"Everyone loves Peter O'Toole," said Ari, slouching back in his seat.
"A real pretty boy," said Ben doubtfully.
CHAPTER 15
Sindabad – Baghdad – Iraq
June 8, 2006 - 0300 hours
The former captain had grown tired of the gossip, or had figured out it was Ghaith stringing him on, not the other way around. It was time for Ghaith to vacate the restaurant balcony. He took one last glance at the barge. It seemed that Sarah had moved her head. No…was moving it. But there was something else moving, as well, at her feet. Ghaith squinted. What the hell was that? Then a shadow separated from the small swirling mass and stretched up the side of her leg….
Everyone in Baghdad—and probably all of Iraq—was familiar with the sight of dogs and cats gnawing at corpses in the streets. Only a few days earlier, in Sadr City, Ghaith had watched a dog jealously running away from the rest of the pack with something slithery in its mouth. It had taken him a moment to realize it was a human lip and upper chin.
Cats were lapping up Sarah's blood from the pool at her feet and from her skin. This was unusual, since the jittery animals nearly always waited for the stillness of death, and Sarah was struggling against her bonds. Perhaps they lived on the barge, were starving, and saw this as an irresistible bonus now that all the ship rats had been consumed.
Filthy beasts, Ghaith thought.
Hutton must have grabbed someone's goggles for a better look at what was happening to his beloved. Already horrified to the limit, he had broken. He had run out from between the buildings. He was already on the pier. He was not carrying his rifle. He was not running like a soldier. He was flailing his arms, like a child running towards a prize beyond measure. Like Ghaith's son, jumping for the shiny object in a tree, which turned out to be the bomb that killed him and maimed his mother. That was how Ghaith would have run that day, had he been home to see the impending tragedy.
It was also possible Hutton was half-blinded by the blood from the insurgent Gurung had beheaded. But then how could he see the animals drinking Sarah's blood? Perhaps he had just gone mad.
He was forced to stop at the end of the pier. The barge had swung away. It was too far to jump. But now it was yanked back by the cable and was beginning its slow return. Again, it scraped against the bollard, naked rusty metal on rusty sheets of tin. The song of Godzilla began. Ghaith almost missed the three heavy 'pops' beyond the balcony to his right. Whirling, he saw a bright flash in a fourth-story window of the apartment house. The Fijians had spotted the insurgent and cut loose the instant before he fired his rocket. The propellant ignited, sending a swirl of flame in the air. But Ghaith's would-be assassin had been knocked backwards. The RPG rocket exploded inside the room. Debris rained down, including body parts that thudded onto the corpse-heavy balcony. Ghaith shielded his head until the thudding stopped. He raised the phone.
"Captain Chadrichi! Captain! Are you there?"
The phone had gone dead. All bets were off.
Richmond, Virginia
July, 2008
Allah's Oriental Carpets & Shooting Gallery
Wearing his usual post-adolescent frown, Ahmad pounded into the back of the van and squeezed through the rear passenger seats.
"If you keep scowling like that those lines in your face will become permanent," Ari said.
"This is true," said Abu Jasim with avuncular malice. "Now drop your sulky ass into the chair and tell us what you found."
Before the young man could answer, Ari's phone rang. He looked at the number on the screen and answered. "Yes?"
"There's a box truck and a van pulling up in the back," came Ben's voice over the speaker. He was parked in the Chesterfield Mall parking lot, his binoculars pointed across Mall Drive at Allah's Oriental Carpets. He continued: "Wait a sec…it's stopped but no one is getting out."
"Can you see the driver?"
"Too much glare off the windshield."
"What a nuisance," Ari fumed.
"Is that the best you can come with?" Abu Jasim grinned. He was well acquainted with Ari's catalog of curses and foul oaths. "You aren't taming your tongue for Ahmad's benefit, are you? He's an American, now. He swears like an Arab and sailor combined."
"I wouldn't swear around you two," Ahmad said lowly.
"Good college kid," Abu Jasim nodded approvingly.
