Sanad had caught his glance at the parking lot and seemed unable to decipher the empty space left by the Lincoln.
"Nothing," said Ari. Guessing Sanad was too sharp to accept this, he added, "For a moment I forgot I parked so far away. I was wondering if my car was stolen."
Sanad appeared neither convinced nor unconvinced by this excuse. They continued.
"You don't feel inclined to join the jama'ah?" said Ari, referring to the group of men in prayer.
"What things you Catholics know," Sanad chuckled. His precise gait bordered between feyness and indefinable strength. He was like a diamond that could walk through glass without shattering it, leaving behind a mirrored silhouette. "They teach Muslim 'doxology' at All Saints?"
Ari found the comment surprising. The wording, if not the meaning.
"I never said I was Catholic," said Ari.
"Do you have a faith?"
"None that would interest you."
"That is an unwarranted assumption," said Sanad without breaking stride.
"Very well, I find the world base and unfruitful. If there is a supreme being responsible for it, he would be unworthy of attention, let alone prayer."
Sanad stopped dead and turned to him. "Truly?"
"Oh, yes," said Ari. "And you…you are Sunni? That was a Shi'a call to prayer."
"Once again," said Sanad wryly, "are all Catholics…I'm sorry, atheistical Italians…aware of such subtle distinctions in the Muslim world?"
"They are if it amuses them."
To Ari's surprise, Sanad broke out in laughter. Not the hollow laughter of a religious aesthetic, but with genuine warmth.
"I am not Sunni. If a word had to be applied to my beliefs—anti-natalist."
"I'm sorry…"
"Don't be. It's not a common position. You're familiar with the concept of nihilism?"
"I see it every day," said Ari, thinking of the images he viewed for CENTCOM.
"Yes, you can't miss it on the news," said Sanad with a voice of inevitability. "In fact, I take my stance from the Bible. Ecclesiastes."
"Yes?"
"'So I returned, and considered all the oppressions that are done under the sun: and behold the tears of such as were oppressed, and they had no comforter; and on the side of their oppressors there was power; but they had no comforter. Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead more than the living which are yet alive. Yea, better is he than both they, which hath not yet been, who hath not seen the evil work that is done under the sun.'"
Both the quote and the way in which it was intoned sent a chill through Ari.
"You are familiar with it, of course," said Sanad.
"Like many schoolboy lessons, it was heard without meaning," Ari said.
"People hear the call to jihad and nothing else," said Sanad.
"Like Nizzar?" Ari asked.
"He is a special case. Those who see him as an ignorant ape are making a serious miscalculation."
"I'll bear that in mind."
"To bring life into this world is a crime against the unborn," Sanad continued. "We are committing innocent victims to a life of strife and meaninglessness."
Ari thought this might well be the kind of man to assist women into the next world…not out of fundamentalist extremism, but as a favor.
"I can assume you are not married?" said Ari.
"I have a wife and three children," Sanad laughed. "Contradiction is the soul of anti-natalism. I love my children and wish them well."
"But it's all pointless in the end?"
"My family doesn't find me very cheerful," Sanad confessed. "Neither does Teraq, who knows my views."
"I didn't think he was very religious," Ari observed.
"No, but his instincts turn against me. And you?"
"I find your views very congenial, but in my case I have someone to blame for misfortune."
"And does your negative-God accept responsibility?"
"Would it matter if He did?"
The two men viewed each other with honest charity, a rare emotion. Which made it all the more unsettling for Ari, who thought he might be looking at the Namus.
Ari looked at his watch: 2:34. Over a year in Richmond and he had never bothered to find out the time of Asr, the afternoon salat.
"They must be getting underway," said Sanad, observing him. "You'll have time for a couple more cigarettes."
"I can speak to Teraq later," said Ari. "I have another appointment."
"Do you want me to deliver a message for you?"
"It's business. I'm working for the insurance company regarding the recent losses at O'Connor's." There was no point in hiding this from Sanad. Teraq would tell him eventually.
