There was scuffling in the alley behind the building.
"Don't think of Fahd. He is dead. My condolences for your nephew. Go!"
Ari sensed more than saw Nohra caving in to his commands. Scooping up Cindy from the floor, the man who stored and sometimes fenced the Sadiqs stolen artwork raced to the basement door, slamming it behind him.
Sanad observed all of this like a man who had lost everything, but who had known all along that packing one's steamer trunk for a trip to the grave was a waste of time.
"I can only pray those women you killed met death as calmly," Ari said.
"That was Nizzar," said Sanad. "He has no qualms."
"A religious fanatic?"
"Nizzar? A fanatic? No, just a brute. As you said at Teraq's, every good company needs one."
"I thought you said that. Never mind. Is Nizzar here?"
"No." Directing a grim smile at a vague point in space, Sanad said, "Mukhabarat…. A couple of my men said they recognized you from…a drawing."
"At O'Connor's? They work on the loading dock?"
"I dismissed their story, of course. A couple of Iraqi ex-convicts, constantly looking over their shoulders, always expecting someone to show up and drag them back home. Who would believe them?"
"Excuse me…" Ari reached over and lifted Sanad's jacket, drawing a Sig Sauer Mosquito from his dainty holster. "I'll return the bullets."
"Aren't you a nasty piece of work?" Sanad frowned.
"Okul khara ya ibn el kalb," said Ari. "How many opponents am I facing? They should have come up the hallway already."
"They have seen the body. They are being prudent." Sanad's face drew down in disappointment. "How quickly we descend into the gutter."
Being told to 'eat shit you son of a bitch' and having one of your employees shot before your eyes were scarcely equal offenses. Which one was Sanad referring to? Must be the insult. They always outweighed death.
The front door chimed. Ari turned and fired. The door was only half-open. The man standing there gaped down at the bullet-starred glass that had saved him. Ari fired again. The second shot broke through and hit the man in the chest. He fell backwards into the parking lot. That should get the surveillance team's attention.
"Never stop to count your good fortune," Sanad said in a short breath. "I should be dead by now. Are you keeping me alive for my secrets?"
"Give me your phone," Ari told him.
"I don't think—"
Ari shot him in the thigh. Sanad howled and fell out of his chair. Kicking him over onto his back, Ari reached down to his phone clip and slipped out his cell. There was a bulge in the inner pocket of his jacket. Ari took out his wallet, admitting to himself that he was probably a thief at heart. Also, the contents of the wallet might prove useful.
The sharp blast of an Uzi erupted out of the hallway. Ari dropped behind the desk as the bullets chewed wood. Nohra's blotter flew over his head like a giant bat.
"How dare you use a Jew-gun against me!" he bellowed.
A choke of laughter broke Sanad's howling. He had been right. Ari would want to talk him at leisure. The wound was shallow and he would be able to limp away, once he realized his luck. But if Ari decided there was no escape, he would empty Sanad's skull.
The firing stopped and Ari heard the distinctive 'ka-ching' of a reload. He jumped up and took aim. The shooter saw and gave a small "Ah!" before leaping through the back office door. A second man was silhouetted at the rear entrance. Seeing the first duck for cover, he quickly drew back out of sight. Ari raced to the front door and through the frame, cutting himself on jutting glass. He jumped over the body of his second victim, fell to the pavement and rolled, a tactic he disliked intensely. One, two, three shots, but no Uzi. Coming up against Nohra's Continental, he scooted against the front tire, his gun held out before him. The head of a man crouched against the building appeared for a second. He had already begun to pull back when Ari fired. Weren't these fellows supposed to die for art?
Ari frantically waved his left arm. Surely, the surveillance team must see his distress. And they must have heard the shooting. Was their rapid response really so lackadaisical? They were in sore need of a trip to Baghdad. A stint with the Marines would put fire under their feet.
Two metallic 'thonks' hit the other side of the car. Sanad's phone began to ring. Ari answered.
"Boss!" came a voice. "Are you all right?"
"He's eating my testicles!" Ari screamed into the phone, then hung up.
His own phone rang. It was Ben Torson.