"Someone's getting out of the van," came Ben's voice. "Not just the driver. Two in front…two in back…"
"Is one of them a short balding man?" Ari asked.
"Uh…no." Ben's voice deepened with concern when he added, "They look like kickboxers."
"This is a sport," Ari said flatly. He had some familiarity with sport. "Are men paid to do this in the ring?"
"I'd explain, but there's car pulling up behind the van. Got a couple of men getting out, including a short balding man, sort of plump. They're all looking around…I'm in the middle of a thousand cars here. But they're being careful. What the hell kind of carpets do they sell in this place? Are they from Xanadu or somewhere? Like in the poem?"
"What poem is that?"
"You don't know? 'In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure-dome decree…' Don't ask me the rest. About the only things I remember from high school I learned in the back seat of a Camaro. Except maybe 'Romeo, Romeo, where the hell are you, you jerk?'"
"You may interrupt your recitation to tell me what you are seeing."
"They're still looking. You'd think they would have found a more private spot for their carpet store if they were hauling contraband."
"That might have drawn suspicion."
"Right…Arabs sneaking around in a dark alley." Ben paused. "Sorry…"
"I have frequently been suspicious of Arabs in dark alleys," Ari admitted. He imagined confronting himself looming out of the gloom and shuddered. "Are they not unloading a cargo?"
"No. In fact…where are you guys? In the front parking lot? You'd better move. Two of these guys just got back into the Continental. I think they're coming around for a look."
Ari raised his hand to tap the driver on the shoulder but Abu Jasim had already shifted ahead. He found a gap in the traffic and pulled out onto Midlothian Turnpike.
"We are gone," said Ari into the phone. Glancing into the passenger rearview, he saw a Lincoln drawing around the side of the squat, square building that housed Allah's. "You are right. They are being very careful."
"I don't know why," said Ben. "They're unloading the box truck, now. Whatever it is doesn't look like nukes. Or drugs. Just some big squares wrapped in brown paper."
"Ah," said a very pleased Ari. "Once again luck frowns down upon us."
"Don't you mean 'smiles'?" Ahmad said cautiously, unsure of how Ari would take another correction of his English.
"I misspoke. I am flush with contentment. Underling, at your first opportunity turn into the vast parking lot and find Ben."
"Funny how happiness brings out the asshole in some colonels," said Abu Jasim, finding the lot entrance.
Ari ignored the comment and twisted around in his seat to face Ahmad. "Report the results of your reconnaissance."
"There's nothing to report," Ahmad shrugged, looking up from his new laptop—with which he was inordinately pleased. Ari had paid cash for the most expensive one he could find at Best Buy. "I saw a lot of rugs."
"Carpets," Ari corrected.
"Same thing. I walked around…it was funny, there weren't any salesmen."
"That is very unusual," Ari agreed. He had some experience with furniture and carpet stores and was familiar with the ambush tactics employed by floor salesmen. "They must have been busy elsewhere."
"I guess," said Ahmad. "Anyway, it wasn't totally empty. I went down a corridor—"
"To their business office?" Ari interrupted. "You found a geek?"
"No, just a girl sitting at a desk in the back office."
"Was there a computer in front of her?"
"Well…yeah…but that doesn't mean—"
&nb
sp; Abu Jasim had been patrolling up and down the ranks of parked cars in the lot in search of Ben's truck. Ben had said he was situated between a red Opel and green Pontiac G6, which didn't help much, there being mid-sized cars all over the place. Braking, he reached back to strike his nephew.
"This is America! Girls know shit!"
Ahmad banged his head against the panel while dodging the blow. Rubbing his skull, he said, "I know! Girls know shit!"
Ari suspected a misinterpretation at some point in this dialogue, but pursued the topic. "Did you talk to her?"
"I told her I was sorry, I was lost, and she asked me how I could be lost when the store was basically one big room."
"Your espionage skills need honing," Ari advised him. "Was there no more interlocution?"
"Did we say anything else? Not much. I backed out of the office and started to leave. Then I found some basement stairs and began going down. That girl came out like a shot. She pointed to a sign: Authorized Personnel Only. I…uh…told her I couldn't read."
