"Where is Yilmaz?" Ari asked.
"Inside, probably killing someone." He sounded disappointed, as if wondering when his turn would come.
Lawson had recovered from his brush with Abu Jasim's van and was silently directing his men with his cane. He wanted no one else to go through the front door. If there was a bomb planted inside he could lose precious manpower. A female voice came through on his headset. He listened and nodded.
"I'm sorry you lost your targets, Wookie Monster, but now you know. Shoot to kill. Everyone, listen up. They fired the first shots. Take 'em out at will." Lawson whipped his cane around, an apparent signal to his remaining men to flank the building.
"You know, Ari, neither Karen nor I are wearing body armor," said Fred as the mercenaries flowed out around the warehouse. "I was shot before, remember? I don't care to relive the experience."
"Your wisdom elates me," said Ari. "But your correct grammar under stress leads me to believe your tiger is straining to emerge. I believe we are outnumbered in this endeavor. The enemy is well-armed. I would gasp with gratitude at your assistance."
"Oh man," he said, sounding very much like Ahmad.
Ari leaned down and picked up an unconscious guard's M-16.
"Put that down!" Karen yelled.
Ari dropped the rifle and picked up the other guard's AK-47. "You're right, this is much better."
She hissed loudly as Ari checked the magazine. Giving up, Karen gave up and fell in behind him as he followed the mercenaries around the left side of the building. They approached a merc standing over three prisoners prone on the tarmac, their hands behind their heads. Ari felt an uplift of hope. This might not prove a fight to the death, after all.
They jumped at the sound of a shot behind them and turned to see a man rolling down the sloped verge leading to the trees. Turning a little further, they saw Fred standing with his pistol gripped in both hands.
"He had a rifle, I swear!" the young man shouted. "He was going to shoot that guy!"
"I melt with admiration," said Ari.
"Stop shaking," Karen admonished. "You'll get over it. I know…"
The man guarding the prisoners glanced across the side lot at the body.
"One shot with a .38," he said. "Pretty fucking A-plus."
Ari thought he heard Karen murmur 'dumb luck', but this was followed quickly by a shout of alarm. "He's moving!"
The wounded man twisted sideways as he struggled for the pistol in his belt. Ari stepped across and grinned down at him. He recognized him from O'Connor's. No doubt one of the men who had jumped Badawi Bahrani, maybe the very one who had shot him. "Damaghsiz, Khaled al-Khufaji. Yes, I know your name, as well as the fact that you don't have a brain. You thought you recognized me, didn't you?" He prodded the man's shoulder wound with the barrel of his rifle.
"I never saw you before!" Khaled cried out. "Here, take it!"
"Don't mind if I do," said Ari, leaning down and transferring the gun from Khaled's belt to his own. He went back to the group gathered near the bay door. "Everything is swell. I told him if he moves again the nice man guarding the prisoners will vacuum out his skull and dispose of its feeble contents in the dustbin."
"Sure," the guard shrugged, then ducked at the sound of gunfire inside the building. Several bullets pinged nearby and everyone but the prisoners and Ben took cover behind a Toyota. Ben was behind the building wall.
"Hairy," said the guard.
"Who is Harry?" Ari asked.
Fred giggled. Ari assumed he was still searching for courage behind his luck. No doubt getting shot outside the farmhouse in Cumberland had put the fear of lead in him.
"Ben, run back to your truck and get your Uzi," said Ari. "The shooter can't see you from the back of the garage."
"I told you I don't have any ammo for it."
"If you search under the lumber in the back, you might find some." It was a nice way of calling him a liar. He had no way of knowing if Ben had any 9mm on him, but he knew most people lied when they talked about guns, like they did about money and women.
"You don't think this will work?" Ben nodded down at the assault gun in his hands.
"I think a mass of Hebrew bullets will do better," said Ari. "Uzis are good Jew guns. That's why Arabs love them."
Ben dwelled on this for a moment, then darted for his truck.
"I'm Jewish," said the man keeping his gun trained on the prisoners.
"My condolences."
"May your name be obliterated," said the guard.
Karen nudged him in the back. "We're getting shot at. Show some tact."
"A hundred thousand apologies," Ari said to the guard.
"That's one short of enough."
"You know, that guy…or those guys…the ones in the garage…" Karen lowered her voice. "I'm sure he or they can hear everything we're saying."
"Let's see." Ari lifted his head slightly above the truck bed. "You inside! Your mother was a camel that got stuck on a pile of—"
He stooped as bullets slammed into the metal flanks. Two of them came out the other side, perilously close to Ari's head.