"You mean the truck hijackings?" Sanad did not look surprised, or amused, or dismayed. "Yes, those must be driving him to distraction."
Ari appreciated the pun and chuckled.
CHAPTER 12
Sindabad – Baghdad – Iraq
June 8, 2006 - 0230 hours
They left the trucks several blocks short of the river. The nine Fijian drivers posted as guards were told by Gates to shoot anyone who so much as looked at them. They were armed with M240's and Ghaith hoped that they understood their boss was exaggerating.
"Worth 25,000 quid each, those bloody trucks are," Gates added.
Perhaps he wasn't exaggerating.
He had the Gurkhas clear the way ahead. When Ghaith, Hutton and Ropp offered to join them, Gates shook his head. "Let them lead. That's what they're underpaid for. Besides, I need Haji to translate, if it comes down to negotiations. And you two? Can you imagine how hard the U.S. Army will come down on me if you get snuffed under my watch? The Gurks are perfect for this. They're quick, deadly and they make negative noise."
Still, Ghaith did not like it. They were entering a kill zone. The Gurkhas would be outnumbered, perhaps vastly. Being close to superhuman did not make them any less human.
They were halfway down the last block to the Tigris when they heard a shot behind them. They were waiting for more when Gates' phone vibrated. Ghaith could just make out Ratu's voice at the other end.
"We encountered a separatist."
"Wrong war, you addled numbwit," Gates hissed. "This isn't bloody Bougainville. Report."
"Someone stuck his head out a window. We slotted him."
"He was just looking?"
"You told us to shoot if anyone…ha-ha-ha!"
"What are you laughing about?" Gates moaned.
"We confiscated a shiny new RPG from the dead man."
Gates took in an oath with a deep breath. "Ratu?"
"Yes, Boss?"
"You are no longer my lead driver. From now on it's the latrine vacuum truck. Now tell those bolos with you to watch out. The muj must know we're coming on foot. Maybe the trucks are the target, and you're short of men. Want me to send any back?"
"I feel the separatists crawling about me. Being a good Christian, I can't tell you exactly where. But at the moment I think we're go-Joe."
"Whatever the bloody hell that means," said Gates. He surveyed the street ahead.
"About that dead muj…I don't deserve shit duty. We shouted Ala-kayfek ih-da at him first."
"You told a man aiming a rocket at you to 'calm down'? Forget it. I think this place is crawling, too. If you need help, we'll come back as a group. I can't separate my unit any more than it already is."
He hung up.
"Your Gurkhas have already separated far ahead of us," Ghaith noted.
Warren Buffett and Carlos Sims came up.
"Hey, Gates, we're falling behind—"
Like the professional he was, Gates got a grip. "I will take your concerns under advisement. Now fucking move!"
Within a minute they had fallen in behind the Gurkha bringing up the rear of Gurung's contingent. Ghaith saw no blood on his kukri.
"Where is the enemy?" Gates said slowly to the man.
The man looked at him blankly.
"Where is the enemy
?" Ghaith repeated in Hindi.
"Ah! So far, none. Sergeant Gurung has said they must be on the perimeter. Next block over on either side."
After Ghaith had translated, Gates gave him a moony look.
"Since when did you speak Hindi?"
"I learned a few phrases in my class on Indian history."
"Like 'where are the bloody mujahedeen'?" Any skeptical inquiry was interrupted when Gurung ran forward.
"They've been here," he told Gates. "We found candy wrappers, half-full cans of decaffeinated Diet Coke. But they're gone, now."
"They weren't sure which street we'd come in on," Gates nodded. "Now they've pushed off to the side."
"That's my guess, too."
The sound began again. So close that it set up antipathetic vibrations in the houses and on their nerve ends. No longer an echo, it was a bullhorn crammed down their throats.
"Yeah," said Rostmeyer, joining them, his recovered Glock in hand. "That's what it's been like for us in the safe house all evening."
"That would drive a twit mad."
"I'm not a twit," Rostmeyer shot back at Gates, shivering.