"You must have raised every follicle of her hairbun," Ari groused.
"Yeah, she was pretty plain. But she might have been cute without the glasses."
"Geek!" Abu Jasim bellowed.
"You think she's the one who traced my IP?" Ahmad said doubtfully. "Naw, she was—"
Ari was raising his phone to call Ben when Abu Jasim braked again and nodded ahead. They had found Ben's pickup truck. They had also found a man crouched behind it holding a pencil and paper. With thinning hair and thin frame, he looked like a meticulous insurance adjustor. He was trying to scrape off mud from the rear license plate. Ben had apologized to Ari about the state of his Datsun.
"My dirt bike got stuck and I had to haul it out of the ditch," he had explained.
"And now you have a dirt truck," said Ari as he took in the remarkable sight. It looked as if Ben had driven through a lake bed. He waved off Ben's suggestion that he clean it off. Ari was in a rush. If his guess was right and Rami Nohra had removed the paintings from O'Connor's, he would waste no time transporting them to their new hiding place. But there must have been a delay. The truck with the women and paintings had arrived several days ago. Seeing them being unloaded was a stroke of luck, like the mud covering Ben's plate.
He punched his speed dial.
"A good thing you got out of there," came Ben's voice. "They came around—"
"Ben, I want you to pull out immediately. There is a man behind your truck trying to write down your plate number. Do not get out to confront him. I don't want him to see your face. Or any of our faces."
Ben didn't answer. Within a second, exhaust and what appeared to be mud exploded out of the tailpipe. The blast caught the man with the notepad in the face. He reeled back, his shout becoming a shriek when he saw the truck backing towards him. Ari hoped he was not injured…or worse.
"Back out of here!" he yelled at Abu Jasim.
"I would, but there's some perilous-living fool behind us!"
Ari jumped out of the van. Only a few feet behind them was a Sienna blocking their escape. The driver was yelling at a child in a booster chair who was flailing about with a newly-purchased toy. The child was yelling back, demanding that the store packaging be ripped off for his immediate gratification. The woman shifted into park and grabbed the toy out of the child's hands. Apparently, that didn't settle the matter, because the woman began shaking the toy in the child's face, showing evidence of childhood dementia. Ari went to the driver side and grabbed the door handle. It was unlocked.
The woman screamed when he yanked the door open.
"I understand your concern," he said, taking the toy out of her hands. The display box said 'Hansa White Kid Sheep Plush Animal'. Ari ripped the stuffed sheep out of its box and with a mighty growl dug his teeth into its neck. Both the woman and child froze in their seats, eyes wide with horror. And then they screamed. The woman shifted and would have clipped Ari with the open door had he not slammed it shut for her. He raced back to the van.
"That should improve Arab-American relations," Ahmad said as his uncle shot into reverse.
Ahead of them, the man with the notepad was staggering between the parked cars, dazed but unhurt. Ben was already turning out of the lot.
"Wait," said Ari. "Let me out here."
Abu Jasim made a sound of disbelief.
"I want to see what this man with the pencil does. I have a filthy feeling about him."
"Such as…?"
"He is not one of the art thieves."
"Is that what this is about?" complained Abu Jasim, feeling sore-pressed by idiocy from every direction. "'Art'? Who cares?"
"Some of the paintings I am speaking of are worth hundreds of thousands, if not more."
"Dinars?"
"Dollars."
Abu Jasim slammed on the brakes. "Go! But first, wipe that white fur off your mouth. You look like a rabid dog."
Ari brushed the Hansa fluff off his lips and jumped out.
"Thanks for not asking me to come along!" Ahmad shouted as he slammed the door shut. He was not being sarcastic.
Still in reverse, Abu Jasim sped off. Striding slowly, as though headed for the shopping mall, Ari spotted the head of the man with thinning hair and began shifting between parked cars in his direction. The side door of a white Ford Transit slid open and a man stuck his head out. He was grinning as he beckoned to the notepad man. From inside the van came laughter. Trotting over, the notepad man shrugged ruefully. As the man in the door drew aside to let him in, Ari saw another man seated at a console in the back of the van. Above him was a viewing screen.
