With a deafening roar and a rumble in Arif’s clothes, an invisible giant swooped low over the hut and the Abidah’s gunmen. Many of the qabili raised hands to their ears to block out the blaring engines. The plane zoomed by without lights, a colossal jinn of the night. It banked tightly, tracing the earth, sowing a din over the Abidah that left room for no other sound. As if by that genie’s magic, one headlight of a pickup truck exploded and went dark, followed the next instant by the other. Then the lights of one more truck popped and extinguished.
Tumult ignited among the men in the trenches surrounding the hut; they ducked lower into the dirt, frightened even more, waving at each other because their voices could not be heard. The long gun barrels in the beds of the Abidah trucks swiveled into the air and around to the darkness to find targets. Old Mahmoud looked lost, unaccustomed to the suddenness of battle. Around the hut, the headlights of two more trucks went dark, shot out.
The large plane peeled away. In the easing racket behind it, an unseen and speeding vehicle snarled nearby in the desert flats. A long volley of gunfire ripped from it. Another tandem of shots rang out. The truck bed beneath Mahmoud rocked, then collapsed like a mule on its haunches onto two flat tires.
Arif fixed on the hut, the focus of many lights and weapons. None of the shots had come from there. None of the Americans inside pointed a gun.
“Yes.” He strode to the center, saying, “Yes.”
With a minute to spare, the Americans had made their move.
Two of the Ba-Jalal trucks began to pull out to go after the ghost vehicle. Arif ran into the remaining headlights, arms high.
“Stay where you are! Do not chase them! Stop!”
The trucks halted, then slowly drove their headlights back around to Arif and the hut. He called to the restive tribesmen in the archaeological ruts.
“Have any of you been hit? Anyone? No?”
The qabili spoke to each other. Heads shook. Arif turned.
“Mahmoud!”
He beckoned the elder into the core of the lights with him, only twenty steps from the bullet-pocked mud wall. Behind it, the quiet Americans kept a close eye.
Fat Mahmoud took his time entering the center. He walked glancing left and right at the big guns around him, even though they were in the hands of his brothers. He arrived a little wild-eyed.
“There are more Americans out there, Arif. We should not stand in the open.”
“Calm yourself. No one has been hit. They are shooting over our heads.”
“Why would they do that?”
Arif faced the hut. He shook his head at the watchers while he spoke to Mahmoud.
“For four years I was a mujahideen with the Afghans. We fought like this, guerillas against greater numbers. The Americans are trying to make us think we are the ones surrounded. To break our resolve, make us chase them into the night, where they have the advantage.”
Two more shots potted out of the dark. Another pickup rocked backward onto popped tires.
“Why are they shooting at our trucks?”
“To take away our lights and our mobility. Listen to me, Mahmoud. Tell your brothers and your fighters to fire into the air. All of them. Do it now, and watch.”
Mahmoud moved swiftly, feverish to get out of the lights and the middle of so many bullets. He waved his arms, turning a circle.
“All of you, Ba-Jalal and Abidah! Fire into the air! Fire!”
At once, Arif and Mahmoud stood in the midst of an explosion of weapons, as though on the rim of a volcano. Three dozen muzzles flared straight up; the five .50 cals howled the loudest, a deafening and fearsome barrage. Arif fired his Makarov at the stars. Mahmoud trembled visibly.
Arif let the fusillade go for seconds, then signaled for quiet. The shooting was hard to quash; the tribesmen enjoyed triggering into the air. Arif walked a wide arc, gesturing broadly until the reports petered out on all sides. The final salvos vanished into the desert beyond the invisible Americans.
“Now have your men train their guns on the hut.”
Mahmoud shouted again. With the rattle of arms, every barrel bent low, pointed at the Americans peering from the mud windows and doorways.
“Go back now, Mahmoud. There will be no more shooting at your trucks.”
The elder Ba-Jalal gazed at Arif as if he were looking at madness.
“What will you do?”
Arif checked his watch, fated to see the second hand tick the last moments of the allotted ten minutes.
“As I said. Watch.”
Mahmoud waddled away.
Arif had nothing to wave at the Americans, only his kefiyeh, but it was black. He made a show of setting the Makarov on the earth, as before. He showed both his white palms in the lights, and waited.
From the doorway of the hut, a checkered cloth waved in answer. Bareheaded, the American diplomat stepped into the clear. He strode toward Arif until the harsh sergeant stopped him.
Chapter 35
“Whoa.” LB stepped out of the hut to grab the diplomat by the arm. “Where’re you going?”
Josh stopped but continued to wave his kefiyeh.
“This isn’t combat. It’s diplomacy.”
“Diplomacy with guns is combat. Get back inside.”
LB hauled on the bigger, younger man, pulling him behind the shot-up wall.
Berko flattened a hand against Josh’s chest to push him against the mud bricks.
“Stay right there. Do not move. You understand me?”
“Fine.”
“One minute.”
Berko got on the team freq to Wally.
“Juggler, Berko.”
“Berko, go.”
