"What the fuck!" Karen screeched as Ari hung up and handed the phone back to her.
"We must hasten," said Ari, rushing back to Ben's truck.
"Not there," Karen ordered, pointing at the back seat of her Civic. "You will not leave my sight. And you…" She pointed at Ben. Ari thought it most rude. "Sorry, Ben, but by your own admission there's no time for courtesy. Go home. We have your plate number, so don't try to skip out on us. Now back your truck away so we can get out of here."
Ben jumped into his Datsun and grinded his way to the turn circle of Beach Court.
"What's that thumping?" Karen demanded as she back out of Ari's driveway.
"Loose bumper rubbing against the tire?" Fred ventured.
With a concise dictionary of swear words, Karen leapt out of her car and stood in front of Ben's truck as he turned around. He braked in front of her. He rolled down his window.
"I am commandeering this vehicle—"
"Hop in!" Ben said cheerfully. "By my own admission, there's no time for courtesy. You already know the back seat."
"Fred!" she said. "See if you can squeeze inside behind the passenger seat."
Fred took a look inside the cab and shook his head. "No way."
Ari brushed him aside and took the passenger seat.
"Room in the bed!" Ben shouted as he shifted into gear.
Karen and Fred had no option. They clambered over the rear gate and rolled around the truck bed as Ben roared off.
CHAPTER 16
Sindabad – Baghdad – Iraq
June 8, 2006 - 0310 hours
Ghaith stood and frantically scanned the deep recesses of the riverbank. Nothing…nothing…the blast from the rocket had reduced his night vision. He couldn't trust himself. What he perceived as shadows moving were only moving shadows, not men. Or were they? Captain Chadrichi must have seen or heard the explosion.
The barge closed on the pier, the dark outline of the steering platform cabin lumbering close to Hutton like the ghost of a house. The rifleman stripped off his gear, braced himself against a post, then took off for a running leap. If he fell short, Godzilla would grind him in its maw. But he made it onto the deck with two feet to spare. He screamed and the cats scattered. He spoke to Sarah as he began working on the rope binding her. She raised her head.
Could he do it? There was no apocalyptic flash. No one was stopping him. Just the strength of the knots, the thickness of the rope….
Then Ghaith caught a glimpse of something in the middle of the Tigris. A faint glow moving against the few lights on the western shore. Where was Gates? He could call Ratu and tell him to turn on the bomb jammer. But like the merc had said, those didn't always work and the convoy was half a mile away. Ghaith turned and frowned at the AK resting on the tabletop. Then he jumped over the body of the muj Gurung had killed and ran down the steps, slipping on blood.
Two Fijians were kneeling on the lawn, trying to rouse a comrade who had been knocked half-senseless by falling debris. One of them made a sound of protest as Ghaith took up the fallen man's Dragunov. A Type 79, an Iranian copy of the Chinese copy of the Russian original. But mounted on it was a real Russian image enhancer, one of the latest, with sight reticles that allowed one to fire without bothering with handwheels for setting the elevation. Even as he raced back up the balcony steps he felt a slight thrill of admiration for the weapon in his hands. And hope. With this, he could remove the threat from the river.
He had lowered the bipod by the time he reached the end of the tables, setting the legs on the wall and bracing behind the scope. From long practice in similar situations, he was able to pinpoint the light without too much swaying back and forth to center the target in the magnified optics. A remarkable feat, considering the paucity of reference points. The boat itself was practically invisible, as was the man holding the cell phone. The light from the phone wavered high in the air. The man was probably standing on the roof of a cabin cruiser.
There was another shout, this one from Gates. Ghaith felt compelled to pull away from the scope to see what was happening. There was Hutton, still working futilely at the rope holding Sarah to the latticed boom. And there was Gurung, leaping the gap between the pier and the barge and whipping out his kukri to slash at the ropes.
Ghaith noticed a slight breeze running south with the river. He glanced down at the bulrushes and pinned it at 5 knots. Lowering himself to take the shot, he mentally adjusted his minutes of angle without touching the scope. There was no time to fiddle with details. He had not used a 1PN51 in a long time. Training, and a touch of imagination, were faster.
