When he walked past Gates towards the truck, Ghaith sprang out and raced towards him. "Yes, it is I, Captain Horwith."
"What are you doing out here with the midnight cowboys?" Horwith spun on Gates. "This is a U.S. Government employee."
"So am I…sort of."
"Haji is not contracted."
"No contract?" Gates turned to Ghaith. "You need a lawyer?"
"I'm going to have to remove him from your group. He is one of the brigade's major assets and shouldn't be risking his neck with you guys."
"It's not the first time he's gone out with us," Gates protested. "None of my blokes speaks Arabic. Hell, most of them don't speak English."
Horwith raised a hand to his headset, listened, and nodded. "Yes, I know the Gates people are out here. I'm with him now. No, I don't know what they're doing, and it doesn't look like I'll find out." He listened some more, then signed off. "Night Hawk says if it wasn't for your big-ass G's, you would have been wasted. He also says he tried to contact me sooner but couldn't get through. Are you using a jammer?"
"A most pleasant outcome," Gates said, ignoring the question. "About Haji…he's a company employee, too. Subbed out to the subs, you might say. And we have a contract with him."
"Is that true?" Horwith demanded of Ghaith, who responded with a bland smile. "I know some people upstairs who won't be happy with that."
"Company paychecks are highly sought for commodities," Ghaith said, giving Gates a meaningful look.
"That's right," Gates smiled back. "The check's in the post."
"Right alongside Haji's check from the U.S. Armed Forces," said Horwith grimly. "I won't say anything to Rodriguez, but don't let him catch you moonlighting."
Ghaith gave him a quizzical look.
"Double-dipping," Horwith added.
Ghaith's quizzical look intensified.
Horwith pressed his headset. "How many?"
Gates pointed up. "And you without your angels on the rooftops. I think it's best if we all move along."
Horwith nodded while continuing to listen to his headset. He could have been nodding to the grunt at the other end of the signal, but Gates and Ghaith chose a different interpretation. Ratu gunned the engine as they piled into the lead truck. The captain began walking towards them, shouting. An instant later, gunfire broke out at the end of his column. Immediately preoccupied, he turned his back on Gates' men.
"Mighty accommodating, those Yanks!" Gates yelled as they bolted ahead. "Ratu, turn those lights back on."
The other trucks followed suit.
"What about using your night vision goggles?" Ropp asked, scooting back up from his tiny hiding place.
"I don't have enough for all my drivers," Gates complained. "If I wore one while they had their headlights on, I'd be blinded. I'll hand them out to my Gurkhas when the time comes. For the close work."
"And the Fijians?" Ghaith asked, interested.
"We have nightscopes on our rifles," Ratu answered.
"We're not really equipped for this, though," Gates amended. "We're stay-home-types after the sun goes down."
"Thank you," said Hutton.
"No problem. You know, I once saw Sarah's ankle. And a very pretty talocrural region it was."
No one in the truck bed knew what he was talking about, including Hutton, who refrained from questioning Gates' morality. Which probably wasn't all that impeccable, him being a mercenary.
Far away, another rocket exploded. They were now too far away from Rusty to hear the siren.
"Horwith has a long night ahead," Gates said.
The three men in back exchanged looks. Like we don't?
A voice in his ear. Ghaith raised the second earbud. He frowned, but Gates waited until he lowered one bud.
"So?"
"We are being watched," said Ghaith. "Someone asked if he should start shooting. Someone…their commander…told him to wait until they were in the trap."
"'They' meaning 'us'."
"I would have said Horwith's column was the target, only the commander specified that 'the girl is ready'."
"We're only…three blocks from her house…?" Gates looked at Hutton, who nodded. "Then I'd say the ambush should start right about here. Ratu…"
Ratu braked. The other trucks stopped behind them, maintaining the spread.
"I think we go on foot from here."
"It has been a long time since I visited this neighborhood," said Ghaith. "Is Sarah's house on one of our typically narrow and shitty streets?"
"Right on both counts, Haji."