“Shots fired, no casualties. It was a message. He can blow this hut down whenever he wants. Suggest you stand down.”
“Roger. Quincy, Dow, you copy?”
The pair of PJs, the two best shots in the unit, had been the snipers. Under cover of Kingsman 1 buzzing the hut, they’d crawled close to the ring of trucks, then shot out tires and headlights.
Both checked in. “Confirm. Standing down.”
“Rally at GAARV.”
Berko lowered his hand from the big diplomat’s breastbone. Josh held against the wall, biting his lip.
“Juggler, Berko. It worked. Arif wants to talk.”
“That’s the guy in the middle? Arif? Torres wants to know. She’s on the satellite.”
“Affirmative. I’m going out to parlay.”
“Roger that.”
“I’ll take LB with me.”
“It’s your call.”
“Juggler, any intel on additional resources?”
“You’ve got the C-130 in place. Torres has CAS incoming. Two armed Predators, thirty minutes out.”
“Tell her thanks.”
“Will do. Good luck, Lieutenant. LB?”
Berko ducked out of the conversation. LB checked in.
“Juggler, LB. Go.”
“Sit rep on the package.”
“She needs immediate evac. Stable but still in shock. She won’t survive if we give her to the husband. She needs care all the way to the hospital.”
“Berko tell you my thoughts on that?”
“Word for word.”
“Good. It’s a kidnapping. I don’t like taking her. I don’t like leaving her.”
“Roger.”
“You and Berko go talk to the son of a bitch. Figure this out.”
“How about the SEAL team? They on their way?”
“Negative. It’d take them over an hour to get here on ATVs. We’re still dealing with minutes.”
“What if Arif wants to fight?”
“Then he’ll get a fight. Tell him I said so.”
“Roger. Out.”
Josh had moved between LB, the lieuten
ant, and the doorway. He extended his kefiyeh to Berko, then a hand.
“So I’ll see you two back here in a few.”
LB shook first. “The bad penny.”
Berko clasped hands with the diplomat, too. Mouse called encouragement. Jamie said to tell Arif there was a crosshair on his forehead. The Yemeni spy said nothing.
“You go first.” LB put the lieutenant in front of him. “Keep waving that thing.”
They stepped into the open behind Josh’s kefiyeh. Only two sets of headlights lit them directly as they advanced; the lamps on two of the trucks had been blown out by Quincy and Dow. Two other pickups squatted on their rear rims with their back tires punctured, tipping their beams above the hut.
LB slung his M4 across his back, away from his reach. The lieutenant did the same, and lowered the checkered headdress. Arif waited for them thirty strides away, on the dirt track leading from the main road. No traffic rolled in their direction. No one from the village only a mile off was curious at midnight to come see what the shooting was about. This was Yemen, like Afghanistan and Iraq, where shooting was part of the people’s lives.
Berko stopped walking to turn on LB.
“Follow my lead.”
“What’re you going to say?”
“I’m going to threaten him.”
LB took in the guns aimed at them, enough to deliver about three hundred rounds per second.
“Nice.”
They resumed walking. The big Saudi spoke when they had come within ten yards.
“Go back, Lieutenant. Bring medical supplies. One of your medics. And my wife.”
Berko walked through the words to put himself face-to-face with Arif. LB stayed at his shoulder.
“I’ve got two armored vehicles waiting on my word or your next bullet. That big plane’s got two chain guns on it, and if I call it back that’s an angry thing, trust me. I’ve got ten commandos with night-vision goggles and sniper rifles in positions around your men. There’s a crosshair on your forehead right now.”
Arif blinked. A corner of his mouth curled, a half grin. The rest of him remained stolid.
“I have seen your tactic. I’ve used such bluffs myself long ago against the Russians. It can be effective against the inexperienced. But in the end, it makes no difference what you have or what you claim. If one more of your bullets is fired at my trucks or my men, we will mow this hut down like wheat. Then we will deal with your ghost commandos and your unarmed plane. And you may trust me.”
Arif indicated the PTT button clipped to Berko’s vest.
“Get on your radio, Lieutenant. Tell your men.”
Young Berko kept his posture hardened, but did not speak or move as he was told. LB weighed the responses, unsure which the young officer might pick. Arif hadn’t been fooled by Wally shooting out tires and lights, the shooting in the air. Arif’s terms were unaltered: bring out the princess and a PJ, and no guarantees beyond that. With enough guns in place, he had the upper hand. And he’d made his peace with killing his wife in order to get at the Americans inside the hut.
Arif spoiled for a fight. Berko had no counter except to do as Wally said, and tell him he’d get one.
Berko held his tongue, still studying the big Saudi up close. LB readied to stride forward and insert himself. Before he could, the lieutenant spread his arms, breaking the icy posture between him and Arif.
“It’s already done. We’re standing down. There’ll be no more shots.”
LB was left off-balance, to swallow his bluster. Berko paid no attention, staying fixed on Arif.
“Why’d you call us out here?”
“For you to bring my wife to me. And for one of your men and his bags of medicine and blood to come with her.”
