can. Shut up if you can’t.”

  Josh drew a deep breath of the desert night. The expansion of his ribs aggravated the wound in his side.

  “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

  “For what?”

  “Using people like this. I trusted my ambassador. He trusted the CIA and the Saudis. I come from folks who think saving the world is possible. My dumb ass quit the army to give it a try. I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I lack the touch for it.”

  “Big job, saving the world. What else would you do?”

  “Maybe see if the military would take me back. Maybe do what you do. Try to save just what’s in front of me.”

  “It keeps you focused.”

  “You’re a little more than focused. You have a family? Wife?”

  “Nope. This is all I got.”

  On his shoulder LB wore the patch of a Guardian Angel enfolding the globe in arms and wings. Beneath the angel read the pararescueman’s creed: That Others May Live. Josh pressed a finger to the patch.

  “Is it enough?”

  “Most nights.”

  Directly overhead, a shooting star slashed a lengthy silver tail. Josh did not take it as an omen, but LB said it was a good sign.

  The young lieutenant hurried up behind them, energized.

  “We’re ready. Come on. Charlie Mike.” Continue mission.

  Chapter 34

  The trucks lit the red mud hut against the dark like a movie set, isolated and unreal. In the open doorway stood the diplomat and the short sergeant, exposed to Arif’s guns. Whether the Americans were fearless or despondent, Arif could not te
ll from where he waited behind the lights, the Makarov in one hand, Nadya’s blood on the other.

  Mahmoud had stood beside him a while without speaking, until Arif broke the silence.

  “What do the Ba-Jalal ask?”

  “Not this. Not the martyring of your wife.”

  “Then what?”

  “Only our portion.”

  The Americans had killed two of Mahmoud’s brothers: one tonight, one two years ago. The elder would see Americans die in return. This was proper. The Sai’ar would require similar terms. None of them would vouchsafe the life of any American returning with Nadya. In his mind’s eye, with the minutes draining out, Arif grabbed fat Mahmoud and shook him, Yes, you are asking the sacrifice of my wife.

  In that imagined world, Arif walked past the diplomat and the sergeant in the doorway, into the hut to sit beside her. He took Nadya’s hand, and she awoke to him pink and fair again. He told her how the Prophet Muhammad had lost eight family members in his wars to defend Allah. The Prophet could not keep his loved ones safe from the battles. Arif could not save her.

  Far above the hut, a meteor cut the night sky, a bright and final act.

  “Mahmoud, thank you for your loyalty. Your honor. And your loss.”

  The elder replied with a deep, barrel-chested sigh.

  “Obligations.”

  “When this is over, I will not stay in Ma’rib. My father-in-law will not stop. And after this, the Americans. You cannot protect me from them.”

  “I will help you find another place in Yemen.”

  “Do not. I need to disappear. I require only funds.”

  “Of course, Arif the Saudi.”

  Mahmoud moved away. What more could he say to Arif with only minutes remaining? Mahmoud hoisted his big heft onto the back of the nearest pickup to stand behind the mounted gun. This was a last kindness, so Arif would not have to do it.

  In the lights, the two Americans disappeared from the doorway. To do what, prepare to die? Pray, as Arif suggested? Not likely. These were Americans; they planned.

  Arif wanted this from them, some plan to save his wife from him. Do something clever, Americans, outfox me, get away. He tried to muzzle this part of him and wiped his blurring eyes on the back of his hand holding the Makarov. Honor, loyalty, love, vengeance, they tore at Arif like dogs, and he did not hear the airplane until it was upon him.