"Hey, it's a nice place!" Hutton protested. "In comparison…"
"Perfect if you want to ambush one or two trucks. That's the most we'll send in at one time, and I believe this commander knows it."
"Common sense?" asked Gates.
"And tactical expertise. The man who asked to shoot called the man on the other end 'captain'."
"Fuck."
"Yes, ex-Iraqi military. Disenfranchised by—"
"Don't go political on me, Haji. There's more you're not telling. So tell."
"They both had what you call Mesopotamian accents."
"Baghdad accents? They're local? So they know every nit and crevice."
"I'm afraid so." Ghaith watched Gates' fretful expression, then spoke again: "I believe we are being funneled into the street where Sarah lives. I think we can do so safely. The ambush is somewhere else."
"Where they can bag my whole crew."
"Yes." Ghaith paused. "The captain also told his man to switch to his phone. No more radio intercepts. He must have become suspicious when we missed the IED."
"Ballocks…now we're really in the dark."
"Their calls might be monitored at ops, but there would be a delay…"
"As much as a day, since I'm not in the official loop." Gates tapped his fingers on his knee. "Why would they want us to go to Sarah's house, if not to fall in on us?"
"We will only find the answer there. However…"
"Her family will tell us where Sarah is," Hutton said bleakly. "Meaning her father. He's a real Christer, or whatever the name Islam uses for it."
"A true believer," said Ghaith.
"Yeah, right down to his—."
"You are not a true believer, Private Hutton?" Ghaith asked. "You believe in your state of origin."
"Well…yeah. What makes you say that?"
"You wear a 'T' for Texas around your neck."
Hutton craned his neck down and saw his medallion dangling outside his shirt.
Everyone else in the truck burst out in laughter. Even Ratu.
"That's a bloody crucifix, Haji," Gates choked.
"I'm glad you are amused by my little joke," Ghaith said, his blush hidden in the poor light.
"Am I a believer?" Hutton said. "I thought I was. Ask me again tomorrow morning."
"How sure are you that we won't get our asses blown off at Sarah's house, Haji?" Gates asked.
"I'm not 100%. The captain might be a professional, but his men…perhaps not. Amateurs are famous for prematurity."
"Meaning someone might light us up before we reach the real killing ground."
Ghaith shrugged. He was pleased when Hutton tucked the crucifix under his shirt. Not only because it hid the source of his faux pas, but because the muj would add an extra pinch of torture if they found it on him.
Gates thought another moment, then lifted his radio. "Lights off. Flankers debus."
Ratu turned off his headlights. The trucks behind them went dark.
"I can't risk waltzing in blind, Haji. You understand."
"I do, indeed."
Around the comm truck apparitions began to appear. Not all at once, but one by one. Gurkhas. To Gaith's surprise, they were all wearing helmets. Then he saw why. All the helmets bore goggle brackets. Gates handed out a PVS-14 monocular to each one who paused by his door. He also gave them extra Double-A batteries, in case the power to their goggles failed. The ambient light was poor, but sufficient enou
gh to give Ghaith a look at their faces. They seemed placid, workmanlike. They could have worn the same expression while chopping wood. They did not appear particularly bloodthirsty as they attached the 14's to their helmets.
Quietly, they vanished ahead of the column.
"What do you expect—" Hutton began.
"Shhhh," Gates admonished.
A minute later, in the darkness before them, a scream was cut short.
"One less observer," Gates whispered. "Ratu…?"
The column moved forward slowly.
The terrible screech and moan bore down on them, louder than ever.
"We're getting closer to Godzilla," said Ropp.
Richmond, Virginia
July, 2008
A Snack at Ari's Shack
Karen and Fred swerved out from the curb and fell behind him as soon as he pulled away from Nabihah Sadiq's mansion. They stayed with him all the way to the Nickel Bridge, where Ari spat in the change bucket before paying his toll. He was not dismayed when they followed him the rest of the way home. Of course, they knew where his safe house was. They were the ones who had purchased it for him. He turned off Beach Court Lane and stopped at the top of his driveway. Karen pulled up behind his Scion and flashed her brights at him before turning off her engine and headlights. She hopped out and ran up to the driver door.