The gun was on automatic. No need to chamber a round. He studied the pale dot. A shadow seemed to cross the light. A hand.
He fired.
The flash suppressor limited the short-term damage to his night vision, already poor from the RPG explosion. He saw the pale light fly up higher in the air, then drop rapidly. The phone disappeared into the water.
He rose and looked at the barge. Gurung had quickly cut through the ropes. Sarah fell into Hutton's arms. He drew back and looked into her eyes. Did he speak?
Godzilla ended its nighttime campaign of terror in a blast that blew out every window in the vicinity. It lit up the community of Bo'aitha on the opposite shore and tore a hole in the current of the Tigris that sent carps and barbs, some cats, and three humans hundreds of feet high. Buffett later calculated that as much as 320 kilograms of C-4 had been used.
Richmond, Virginia
July, 2008
Disaster at the Mansion
With the two deputy marshals stuck in the back, Ari thought he was temporarily free of the burden of confabulating further explanations. Then the third phone tucked away in his jacket rang—he dared not give Karen the same number used by Abu Jasim. Raising the phone and seeing her number, he twisted around to look out the rear window. Karen was pressing her phone to her ear. Her various wild gestures amounted a command to Ari to pick up.
"Why are you committing all of these wild gyrations?" Ari answered.
"I've got Fred calling the Richmond Police. Do we need the SWAT team?"
"There is too much wind in your words. I cannot comprehend what you're trying to tell me."
Creating a windbreak by cupping her hand around the phone, Karen repeated, "Fred is calling—"
"I heard," Ari smirked. Karen slapped the window. "There may be many hostages. These are people who have already killed some of your agents."
"How do you know that?"
Ari recalled Sanad's unconcern when told Allah's was under surveillance. "Body language."
"Say what?"
"These people have their short hairs on the trigger."
Ben gave Ari a look.
"They will not hesitate to—"
"Richmond has hostage negotiators…at least one that I can think of. Dr. Something-or-other."
"This is not a domestic squabble, nor are these men bank robbers with nothing to lose. They have much to lose, which makes them very dangerous. I think that, with your help and the assistance of my compatriots, we can subdue a dozen or so mad killers."
"You want Fred and me to get our heads blown off?" Karen protested.
Fred glanced at her and shook his head vigorously.
"I assumed such was your purpose in life," said Ari. "Very well, I see Fred is continuing his efforts to rouse an army. Please ask him to tell the police commander not to approach the house until we arrive."
"Why?"
"Because it is my guess that I will be the only one present who can speak Arabic." He left out Abu Jasim and Ahmad, not wanting to stir Karen's ire any further.
"These are terrorists?" Karen squawked.
"Because I mention Arabic, you assume terrorists. I find that very racist. Just because most or all of these foaming mad killers are from the Middle East does not equate them with—"
"Sound like terrorists to me."
Fred tapped her on the shoulder and gave a thumbs up. Then the young man fr
owned, pressing his phone hard to his ear. Squinting against the wind slicing across the back of the truck, it was hard to read his expression as he spoke to Karen, who nodded grimly and raised her phone to her mouth.
"I wasn't sure the RPD would take us seriously, but you were right about those ACT agents. Three of them."
Ari thought of them laughing at the man who had gotten a face full of Ben's truck exhaust. "I am sorry," he said.
"Now it looks like the whole Third Precinct is turning out for us, plus SWAT, plus the F.B.I. field unit. It's Cumberland all over again."
Cumberland, where a large force of Federal and State agents had taken on a gang led by none other than Uday Hussein, whom Ari had discovered living the life of Riley on a fifty-acre farmstead.
"We do not want to repeat an all-out assault," Ari advised her.
"They're pretty stirred up across the river," Karen told him. "I don't think I carry any weight at this point. Don't worry, Ari. These are professionals."
"Ah!" he moaned and broke the connection.
"What?" asked Ben, approaching the Nickel Bridge.
