Except when it came to his wife, Ari could be a major league sexist.
They had gone far afield. Ari was here to learn more about Sanad.
"So you think Sanad…and Nizzar…?"
Nabihah made a show of self-skepticism.
"Do you think Sanad hates women?" Ari continued.
"Not at all, and I see where you're headed with this discussion. He is not the Namus. Sanad, I think, loves women. He opens up around them. He flowers."
"I didn't say—"
"But you were thinking it. And what I want to know is, what possesses you to even suspect him? What did you talk about with him?" Her eyes flitted only briefly to the wall, but Ari caught it.
"He has very little esteem for life."
"I don't believe it," said Nabihah.
"He thinks the world would be a better place if no one was born."
"Oh, that. Mr. Ciminon, don't mistake contempt for life as an absence of love for it."
"You know him well, then?" Ari asked.
She blushed and lowered her eyes back to the carpet. That damned contact lens….
"You say Sanad was a 'deputy curator' at a prominent museum. He must be very knowledgeable in things pertaining to the daubing arts. Does he offer his advice to you? That bit of splotching on the wall behind you, for example."
"Yes?" Nabihah said in a cautious voice. "It's an Al Said."
"By some improbable miracle, I happen to know it was recently stolen from a museum in Baghdad."
"It was bought in Europe."
"Yes? From Iraq to Europe, from Europe to Richmond, Virginia. It's a very logical progression."
"Your own estimator agrees," Nabihah snapped.
"Pardon?"
"The same people who insure our cargoes cover my paintings."
"The Central Virginia Group?"
"The very ones."
Ari's throat constricted. He would have to find a way to loosen the muscles before he yelled at Lawson for once more stranding him in ignorance.
"Your company has confirmed its provenance. It has confirmed every painting on these walls."
"I see…and who provided this…'provenance'? Sanad?"
"The hijackings, Mr. Ciminon," said Nabihah, reaching across and rapping his knee with her knuckles. "That is your priority, is it not? Leave my art…and the Namus…to me."
"You have the awful killer at bay?" Ari asked.
"Well…"
"That is informative. And if I come across the Namus in my investigations…?"
"You have my permission to kill him."
"Since it is not your permission that I will depend upon, such an action might be very expensive."
She stared at him. "Are you a killer, Mr. Ciminon? I asked Yilmaz not to frisk you as a matter of courtesy. I presume you're carrying a gun."
"Kill you, madame? I would weep at my own grave if I did such a thing." He paused. "Would the death of the Namus be of great worth to you?"
"Are you speaking on behalf of the Central Virginia Group?"
"Ah!" Ari slapped his knees. "They are so afraid of being caught with a gun in their hand they squeeze their nuts with fear."
"Mr. Ciminon…"
"My many apologies," Ari sighed. "But in a country with one of the highest murder rates in the industrialized world, its corporations are remarkably circumspect."
"Then you are speaking for yourself?" Nabihah lifted her collar, as though speaking into a hidden microphone. "He is condemned by his own mouth."
"My mouth is my curse," Ari admitted.
"You actually want to discuss how much I would pay you to kill the Namus?"
"Am I being crass?"
"You are being most imprudent. If you spoke as freely with others as you do with me, I would find myself an accessory."
"And if Yilmaz or Singh or one of your other hirelings killed the Namus as he jumped over your fence, the result would be the same."
"You have indicated that the Namus has his own helpers."
"Accessories everywhere. They would have to be dealt with."
"You came in here thinking Sanad Raimouny was the Namus."
"An understandable error," said Ari, who maintained his suspicion.
"What if you killed the wrong man?"
"The guilt would be upon my head," said Ari, graciously bowing his head.
"As well as the lack of payment."
"That would hurt a little more," Ari admitted. "However, as I see it, the Namus is terrifying women up and down the borders of this broad land. You would be greatly thanked if you participated in his demise. Perhaps you could ask for donations from those who feel threatened. You could establish…I believe it's called a 'kitty'."