"That was unnecessary," he said, blinking the afterimage from his eyes. "Were you signaling your annoyance about something?"
"Fucking A," Karen snarled, making no pretense at being a lady. "You going to park or what?"
Ari pressed the button to his garage door and pulled inside. Karen and Fred followed him through the side door that led off the kitchen. Once inside, she sniffed.
"Where's your pet? It doesn't smell catty."
"I am bereft of a cat at the moment," said Ari, turning on the light and staring at his empty counter. Then he turned to the kitchen table and saw a thumb drive. "But you already know that, since you broke into my house earlier."
"I visited our house, Ari. It might help if you remembered who paid for all of this. And yes, I left the usual thumb drive from CENTCOM. That's the third one I've left for you without any results. Have you reviewed them at all, or have you been too busy with your fat cats at Windsor Farms?"
"I saw no cats this evening."
"We're catching more flak from your employers about you not doing your job. How many times do I have to tell you that American guys and gals are depending on you? Hell, they gave you a memorial album—"
"Which I was not allowed to keep."
"—and then you skip out, or at least that's what it looks like."
"May I offer you—"
"Thanks, we're starving." Karen swept past him and whipped open his refrigerator. "Look at this, Fred, everything we need. Cold cuts, sliced cheese, mayonnaise…and a shitload of other crap I'd just as soon avoid."
"I don't want to eat him out of house and home," said Fred.
"If we eat all his bologna, he can dine on…" She held up a sealed plastic bag of ground lamb. "What the hell…?"
"Minced dog ear," said Ari.
"Ugh!" Karen tossed the bag back inside. "You don't mind me saying, you and your kind need some civilizing."
"I do mind," said Ari. "Dog meat is appreciated by connoisseurs throughout the world."
"The Third World, you mean," she answered unkindly. "It's a good thing you're not a practicing Muslim. Ground up pig meat will do just fine. You got any mustard? What's this? It's sort of yellow. Oh, yeah…Grey Poupon. I guess it'll do."
She laid out the cold cuts and condiments on the counter and began slathering mustard and mayonnaise on a slice of five-grain bread. "Cm'on, partner, make your own. I know you measure your mayonnaise in inches."
Ari opened two bottles of Heineken and sat them on the kitchen table. Scooting up, Fred stared at the green-tinted bubbles beyond the glass. "Thanks, Ari, but we're on duty."
"Like hell," said Karen, taking a seat and drawing deeply on the bottle. She sighed in contentment and smacked her lips. "We're working on our own time, here. Refreshment is in order."
With a wicked but uncertain grin, Fred opened a bottle and tilted it to his lips.
"So you must be wondering what we were doing outside Nabihah Sadiq's mansion, right?" said Karen.
"Let me launch a guess," said Ari. "After our meeting at the Flying J, you were waiting patiently for a judge to issue a warrant so you could search the O'Connor's depot. This might not have been forthcoming. When you told him about a mysterious killer called the Namus, he probably thought you were joking. Perhaps he thought you were mistaking the killer for a cartoon villain, like the evil mutant turtles."
"The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?" said Fred. "They're the good guys."
"Really? I thought mutants were…well, never mind. You didn't get your warrant. Then you heard about an assault on two employees at O'Connor's and flew on your winged Honda to the premises. Was it mentioned on the evening news? Is it already eleven o'clock?"
"We were eavesdropping on the police scanner," said Fred.
"Stop helping him," Karen snapped through a mouthful of bologna.
"You arrived just in time to miss the assailants," Ari said in a sad voice. "However, when you saw my puny xB leaving the depot before the ambulances arrived, you took it upon yourselves to follow me. I can imagine your relief. You knew I was visiting O'Connor's and thought I was the one who was harmed."
"Well, you're kind of gimpy," Karen observed.
"'Gimpy'?"