The door shut but the van did not pull out. Ari took note of the broad tinted window in the rear panel. One set of watchers was curious about the identity of another set of watchers. He drew up his lower teeth to chew at his moustache, but he had trimmed it this morning and he could not reach a single hair. He continued to the mall, entering Dillard's before stopping and turning to study the Transit through the glass doors.
Damn. It was enough to drain one's spittle.
He called Abu Jasim.
"Where are you?" Ari asked.
"On the other side of the mall, burning up your gas money."
"Do you have access to more license plates?"
"Always. Why?"
"You need to change the ones on your vehicle as soon as you can."
"We've been spotted?"
"And photographed. Allah's Oriental Carpets is under observation."
"By who?" Abu Jasim demanded, like a poacher who had been poached.
"They do not seem serious," said Ari, thinking of the laughter from the Transit. "They must belong to the government."
Ahmad moaned in the background.
"If you walk through the mall, I can pick you up on this side," said Abu Jasim.
"No, I am going to cross the street and visit the carpet store."
There was a palpable pulse of uncertainty at the other end.
"You will be photographed," Abu Jasim said.
"I am an Oriental. I like Oriental rugs. Who is to care?"
"You heard Ben. He said there's a whole crowd of them."
"I will enter as an ordinary customer," said Ari, tapping the gun under his sports jacket for reassurance. "They will have no reason to assail me."
"What if one of them recognizes you?" Abu Jasim persisted. "Remember the drawing of you floating around Baghdad?"
Ari thought of the men at O'Connor's who had grown alarmed at the sight of him. If they were on Rami's payroll, they would have mentioned his presence.
"It is a risk worthy of an Assyrian warrior."
"Colonel," Abu Jasim sighed, "you know this means I will once again have to rescue your camel hide."
"I will survive the shame," said Ari. "But stay away from the store unless I summon you. Are your spare license plates with you?"
"In the van, yes. Under the floor. Should I choose any particular state or province?"
"Something common and
undistinguished."
"I've got a shingle from North Carolina. They're next door to Virginia and only require a single plate. And it's up to date."
"That will do. Find a safe place and switch out."
Ari hung up and called Ben.
"Where are you?"
"I'm in the Target parking lot on the other side of Midlothian Turnpike. Across from the mall."
"'Target'? That does not sound propitious."
"Actually, I sort of agree with you. I don't know why they chose that name. It's kinda asking for trouble. Do you want a ride?"
"We have been under observation by unknown adversaries," Ari admitted grudgingly. "I think it would be best if you went to a car hosing establishment and removed the telltale mounds of mud from your Datsun. As it is, you are very recognizable."
"Darn," said Ben.
"I believe a more potent expletive is in order."
Resisting the urge to turn and wave at the Transit, to prove to the observers that he was not totally stupid (and thus proving his stupidity), Ari crossed Mall Drive and ascended the narrow, grassy slope to the Allah's Oriental Carpets parking lot. The Lincoln was parked alone out front. Business was slow. While crossing the mall lot he had been able to see the back of the carpet store. The van and box truck Ben had told him about were still there, but there was no movement. How many men would he be confronting? Five? Six? Were they armed? He girded his loins by once again tapping the gun under his jacket, then entered through the front door.
He was greeted by scent from lavender reed diffusers placed in strategic aromatic deserts throughout the showroom. This was probably intended to disguise the musty smell of hundreds of carpets gathered in one place for a lengthy period. The attempt was not entirely successful. Ari had to fight hard to suppress a sneeze.
The door chime had not caught the attention of a girl standing in the hallway at the back of the front room. She shifted nervously, her back against the wall, preoccupied with something in her mouth. As he drew closer, he saw that she was repeatedly jamming her thumbnail between her teeth. If she was supposed to be minding (or guarding) the store, she must be the woe of her employer. Or his daughter.
The Shelter for Buttered Women Page 30