"An assassination kitty?" Nabihah said mirthlessly. "What a concept! Right now, Mr. Ciminon, I have a very skeptical if not low opinion of you. I would not pay you a dime if you placed his head on my gate. It's disgusting. I put my trust in Yilmaz and Sirdar Singh. If the Namus comes, we will be ready for him. Yilmaz!"
The girl's covered head popped around the entrance of the parlor.
"Mr. Ciminon is leaving." She got up and walked out of the room, giving the hem of her dress a dismissive flounce.
They were halfway down the stairs to the driveway when Yilmaz stopped and looked up at him.
"You would have done much better if you weren't so greedy," she said.
"You heard everything, of course. You should take more care with your shadow."
"Do you know who the Namus is?"
"I am on the verge of finding out."
"Are you? Really? But what about Raimouny?"
"I think Sanad was trying to tell me something, and I misinterpreted it. I might be wrong."
"But you think you've identified the killer of my sisters?"
"And what does it mean to you?" Ari asked. "Are you willing to pay for his removal from existence?"
"I'm willing to donate to the kitty. More than that, I want to help. You won't go after him without telling me first, will you? Sirdar Singh and I would want to be there. You could use our help, I think."
"I'll bear that in mind." Ari smiled at the young woman who had nearly broken his leg. "You have the gift of association with Singh?"
Yilmaz's face leveled into flat lines. "What do you mean?"
"I see indications of fondness, that is all."
"You have indications of dementia, is what I see. Do not spread lies."
"Unlike you?"
She took a stance. He presumed it was militant, although it was hard to tell on the steps. "I don't lie."
"Truly remarkable. I assume you are not human. But as I was approaching the mansion…this mansion…I happened to study the intersection where you say a truck delayed you the night we met at O'Connor's. For such a wealthy neighborhood, they have very narrow roads. In order to block you, a large truck would have had to go onto the lawn of the adjoining yards. I saw no sign of tread marks in the ground to either side of the road."
Her pause was fatal to her excuse.
"The truck was in the road, at the intersection."
"In which case you would have had to drive through a yard to get past him. There are many bushes. You would have had to drive over plants and other yard adornments to bypass the truck. And there was no sign of—"
"Mrs. Sadiq is right. You are not to be trusted."
"I am the one pointing out the object of mistrust," Ari asserted. "I am counting the minutes of your delay. If I had not arrived and opened the trailer, those women might have suffocated."
"I am aware of that. Thank you. Now which bone should I break?"
"I am merely saying—"
"Beware. If you are about to say that I could have been aware of what was happening and was delaying long enough to make sure the job was done…or worse, that I arrived at the depot early. That I myself might, for some reason, have hooked up the exhaust to the trailer and used the delay to disguise the lost time…"
"Such reasoning never entered my mind,"
said Ari, thinking that within the narrow stairwell there was no way to present a smaller target for her thrust.
"Then what are you thinking?" Yilmaz said in a low voice.
"That you are lying about the cause of your tardiness. Perhaps you had a tryst."
"A what?"
"A romantic interlude—"
"I know what you're saying. That's not as bad as murder, but it's still worth a couple of broken fingers. Do you favor your pinkies? You look like a pinky man. A hit here, a hit there, and you would look very dainty." She displayed the method she would use with brief flicks of her hand.
"Then something or someone distracted you. Are we on agreement on that? You were late by perhaps a quarter of an hour. If you saw a suspicious character lurking in the neighborhood, you could have learned his identity within minutes…seconds, if you employed your loving technique upon him."
"Go on."
"Fifteen minutes? That is enough time to hold a conversation. The person could have called, but he wanted to look at your face when you answered his questions. And before you deny such an event, dwell on this: this man had to know you would be leaving the mansion at the time you did. Either he was trying to delay you, to let the gas do its work, or you called him to arrange the meeting."
"If I broke your neck now—"
"You would have to explain to Mrs. Sadiq why you left such a noisome mess on her stairs."
"It's not what you think."
"You have confessed that you don't know what I think." Which wasn't true, Ari thought. She had done pretty well up to now.
"It's true…there was someone at the intersection. I talked to him. It was an innocent conversation."