"I noticed you limping when you walked inside."
"I hit a bump in the road," said Ari blandly.
"How would that make you limp?"
"It was a big bump."
"Is the car all right?"
"Yes, alas." Ari watched the two of them eat.
"You're not going to have anything?" Fred asked.
"I am surfeited."
"Yeah, Madame Mumford and her husband passed us about half an hour before you left."
"'Miss Snails'," Fred grimaced. He occasionally voiced his gratitude at missing the grand dinner Madame Mumford had put on at Ari's house several months ago. Ari searched his ever-growing English vocabulary. The boy was a hick? Peasant? Yokel? Chawbacon?
"You were following a van while we were following you," Karen continued. "It pulled out of sight before we could see who got out."
"Only an employee of the freight company," Ari answered. "I didn't know how to get to Mrs. Sadiq's residence, so I followed."
"Didn't you go there earlier, for that list of victims?"
"Very well," Ari said. "Madame Mumford told me she had been hired by Mrs. Sadiq for a large dinner. I crashed the fête."
"You crashed the party?"
"There was no ceremony," said Ari. "I was unaware of any birthdays."
"You're saying you're a moocher?" Karen said skeptically. "You don't need to look for free meals, Ari. Did I thank you for lunch at the Flying J? I don't know what your income is, but it's a lot more than what the government is giving you."
Ari would not confirm the undeniable, in the hope he could deny it.
"So you just happened to show up at the company on the day you were investigating one of their truckers for murder, and on the day when something bad went down, and when Sadiq was having a big bash at her ridiculously posh mansion, where you also just happened to show up."
"The enormity of it is enormous."
"If I threw this beer at you I wouldn't have to thank you for it," said Karen.
"I believe gratitude would be in order whether the beer was in your blood or on my face."
"This is just banter, Ari, not a threat," Fred scowled. "What we wanted to tell you—"
"'Deliver'," Karen amended. She took an envelope from the pocket of her jeans and handed it to him.
"It is warm from your thigh," Ari said, studying the blank, crumpled surface.
"It was in my back pocket."
"I was trying to be
courteous," said Ari. "Am I to open it in front of you?"
"We're supposed to make sure you get the message," she answered. "My guess is it's from an unknown party from an unknown government agency telling you to get on the memory stick or you forfeit the deal you made with him, or them. At which point you can kiss your home sweet home goodbye."
"And my wife and son?"
"I wouldn't know," Karen said uneasily, looking away.
"This is very unfair. I spent much of last night reviewing that ghastly…intel."
"Maybe they wrote this before you did your last batch. Maybe you're still behind."
Ari broke open the envelope and unfolded the note inside. The paper was blank.
"I see…" he said slowly. "You are perfectly right. You can tell the person who gave you this that I will assiduously ply my trade this very night, as soon as you have finished your meal and have departed."
CHAPTER 10
Sindabad – Baghdad – Iraq
June 8, 2006 - 0130 hours
There were no more screams, but not because there were no more encounters. The first victim had been wary, actually had his eyes on the dark, approaching forms. He was sure they were coming head-on, that no one could slip past him. His scream was as much surprise as pain as the blade whispered across his neck.
The Gurkhas should not have been invisible. They were not in black, not wearing what Gates mockingly referred to as 'trammel ninja outfits'. Here and there light threw up pale backdrops on the weary buildings around them. They used the shadows like undergrowth in a jungle, working in pairs, one man a distraction, the other coming up from behind. If they suspected an enemy observer was lurking in a house, they saw no need to crash through front doors or form a stack and crash inside, à la américain. They found other entrances: a loose window, an unrepaired shell-hole in a wall, and entered like bacilli in a wound. Some of the Gurkhas grew annoyed with their night-vision goggles and pocketed them, as if they could see better without them.
The convoy followed them slowly, lights off, the engine noise providing a distraction. The Fijians trained their rifles on suspicious forms, but there was no need. Anything moving was fleeting, a Gurkha, while anything that did not move was either rubble or a dead man.
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