They moved ahead and soon came to the road that ran parallel to the river. Directly across from them sat a darkened café that faced onto the Tigris. The door stood open.
"Your men already inside?" Gates asked Sergeant Gurung.
Before he could answer, two Gurkhas came out the door, wiping their blades. They gave the newcomers a startled, guilty look.
"What have you blokes been up to?" Gates asked.
They spoke Hindi to the sergeant.
"They encountered two lookouts and eliminated them," Ghaith said. "There is a dining balcony out back that looks out over the river."
"Good…good…so it's all clear?"
Sergeant Gurung nodded.
"Mind if I borrow back the goggles?" Gates asked the sergeant. "You don't seem to be using them. See in the dark, can you?"
Rather than unclip the goggles, Gurung removed his helmet and gave it to Gates, who was bare-headed.
"Good idea," said Gates, plopping it on his head.
Accompanied by several Fijians, they entered the restaurant. Those without night vision were confronted by about thirty tables covered in white tablecloths, providing just enough guidance for all but Ropp to keep from stubbing their toes on the chairs braced against them. Passing through the kitchen was more problematic, with nearly all of them bumping against hanging pots and pans that knocked against each other, producing a thin chime. As they neared the balcony door, a milky light allowed them to see their own feet.
"No blood," Gates whispered. "What were those chaps up to?"
They found out when they emerged on the white stucco-finished balcony. Against a waist-high wall were two corpses, thick pools of blood fed from their throats.
"Are they really tits-up?" Hutton asked.
"I believe so." Gates went over to one corpse and gave it a hard nudge with his foot. The body flopped over, but the head stayed put. "Bloody fiends tried to hide it. I told them no beheadings. Fucking Dan Al Jazeera Rather'll be all over this."
"Dan Rather is a Jew," said Ropp. "I saw a picture of him wearing a yarmulke."
"And doesn't that bloody tell you about the bloody world situation?"
A moment later they were almost knocked over by a horrendous noise. They turned their attention to the river.
Richmond, Virginia
July, 2008
Red Masgouf
'Team Spirit'. That was the bland adage of the sign on the partition. Ari was nonplussed. It did not in the least suit the personality of their skeptical host.
"There's been a change in plan," Lawson said as the five men and one women in front of him settled into their chairs. Ari assumed he was not talking about the change in his guest list. Only four of those present had been summoned to his office: Ari and three insurance fraud investigators. Ari had insisted that his friend Abu Jasim and his nephew Ahmad also be allowed to attend. They had both arrived that morning from Montreal and Chicago. Abu Jasim had advised his former superior in the Iraqi Army that they were on the clock, which meant every minute they spent in Richmond cost Ari a pretty dinar. This was a drastic change from the past, when they had worked on commission. Ahmad, a student at the Booth School of Business, had probably calculated they could earn more by the hour. The boy had been thoroughly corrupted by American capitalism. Ari would have let them sit idly in a motel room had the cost involved not goaded him into bringing them along. That way, whatever Lawson planned to tell Ari would not have to be repeated to them, saving time and money. There was no need for introductions. He might not like Abu Jasim (who had been roaring drunk the last time Lawson saw him) or Ahmad (who seemed too skittish to be dependable), but at least he had worked with them before. Besides, total trustworthiness could be a drawback in the real world.
Lawson's office had been remodeled after terrorists had exploded a bomb just outside the back door, blowing in his private handicap entrance, tearing out parts of the hallway and shredding partitions. No one had been injured, but the incident had the quirky result of increasing Lawson's importance in the eyes of the insurance company. No longer the invalid liability, he had become an essential asset. After all, no one would go to the trouble of trying to blow up an inconsequential hack.
The three investigators were nestled against some filing cabinets, warily eyeing the three obviously-Arab-types sitting in front of Lawson's desk. They were all unknown to Ari, but one man looked squeamish, the second looked put-out and the woman worked hard to keep her jaw in place. They were as mistrustful of the outsiders as the outsiders were of them. 'Team spirit' took on the aspect of a funeral for group effort. The mood was not improved by Abu Jasim, who kept snatching glances left and right, like a man watching a tennis match where the ball was a bomb. Or Ahmad, who skulked sourly within his skin. Upon arriving in his uncle's van, he had lugged out a large canvas sack.