"AK-47," Ari nodded. "Much better than an M-16 at checkpoints. They pierce engine blocks."
The guard held up two fingers and Ari responded in kind.
"Yes, peace unto you, too. A hundred thousand and one pardons."
"I mean there's two shooters."
"Yes, of course," said Ari, blushing. "I knew that."
Ben was coming back across the front lot, pushing a 32-round magazine into his Uzi as he came up against the wall. Edging close to the opening, he paused and looked towards the truck.
"Has anyone seen the shooters?" Ari asked lowly.
"I just know two guns when I hear them," said the guard.
No one else had seen them, either.
"Very well," Ari sighed. "We will all fire at once."
In fact, this was quite a luxury for him. Accustomed as he had been to seeking out his targets by himself, always leaning into the possibility that he would be spotted first, this was like having a brigade of Marines hone in on a lone sniper. He held up his hand for Ben to see and began raising his fingers.
One…two…
And then he paused for the briefest of instants and thought, Why three?
…three.
All but the guard rose and fired. The garage exploded in sparks and ricochets. A couple of oil cans danced up in crazy gyrations. Underneath the racket was a peculiar chewing sound. Ben looked as if he was manhandling a jackhammer as the Uzi shuddered in his hands. It was impossible to say if there were answering shots. The three prisoners on the ground began to rise, then fell flat when they saw the guard menacing them with his gun.
Ari emptied his magazine, then threw down his rifle and pulled out the pistol he had taken from Khaled al-Khufaji. When the Uzi rattled empty he jumped out from behind the truck and ran to the brick partition between the bay doors. Karen and Fred were close behind him.
"I am not bullet-proof, if you are thinking of using me for cover. And Fred, please reload."
Ben was slotting another magazine into the Uzi. Having a better view of the interior, he leaned forward for a peak, then pulled back. There were no shots from inside.
"I think we killed a bunch of paintings," Ben said.
Glancing around the partition, he saw bits of semi-scorched canvas leaf through the air before plopping softly on the concrete floor.
"I believe they are insured," Ari said lowly, wondering what he would say to Lawson.
The guard had dragged one of the prisoners to his feet and was pushing him towards the opening.
"Isn't that a war crime?" said Fred.
"This isn't war," said the guard. "It's…just a lot of shooting."
"Now I see the point of it," said Karen. There were so many hiding places in the garage that they might as well be walking in blind.
"Fucking merc," said Ben, shaking his head at the guard. But like the others, he waited until the quaki
ng prisoner was well inside before going forward.
About six paintings leaning against the far wall had been thoroughly chewed into miniatures.
"It's not just about the money, Ari," Karen whispered.
"I understand in a very heartfelt way," said Ari, adding, "Do not slip on the oil."
Karen stepped around a bullet-riddled can.
Fred crouched and peered behind a tall tool cabinet chest on casters. He jerked back.
"Here…"
Ari and Karen stepped forward to look. A man lay sprawled, his back against the wall. Several bullets had gone through the cabinet, carrying chunks of car tools into his head and body. Flecks of chrome dotted what was left of his face. He gasped through his exposed windpipe. Blood spurted from his neck. Ari had no doubt his AK-47 had done the damage.
"The wound is mortal," he said, raising his pistol.
"Ari!" Karen cried out. "What are you doing?"
"You are right, I forgot where I was." Ari pressed his hand to his chest, a gesture of apology. Then he pointed his gun again and shot him through the head. "Such is how one finishes the agony of an honorable enemy."
Ben and the deputy marshals looked at Ari with horror. The guard was escorting his prisoner back outside. He glanced over, saw what had happened, and shrugged.
"The man's right."
"No he isn't—" Karen began.
She was interrupted by a loud clatter. They all whirled, guns raised. A man staggered out from behind a roll-off dumpster, bracing his weight on a storage rack. There was blood on his shirt. Seeing the guns aimed in his direction, he threw up his hands and shouted, "La hariq!" Then he fell.
"If you shoot him too, Ari, I swear the next shot will be mine."
Ari studied the wounded man for a moment, then turned back to Karen.
"His wound is not mortal."
Still shaking from witnessing what amounted to murder, Karen gave him an uncertain glance.
Singh came out from the door to the main building. He was dragging what they assumed was another corpse, until the man gave a shout when his head banged down the two steps leading to the bay.
"I have a…" Seeing the guard and his prisoners at the entrance, Singh nodded like a satisfied businessman. "Good, a collection. I will add to it."