"I hear shooting."
"You hear well," said Ari.
"Where are you?"
"Under siege in the parking lot. There are many adversaries. Do not attempt a rescue."
"Who do I shoot?" said Ben.
"Do not—"
"Who do I shoot?"
"I believe it is 'whom', and shoot anyone with a gun. But me."
"Half a sec…" Ben hung up.
A van roared into the parking lot. Abu Jasim braked hard and jumped out. He was greeted by a hail of gunfire. The sight of the Saddam Hussein lookalike drew bullets like a magnet. Leaping back into the driver seat, he roared off, the van peppered all the way. The Uzis had made it back onto the scene.
Ari hoped Abu Jasim or Ahmad had sense enough to call Ben and let him know how foolish it would be to come charging into the parking lot. Then he heard sirens. The second to last thing he wanted was to be saved by the cops. Who would save him from the cops? Then he heard motors starting up behind the building. Sanad's men had also heard. There was a loud mechanical crunch as someone sped over the speed bumps out the back entrance.
Standing, Ari stared towards the wide parking lot across Mall Drive. There was no sign of the white Transit.
Ben's truck tore into the lot. Before he could hop out, Ari opened the passenger door.
"Flee like the driven snow!" he commanded.
"What?" asked Ben, gaping at the body in the parking lot.
"We do not want to be absconded by the police!"
"True that," said Ben, crunching the gears.
They had driven a mile down Huguenot Road before Ari decided that they had escaped unseen.
"Am I an accessory to murder?" Ben asked tensely.
"Certainly not."
"Did you kill that man in the lot?"
"Well…yes," Ari admitted. "As well as another man in the store. And I wounded a third."
"So what it is exactly I'm an accessory to?"
"Self-defense. I believe that is the plea of reason in this country?" Unable to comprehend Ben's dark murmur, Ari continued: "I had thought Rami Nohra was foolish for unloading his paintings in daylight. Now I see the wisdom. He realized all hell might break loose and saw daylight as a defense."
"Naw," said Ben, turning off onto a suburban side road as they approached the James River. "Nohra set up business next to a diamond boutique. Those places have top security, with direct links to alarm companies. Someone starts shooting anywhere close, half the cops on Southside fall on top of him."
"Ah," said Ari, annoyed at himself for missing the obvious. He took out Sanad's phone and scrolled down the names on the speed dial, frowning when he came upon Nabihah Sadiq. He scrolled back up and chose another name at random. Someone named Abdul Mueed. After several rings, a cautious voice answered. "Yeah?"
"Yeah?" Ari said back.
"Yeah?" said the cautious voice again.
"Yeah?" Ari repeated.
There was a long pause. Ari heard sirens and shouting in the background.
"Who the fuck is this?" said the voice, no longer so cautious.
"You are very rude," said Ari, hanging up and swearing. Just his luck. He had dialed the number of one of the men he had killed and a cop had answered. He chose another name: someone named Abdul Waajid.
"Sanad!" came a tense voice. "Why are you calling me?"
"Where is Nizzar?" Ari said gruffly.
"He's upstairs getting the women. He didn't
answer his phone? He must not have heard it ringing. All the wailing, it's too much!"
"They weren't lounging by the swimming pool?" said Ari, his voice a poor imitation of Sanad's. Obviously, Waajid was so rattled by all the screaming that he did not notice the difference.
"We already got those. But some of them ran upstairs and locked themselves in their rooms."
"Tell Nizzar to wait there until I arrive."
"Hey, wait—you aren't—"
Ari hung up quickly. The risk of being discovered was too great. "Stop here."
Ben braked. Ari jumped out and smashed Sanad's phone under his heel. Ahmad could have told him if the police could pinpoint his location using the phone, but Ahmad wasn't here and he wasn't willing to take the chance.
Ahmad….
He took out his phone and called Abu Jasim's number. Ahmad answered.
"Where is your uncle?" Ari asked. "He is not injured?"
"He's counting the bullet holes in the van. He's talking about $500 a pop. I guess that means he doesn't carry any insurance on it." Ahmad took a deep breath. "Listen, Colonel, I can't take any more of this. A couple of bullets missed me by inches. There's a good reason I don't have any awards for valor."