"If you had called him in advance, you would not have been late to the depot. You would have timed it better."
"No…he was the one who was late."
"So you called him."
Yilmaz braced herself against the handrail, as if adding backbone to her alibi. "Yes…"
"And how do you know he wasn't late on purpose, to put you behind schedule?"
"No…" She pressed herself harder against the wall. "Not him. He's not a part of…"
"The Namus," Ari nodded. "Such difficulties you make! Now I am forced to ask what it is you were discussing with this individual. Would he have questions about your guests? But no, that would be a betrayal of Mrs. Sadiq. I mean, too great a betrayal. But there is something less contrite…wait…hold on…I mean…"
"Less consequential?"
"That sounds oblique. Yes, something that would not entail danger to your guests. What could that be? Perhaps you were discussing art?"
Yilmaz stiffened.
"Yes, that is entrancing. You were then talking of stolen masterworks with Sanad Raimouny?"
A miss. He could tell by the way she ever-so-slightly relaxed.
"No."
"But at least I know you were discussing artistic flashes of inspiration."
"I think we should move along," said Yilmaz, turning downstairs.
"Tell me this. Is the Central Virginia Group going to receive claims for missing paintings?"
The slightest hesitation on her part signaled a near-hit.
"No. Now here…see? I am holding the door open for you. You are letting all of the cool air outside. It is a great waste."
"Cool air is expensive here?" Ari asked. He had never seen an electric bill. The Federal government was handling all the payments for his house.
CHAPTER 14
Sindabad – Baghdad – Iraq
June 8, 2006 - 0255 hours
The phone rang only once before someone answered. Ghaith immediately recognized the voice as the same one he had heard on the Motorola.
"Amil! Why didn't you call in earlier?"
"Do I have the pleasure of speaking to Captain Chadirchi?" said Ghaith, crossing his legs.
Chadirchi did not answer, but at least he did not hang up.
"Please do not be dumbfounded. I repeat, is this Captain Chadirchi? Formerly of the 15th Infantry Division in Diyala? I understand you had a very unpleasant time up there during the invasion, what with the Americans on one end and the Kurds on the other. Left one wondering which end to shit out of. But I'm glad you recovered. I understand you got high marks on your COIN test at the counterinsurgency school in North Carolina. Did the Americans give you a gold star? Tell me you got one…for perfect attendance, at the very least."
If Chadirchi hadn't been dumbfounded before, he was now, which of course had been Ghaith's intention.
"Who is this? Where is Amil?"
"They have strayed rather far from their posts, I'm afraid," said Ghaith, looking idly at the beheaded corpses. "You will have to be severe when you punish them."
"I will…I will…"
Ghaith covered the mouthpiece and whispered, "I hear water in the background."
"He's on the river bank?"
"It's a good possibility," Ghaith nodded to Gates, who transferred the nod to Buffett, who whispered into his phone. A moment later there were three swift 'pops'. The Fijian snipers were using sound suppressors. If Chadirchi was near the targets, he might hear. If he was one of the targets, the conversation would end abruptly. Buffett listened to his phone and gave a thumbs up.
"Captain Chadirchi? Are you still there? I seem to be having a problem with reception."
"Yes, I was just thinking…"
Ghaith gave the others a thumbs down, then a thumbs up. Chadirchi was still alive, but he had not heard the shots. He was some distance away.
Gates began to make scooping motions with his arms, urging the others to get off the balcony. He, Rostmeyer, Buffett and Gurung dodged into the restaurant. Ropp and Hutton found steps to the side and began going down. They ran into someone coming up. For an instant they, and Ghaith, thought it was one of the Fijians. Everyone looked the same in the dark. Then Ropp grunted and dropped sideways. Hutton grabbed the man by the shirt front and pulled him down on the balcony floor as he fell. Ropp came back up and was immediately kicked back down. With the phone still to his ear, Ghaith rose and walked over. The insurgent was a real dervish, flinging his arms at Hutton's eyes, then tearing at his ears. Ropp came up again, clasped his fists together, and rammed the man in the spine. The insurgent gasped, rose up, and with a backward kick sent Ropp down the steps again.