“You knew I wouldn’t do that. Something else.”
“And what do you believe that is?”
“You need a way out. You need us to help you find it.”
Arif chewed on his beard, black strands crossing his teeth. He pointed at LB.
“Send him away.”
“He stays.”
“I stay.”
Berko turned his palms up, offering.
“Let’s start with what we both want. Your wife to live. Do you believe that?”
Arif waited, staring as if counting his breaths.
“Yes.”
“The only way to make sure that happens is if you let us leave with her right now. We’ll get her to a hospital, care for her all the way. We’ll save her life, and maybe her leg. Is that right, Sergeant?”
“More than likely.”
“Anything else, Arif, anything else, and her life is in serious danger. Let us keep her alive. You can figure the rest out later.”
The Saudi gazed to the brown hut where she lay, stymied.
LB slapped his own thighs, time to speak up.
“Man, she’s in there dying right now. Make up your mind. If you start a fight, you’re dead, we’re dead, she’s dead. And understand something. We actually do have backup out there. I don’t know how good your boys are, they look a little raggedy, but ours are real good and they’re not going to let you just kill us and roll out of here. Forget that. And one more thing for you to chew on. You were right. There’s an American satellite watching your ass right now, and a couple of armed drones on their way. If the shooting starts, none of you are getting back home either. So what the fuck. Pick something.”
Berko did not interrupt, but when LB paused he pushed him back a step away from Arif.
The Saudi licked his lips, considering some internal logic. Berko waited but LB twirled a finger, impatient and done with diplomacy. Drops of blood, dying flesh, Predators and Hellfire missiles, trigger fingers—he stood on the faces of too many ticking clocks and he wanted to get off.
“It is not so simple, Sergeant.”
Berko answered for LB.
“Why not? Life or death. Simple.”
“The Sai’ar will bury three brothers at sunup. The Abidah have nothing of their own brother to bury. My wife was kidnapped by the Yemeni spy you are protecting. You cannot walk away from this. The tribesmen will not let you.”
Berko asked, “Would they if you told them to?”
Arif considered.
Berko pressed.
“Arif, try. There’s a bloodbath waiting for all of us if you don’t. The one innocent person, the one who hasn’t pulled a trigger and didn’t come here by choice, is your wife. What’ll save her life? Can you think of a way to do that?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then do it. And we’ll call it a night.”
Arif nodded to himself, something he’d thought of that might work. Then he shook his head.
“My wife will leave here only with me. And he must come, your sergeant. Do this, and I will fight for the lives of your men.”
“That’s not an option and you know it’s not.”
“Then I see no other way.”
Arif glanced around, imagining the carnage, the incredible number of bullets in the air. “You. And us.” He turned a wincing gaze to the vast desert sky, the slowly tilting constellations. “And retribution.”
He pivoted his bulk, a droop across his shoulders.
“Go back now.”
The Saudi took several steps. LB cursed, walking off. They’d have to radio Wally that the parlay had gone badly. Between LB and Arif, both dragging away, Berko held his ground.
“Wait. Both of you.”
LB stopped.
Arif lumbered on. “No more talk.”
The lieutenant ran after the Saudi to stand in his path.
“What if we can give your wife back without the sergeant having to go with you? What if she’ll live and keep her leg? You can take her home.”
LB arrived beside Berko. The Saudi mulled the question.
“How will you do this?”
“Will you keep your word? Stop the fight?”
“I will try. And what will you do?”
“Fix her leg.”
LB grabbed the lieutenant by the arm. He hoisted a finger to Arif.
“Just a sec.”
LB tugged Berko away.
“Do what? Sir?”
“Fix her leg. You can do it.”
Steps away, Arif listened intently. LB walked the young CRO farther from the Saudi, lowering his voice. When he was sure Arif couldn’t hear, he hissed.
“No. I can’t. And you should have asked me before you said anything.”
“You’re trained, you’ve got the tools.”
“I’m not trained, not like that. You’re talking about repairing a femoral vessel. That’s surgery. We don’t do that, especially in the field. We’re pararescue. Trauma and combat evac. Our job is to get them home safe, to the surgeons. Come up with something else.”
“Something else or someone else? Who’s got the best set of hands in the team? You?”
“Who do you think?”
“All right. Now, before the shooting cranks up, if you got a better idea, say it. We can threaten him again, see how that works. But you know I’m right.”
LB controlled his arms, to keep from waving them in Berko’s face and demonstrating his frustration for Arif.
“Let me get this straight. You want me to just pretend I can do this.”
“LB, one of three things will happen. You won’t fix her leg and we all get killed anyway. You’ll actually do it, and we stand a chance of getting out of here. Or you’ll stall long enough for the Predators to show up and we’ll see what happens.”
LB pressed a hand across his mouth to shut himself up and think. Berko leaned over him.
“You’re tough. You’re cool. You got this.”
“What about your mission? Taking the woman back.”
“This was a kidnapping. We’re done with it.”
LB had no time to consider a response. Arif called across the open ground between them.
The Empty Quarter Page 28