"You were never in the Army," said Ari.
"Even so, I wouldn't—"
"We have a duty of honor to perform," Ari cut in. "Tell your uncle to meet us at the Sadiq mansion. No…one block away, out of sight."
"Is this going to be dangerous?" Ahmad asked timorously.
"I will give you all of my medals for heroism in the face of overwhelming odds when we are done," Ari asserted.
"Do I have to go to Baghdad to collect them?"
"Put your uncle on the phone."
"He's still counting."
"Then relay my message immediately!" Ari snapped and closed the phone. "Where are you taking me?"
"Home," said Ben. He was one of the handful of people who knew the location of Ari's safe house. "Is that all right?"
"It is well. I have some weapons tucked away around my house that will be useful. Machine guns, RPG's, hand grenades—"
"What are you doing with all that crap?" asked a horrified Ben. "How did you get it?"
"This is America," said Ari, thinking the answer was sufficient.
"Do your…uh…keepers know about it?"
"No."
"They must be pretty stupid."
"No…they just aren't…expectant."
They reached Beach Court and were halfway down the narrow lane leading to the house when Ari told Ben to stop.
"You have visitors," said Ben.
"Yes," said Ari. In his driveway was Karen Sylvester's Civic, with Karen standing next to it. She was shading her eyes, looking towards the river. "Can you back out quietly?"
Ben shifted into reverse. There was a loud grinding as he lifted his foot off the clutch and began backing uphill.
"Sorry," he said. "That’s how we do it in the country. The more noise, the more macho."
Karen heard the truck and turned. Shouting, she ran to her car. Fred came out of Ari's garage and leapt into the passenger seat. Ben was able to pick up speed, but Ari saw it was pointless.
"Nevertheless," he said.
"What?"
"Make do with going to my house."
"Who are those two?" Ben asked, braking and hitting the clutch.
"Federal babysitters."
"Oh darn, isn't that Deputy What's-Her-Name?"
"The word is 'merde'. Let me do the talking and you will emerge unscathed."
It wasn't to be. Karen was backing down Ari's driveway at full speed while Ben was careening forward. The result was a collision at the bottom of Beach Court Lane.
Karen hopped out and began to swear. Slowly emerging from the truck, Ben stepped forward to survey the damage.
"It's just a ding," he said lamely.
"This is Federal property!" Karen exclaimed. "There are no 'dings' on Federal property!" She eyed Ben narrowly. "Ben Torson?"
Ari hastened to Ben's side. "I'm so glad you remember him. You must also recall that he is a member of my church. He has kindly given me a lift home. He is a very good Christian. I was going to offer him the services of my garden hose." Ari nodded at the encrusted mud Ben had failed to wash off his truck.
Fred, who had emerged to look at the conjoined vehicles, let his feeble poker face slip into abject disbelief. "Christian? You?"
"I am a wayward soul," said Ari. "I need rescue from my path of indiscretion."
"Shit, Ari…" Karen said. She stepped forward. Ari braced, anticipating a slap.
She embraced him.
"Oh God, you're alive. And no bullet holes!"
She was so enamored with his good health that she failed to note the two guns under his jacket. But Fred had experience with a heat-packing Ari and turned a wary eye on the unexpected object of affection.
"Why would I be pierced by bullets?" Ari said innocently, understanding and ignoring the look Fred gave him.
"I don't know…you just seem to be a bullet magnet. The F.B.I. had Allah's Oriental Carpets under surveillance." Karen drew back and looked up at him. She wasn't exactly teary, but her eyes were glowing. "You're in the DOJ database, remember? When they saw you walk into the store they did a cross-check on your digital photo and came up with Gh…Ghath—"
"Ghaith," said Ari.
"Ghaith Ibrahim aka Ari Ciminon—" She stopped herself when she saw Ben well within earshot. "Is your church pal…it's been a while since we met last. Can we bank on him?"
"I am not privy to my friend's bank balance," said Ari.