"What is that noise?" Chadirchi demanded at the other end.
"A bunch of boys, roughhousing. There is no containing their enthusiasm."
"Tell me who you are or I'll hang up."
Ghaith went over to the restaurant door and knocked on the window. When Gurung appeared, Ghaith bared his teeth and jerked his finger towards the steps.
"Saala kutta," the sergeant swore lowly and leapt out onto the balcony, unsheathing his kukri.
"What was that?" Chadirchi all but shouted.
"I am Colonel Ghaith Ibrahim, formerly of the Republican Guard."
"I think I've heard of you. You won the Saddam Medal on the Highway of Death…?"
Winning Iraq's highest military award for shitting one's pants scarcely qualified as an honor, in Ghaith's estimation.
"It is of little use to me, now. My highest offer on eBay was three dinars. No, like yourself, I have been fired from the Army. Bremer was an incorrigible ass. Like all our fellow officers, I am currently seeking employment."
"I…are you sure you don't see Amil and Bashar anywhere abouts?"
Ropp was making another attempt to get on the balcony and help his buddy when Gurung waved him off. An instant later, the insurgent's scream was terminated as the Gurkha swept his knife around his neck, then bore down on the spine. Blood shot from the vacated torso as Gurung tossed the head aside like a harvested pumpkin. Choking on the victim's blood, Hutton pushed the corpse off him, gasping in horror.
"You're putting me on," said Chadirchi angrily.
Ghaith made a sharp brooming gesture. Ropp, Hutton and Gurung scampered off the balcony.
"About this girl on the barge—"
/>
"She's a traitor."
"Agreed, she did some unwise things, but is that any call for you and your boys to do what they did to her? Putting aside inhumanity, this makes us Iraqis look like a bunch of savages."
"And the Jews aren't?" Chadirchi chastised, using the all-encompassing term Iraqis used for Americans. "They kill from above. We kill in person. Visit the nearest hospital. See the results of civilized warfare."
Rana, maimed, blind, deaf…it was a valid argument. "I am all-too aware of it," said Ghaith despondently. "But really, Captain, is there any need for you to behave as badly as the enemy? I'm sure the Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, would never condone—"
"Are you an officer or a cleric?" Chadirchi snapped. "You are working for the Jews, aren't you? But soon you will be working for us, just as Afaf did. You hear all those guns across the city? The explosions?"
"I hear…"
It was true. The noise of battle was rising in Zafaraniya, Jisr Diyala, Kanun. More lob bomb explosions could be heard in Rustamiyah. The atmosphere pulsed red.
"Afaf told us where the American strongpoints were. We are attacking—"
Chadirchi stopped as the barge banged against the jetty and began its long, grinding wail. There would be no more discussion until the drawn out, dreadful song was finished. Reseating himself at the table, Ghaith crossed his legs and began rocking the one on top across his knee. He was confident Gates would make sure no more insurgents sneaked up on the balcony, but he would not be able to stop someone with an RPG from firing down from the apartments next door. He doubted he could keep the captain on the line much longer. Chadirchi might be calling his men on another phone this very second, ordering them to attack. Ghaith had very few tidbits left with which to mesmerize him.
"Are you still there?" Chadirchi asked tentatively when the noise passed.
"I am here."
"I was telling you how Afaf let us know about the American strongpoints. Would you like the details?"
The tables were turned. Now it was Chadirchi trying to keep Ghaith on the line.
"There's really no need," said Ghaith, rising and walking to the end of the balcony. He was in luck. There was enough light for one of the Fijian marksmen to spot him gyrating his arm. Crooking his arm in imitation of a man holding an RPG, he then pointed at the windows of the condominium next door. The marksman nodded and summoned several of his companions to his side. They began sweeping the windows with their night scopes. Ghaith continued his conversation with Chadirchi: "You can learn anything from a prisoner once you cut off enough body parts. I'm more interested in what you spent your portion of the safqua on."
The Shelter for Buttered Women Page 28