"We are at the mercy of professionals."
"You mean we're screwed?" said Ben.
"Whenever Americans wish to prove their incompetence, they declare their professionalism. No, Ben, we're fucked."
"That's a little harsh," the former soldier protested. Then he thought a moment. "But you might be right."
When they reached the bridge toll booth Ben discovered he had no money. Karen flashed her badge from the truckbed. The girl inside the booth stared at her for a moment, then raised the gate.
They were only a few minutes from the mansion when Karen again called.
"They've gone in," she said. "It looks like no one's at home. There's blood…"
Ari swore.
"Tell Ben to pull in at the next road," Karen added.
"Why?"
"As soon as the Feds see you they'll want to talk to you. They know you were at Allah's. You might want time to cook up a story that's half-believable."
"Are not you and Fred 'feds'?"
"Yeah, but we never believe you. I don't want us to prejudice the interview."
"You're too kind."
Before Ari could tell Ben to stop short of the mansion, his other phone rang. Abu Jasim! Shit!
"Colonel—" Abu Jasim began.
Ari cut him short. "Do not go near the mansion! The place is crawling with Jews!"
"Too late," Abu Jasim said. "I've come and gone. That place is really torn up. You say you work for the people who insure the mansion? There's going to be one hell of a claim."
"Did the police see you?"
"I was already out when I heard the bullhorns. Listen, Colonel, I fished out something. There's a little road called Hampton Hills Lane about six blocks from the mansion. When you come down Cary, you'll see—"
"I see." Ari tapped the steering wheel. "Turn here!"
"Jesus!" Ben's strongest oath. "Hold on!" he shouted, although it was doubtful Fred and Karen could hear him. The squeal of tires was accompanied by cries of alarm from the back. After straightening out on the narrow lane, Ben said, "Are they still there? I can't bring myself to look."
Ari waved out the back window. "The infestation of lice continues. Next time we will use a strong pesticide." He raised his phone. "Abu Jasim…Are you still there? Where should we go, now?"
"'We'?"
"I'm with Ben. How else would I travel since you abandoned me?"
"I obeyed orders. Just keep going straight for a couple of hundred smoots."
"A 'smoot'?" Ari asked.
"That's Ahmad's measure. He swears it's common. Just come straight for half a kilometer. That should give me long enough to beat my nephew into a puddle of ooze."
"Hurry!" Ari told Ben. "We must rescue Ahmad!"
But when they arrived at Abu Jasim's van, they found both him and his nephew staring through a tall chain-link fence at scenic, rolling fields. Turning when he heard the truck doors slam, Abu Jasim exclaimed, "Look, Colonel! A herd of deer!"
Ari and Ben came up to the fence and marveled at the twenty or so deer grazing peacefully on the perfect lawn.
"Awesome," said the citified Ahmad.
"In the middle of a city!" said Abu Jasim.
"I have seen their tracks in my yard," said Ari.
"Ever had venison jerky?" said Ben.
There was a sound behind them and they turned to see Karen and Fred jumping shakily out of the back of the truck. They froze when they saw Abu Jasim.
"What are these?" Abu Jasim demanded querulously.
"Objects of the government," said Ari. "They are inclined to be friendly."
Karen walked cautiously across the grass border and stopped, staring up at Abu Jasim. "Has anyone ever told you that you look just like—"
Once Saddam Hussein's body double, Abu Jasim was long-accustomed to the observation. Nevertheless, he thrust his face into his hands and wailed.
"My friend is very sensitive to having been defamed at birth," said Ari, rubbing Abu Jasim's shoulder. Then he gave the shoulder a hard punch.
Abu Jasim raised tear-free eyes.
"It might help if you lost the moustache," said Karen, who then turned to Ari. "Who is he? Part of your private army? I've always suspected Santa had a lot of little helpers."
"He is my cousin a thousand times removed. We are very close-knit. You might recall the conversation we had about 'tribes'."