"And a good thing, too," said Ben. "Don't worry about me. Don't forget, I'm ex-military. I know how to zip up. So, Ari…your real name's Ghaith Ibrahim…?"
"Shit," said Karen.
"The eel has slithered out of the bag," Ari shrugged. "You may continue."
"'Ibrahim…" Ben ventured. "That sounds like a terrorist name—"
"Think 'Abraham' and it will improve."
"Just remember," Karen cut in. "You repeat anything you learn from Ari…or from me…you'll find yourself in one of the Federal Bureau of Prison's 122 location, with the emphasis on maximum security."
"True do," Ben answered, wincing.
"As soon as we heard you were under ACT surveillance—"
"My allergy to acronyms has not abated," Ari scowled.
"The F.B.I.'s Art Crime Team. It was established a few years ago when all that art from the Middle East began flooding into the States. I was horrified. I wondered if you were mixed up in some kind of ring."
"You think I would stoop to stealing paintings?" Ari asked.
"I think you would reach down a baby's throat to steal its gum drop."
Both Fred and Ben started to laugh, but fell silent when she shot them a double-barreled glare.
"I tried to contact the team on the site but couldn't get through."
Ari groaned.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. So you came to my residence hoping to catch me with tiny canvases in my tiny car?"
"Well…"
"Keep your fears in abeyance. I might steal a baby's rattle, but art is another container of worms. I do not understand it. One picture is very much like another to me." He paused. "You speak of paintings…art. I entered a rug shop. As you know, my second floor is bereft of carpets."
Karen eyed him narrowly. "Why are you fidgeting?"
"Fidgeting?"
"Why are you acting like you have to pee?"
"Ah," said Ari. "I have to pee. Thank you for your kind visit. You may go."
"I can't go anywhere."
"Pardon?"
"Ben and I dinged. I have to get his insurance information so I can fill out a SF91."
"A form?"
"Provided by the General Services Administration for when a Federal vehicle is involved in an accident."
"But this is not really an accident," Ben protested. "Gosh, I can't tell your ding from all
the others on my truck."
"How long is this form?" Ari asked.
"I'll know after Fred downloads it on his laptop. My guess is that it'll take at least an hour to fill out."
"We have no time for bureaucratic idiocy," Ari swore.
"What's the rush?" Karen twisted left and then right, as though trying to spot something hidden behind Ari's back. "What do you have on your agenda?"
Ben weighed a glance between Karen and Ari. "If what I've overheard means anything, we have a lot of lives to save, and not much time to do it in."
Ari shot Ben a look of anger—but he would have said the same thing, given another ten seconds.
"If you're in such a hurry to save lives, why did you come home?" Karen asked.
Ari was not about to confess to his stash of high-impact weaponry.
"You didn't come all the way here from Midlothian Turnpike just to pee?" Karen pressed.
There was such a thing as pre-sorting. There was also such a thing as post-sorting. He would deal with explanations later.
"There is no time to tell you. We must hurry away now. The man involved in the shooting at Allah's is attempting to kidnap the women from Mrs. Sadiq's mansion. We must arrive before that happens."
"Shooting? I was just joking about the bullet holes…" Karen frantically yanked out her phone and speed punched. "Hey, Toomey, you hear anything about a shooting at a carpet store on…yeah, the one ACT had its eye on…"
Toomey spoke to her.
"Three stiffs?" Karen cried out, going pale as she glanced at Ari. "A basement full of terrorists?"
Rami Nohra would not be pleased by the description of himself, his geek secretary, and his passel of young men—minus the unlucky Fahd.
"Who's the shooter?" Karen asked, her singular reference betraying her concern about Ari. She seemed relieved at Toomey's next words. "They shot at the police? How many…okay, you don't know. Say, Toomey, I was trying to reach that ACT team..." She paused. "What do you mean, no one can find them?"
Ari whipped the phone out of Karen's hand and raised it to his mouth.
"Mr. Toomey? A pleasure to speak to you. Your F.B.I. artistes are dead. You will find their bullet-hassled bodies in some out-of-the-way corner of the city, gathering fungus. Now please excuse us, as we are otherwise engaged."
The Shelter for Buttered Women Page 33