"What's that?" Ari asked.
"Textbooks," Ahmad answered glumly.
"Looks more like a bag filled with IED's."
"I fell behind when I was down here last winter. Now I have to waste my summer catching up."
"You should give up business classes and go into business," Ari had said.
This did not improve Ahmad's outlook or prospects.
"We've been allocated more assets," Lawson continued. The whistle in his mangled vocal chords had fallen to a low register. Ari thought it an improvement.
"And why is that?" Ari asked.
"We insure a lot of shipments coming into the Port of Richmond. After my last conversation with Ari here, I had some of my people check on the computers at the containment companies. They found several key-logging devices attached to their keyboards."
"Inside job," said one of the investigators.
"Obviously. This gave the bad guys, whoever they are, access to the container security codes. We were able to pinpoint at least three containers that were illegally picked up by drivers who gave phony credentials."
"And we don't know what was in those containers," said the woman.
"With any luck, it was just a shitload of cocaine."
"Luck?" Ari asked.
"Worst case is something nuclear, but they've got Geiger counters at the port, or whatever it is they use these days. My guess is something more benign, American Toxic. But when I submitted my last report about the possible hacking of shipping containers, the CVG claims people went straight to the worst case. A nuclear detonation in one of the containers insured by us—even if the manifest says 'bananas'—could cost us dear."
"I assume many people would also be destroyed."
"And they cost, too, though not so much. So we've got policyholders to protect, corporations to protect and, considering how close the port is to us, our own asses to cover. Oddly enough, none of the hacked containers involved O'Connor's. But now we've got the go-ahead to investigate all freight companies doing business through the port
."
"Any freight company that is one of our policyholders," the woman clarified.
"Right," Lawson nodded stiffly. "If we get blown up by an Allstate client, Allstate will have to shell out. We'll be in the clear."
"But slightly dead," Ahmad murmured, his first words.
"Like I said, nuclear is the least likely scenario. And don't look at me like that…I didn't put it in the head of the Claims Department to think nuke. If I'd known they were that jumpy, I would have used that excuse in the past. We can put more investigators in the field and the IT Department is joining us to look into at the container hacks. You'll be bumping elbows with the FBI and Customs and the Coast Guard, but they'll be so busy getting in each other's way you'll be able to slip between them. I've been told something like this has already happened in Antwerp, so the Feds are bringing in some tech-savant from Europol for some input."
Ahmad went bug-eyed. Ari squashed the bug with a discreet kick.
"The CVG Legal Department is working out some boilerplate warrants with the courts, but don't treat that like gospel. If you think you've got something really dangerous, go ahead and poke around."
"Are you issuing HAZMAT suits?" said one of the investigators. No one laughed. In fact, the dread in the room took a turn for the worse.
But Ari was delighted. To think that a hokey story that he had concocted while in a drunken stupor could summon up such a gargantuan effort!
"And by the way," Lawson continued, looking at Ari. "None of these extraordinary resources are to be used to investigate a mythical 'Namus'. Your primary task is the one you started with: finding out more about those hijackings. Unless you come up with something solid, all this extra money is being thrown at the Port of Richmond."
"And my associates? Will they be on your payroll?"
Lawson and all the contrivances imbedded and attached to maintain his sad body shrank into a semi-mechanical heap.
"Am I requesting an extraordinary leap into unorthodoxy?" Ari asked. "These two excellent men are essential to my allotted task."
Abu Jasim was not used to compliments. Being a perfect double for Saddam Hussein he was, in fact, accustomed to just the reverse: universal vilification. As if being born at the wrong time in the wrong body was not a tragic twist of fate, but a crime intentionally committed against humanity. Ari had urged him to shave off his moustache, at least, but so far without success. Self-identity could be so self-destructive.
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