Karen flicked a glance at Fred, still standing next to the truck. "Yeah." She shrugged. "For now, I'll go with the flow. But don't think I can let this rest. I've got someone under my care associating with…" She looked at Abu Jasim, who waggled his eyebrows. "…unknown associates. And you…" She turned to Ahmad. "I know you…"
It was possible she had seen Ahmad working as an attendant at a nursing home in Ashland. Ari immediately interceded.
"That cannot be," he said, turning Karen at the shoulder. "This young chap only arrived yesterday from Inner Mongolia. Now, Mr. Jones, what did you fish out of—"
"Don't touch me," said Karen, shrugging out of Ari's gentle grip.
"But you have touched me," said Ari. "You have even—"
"It's not a two-way street."
"I'll bear that in mind," said Ari, nonplussed. A woman could touch a man but a man could not touch a woman. This was difficult to untangle.
Maintaining a wary distance from Karen, Abu Jasim led Ari to his van. When he slid open the side panel a small cry came from within. A woman in a black hijab squeezed herself against the far wall.
"She was in the mansion?" Ari asked.
"In a closet," said Abu Jasim. "When I opened the door, she squealed like a stuck camel."
"Have you ever stuck a camel?" said Ari.
"Uh…no."
"Then refrain from inane analogies." Ari leaned forward and spoke to the woman. "Please raise your head so I can see you."
She obeyed. When she saw Ari, she cried out and hid her face.
"You're right, she sounds like a stuck camel."
It was Karida from Truck 7, the homely woman he had so unconscionably insulted at the dinner table.
Karen had come forward and had seen her reaction to the sight of Ari. "Who is this? What did you do to her?"
Ignoring the intrusion, Ari hopped into the van and crouched next to the frightened woman.
"How is it, Little Ahm? You cannot be afraid of me."
"'Mother'!" the woman cried out, her head whipping up and spitting venom from under her hijab. "If you were my son, I'd—"
"Yes, yes…" Ari became thoughtful. "I must be thinking of my Russian lessons. 'Little Mother' is a common term of endearment. You like the Russians, don't you?"
"I've heard of them," Karida snarled.
"Show respect to the nice man," said Abu Jasim, leaning into the van.
The woman quailed before him. Ari wondered at her reaction when Saddam Hussein himself ripped open the closet door to discover her h
iding place.
"Do not worry about him," Ari reassured her. "He trains clowns how to bugger mules at the circus."
Abu Jasim sniffed and pulled his face away from the cowering woman. Ari felt the drift of imaginary change falling out of his pocket. That quip would cost him.
"Can you tell us what happened?" he continued in the gentlest tone he could summon under the circumstances.
"The guards…"
"Yes?"
"The new ones that appeared a few days ago. They suddenly turned against us."
"Good help is hard to find," Abu Jasim murmured in the background.
Karen gave him a wary glance and edged away. Fred refused to approach him, seeming every bit as afraid as Karida.
"There were a couple of guards who had been at the Sadiq house longer—loyal, trustworthy. There was gunfire. I think they were killed."
Ari looked at Abu Jasim for confirmation.
"I only saw one stiff, but there was plenty of blood."
With a sinking heart, Ari again turned to Karida. "Yilmaz and Singh…"
She looked down at hands beginning to gnarl into old age. Ari wondered how Nabihah intended to marry her off.
"They left before it started. There was a phone call…something about the place where they delivered us."
"The depot?"
"While I was in the closet, I thought they had abandoned us. But then I thought how upset they were when the call came. There must be something else…"
"How many guards were there?"
"Sab'a…thamania…tis'a…'ashara…"
"Ten? You think there were ten of them?"
"One man with a gun is many," Karida said.
"True that," Karen hissed.
Ari was calculating his odds. Ten opponents from the mansion, plus or minus. And what had happened at the depot to draw Yilmaz and Singh away? How many men had that involved? And at the same time, Sanad was assaulting Nohra's store with…six men? Seven? The only definite number was the 'minus two'.
"Did you hear anything?"
"What I didn't hear!" Karida cried. "Guns, screaming…"
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