The man cursed and squirmed until his eyes fell on the blood trail. The tool cabinet had been rolled to the side, exposing Nizzar's dead recruit and the brain-splattered wall behind him. He remained still as Singh pulled him over to the garage apron and let go of his leg.
"If he moves, kill him," said Singh.
"Yes, I believe that's the plan," the guard responded.
There were shots inside.
"Have you seen Yilmaz?" Ari asked.
"No, but I have seen some of her handiwork." Singh chuckled, thinking this a good pun.
Ben scowled at the Sikh for neglecting protocol, then edged his head around the building door and shouted, "Clear!"
They were surprised when Lawson hobbled to the top of the steps.
"The front offices are clear," he told them. He glanced around the garage and saw the body near the tool cabinet. "I see paperwork everywhere." Then he saw the fragmented paintings. Ari thought he heard a soft mechanical cry.
"He did it," said Ari, pointing at the dead man.
"This place stinks of cordite."
Ben grinned. "Yeah."
"Yeah," Lawson snarled back. "Too many fucking jarheads around here."
"Aye-aye, sir."
More shots inside. Turning stiffly, Lawson aimed his cane down the hallway. "Get going! But watch out for friendlies. I've got a few men guarding the perimeter. The rest are inside. Two wounded that I know of."
More paperwork.
"And the hostages?" Karen asked.
"No sign of them. My guess is that the ragheads…" He coughed, giving Ari a side glance. "The bad 'uns will probably hold guns to their heads and try to force us to back off."
"And will we?" Fred asked nervously.
"With all these fine marksmen I have on the payroll? Fat chance."
Ben, already near the door, had a head start down the hallway. Lawson tapped him on the shoulder.
"Watch it with that thing," he said, nodding down at the Uzi.
"Right." Ben laid the machine gun on the floor and took out a pistol. He glanced back at Fred. "Don't touch!"
Karen joshed her partner with a punch. This delayed her long enough to make Ari second in line down the hall. He should have let Ben get further ahead. Someone at the end of the hallway could jump out and waste both of them. But he could not defeat the demon of chivalry. He did not want Karen taking shots on his behalf.
A man emerged from a side hall. He was dressed no differently than Sanad's and Nizzar's men. This included bullet-proof vests. But Lawson had had the foresight to have his men wear flaps bearing the emblem of the Marine Corps, front and back. Though Ben wore neither flap nor vest, the man recognized him.
"Semper Fi," Ben whispered.
"Rangers," the man answered, giving his front flap a disparaging flick of his finger. "But hooah, anyway."
It made sense to let Army lead the way down the adjoining hall. Being armed, armored and emblazoned with the Eagle, Glove and Anchor, he was best suited to handle an ambush.
They came across the body of another one of Nizzar's men before turning a corner and finding six of Lawson's mercs braced against a wall to either side of a door.
"Here are the hostages," said Buffett to the former Ranger. "Some kind of conference room. There's about thirty of them, some on fold-out chairs, the rest on the floor. That was some kind of shooting back there. Everyone OK?"
The Ranger looked to Ben, who nodded.
"So far so good. You got any hostage negotiators back there?"
Ari forced himself to the head of the line.
"Hell no," said Lawson, coming up behind Fred. "Let me up there. One look at my face and they'll cry for mommy."
"This is probably true," said Ari. "Even now, looking at you, I want to sob on my mother's shoulder. But I will be crying in Arabic. Can you do the same? Fluently?"
"Ari—"
"Is this not why you hired me? To cremate our opponents with my excellent speech skills?"
There was a loud hammering inside the conference room. Using a mirror, Buffett glanced inside. "There's a door leading outside. They're looking that way. Someone's knocking."
Lawson was muttering into his headset. He stared hard at Ari. "Wookie Monster says your friend Abu Jasim is banging on the door. And get this…he's carrying—"
"He's no friend of mine," Ari scowled. "He's a former employee. What is he carrying? Does he still have the Mossberg?"
"Someone's gone over to open up," said Buffett.
"Is he armed?"
"AK."
"Then let him open up on Abu Jasim."
"You don't mean that," said Karen with a great deal of uncertainty. There was no telling what her charge was capable of.
"You say I lie?" But of course Ari didn't want to see Abu Jasim shot down. Not only was he, in truth, a friend, but they would need him to recover millions of dinars from a bank in Europe.
"The door's opening," said Buffett, still watching the mirror. "That guy is holding his gun on him. And your friend is carrying…what the fuck!"
Ari did not have a mirror. He stuck his head through the door, saw none of Nizzar's men was looking his way, then saw why. Not only were they seeing the Saddam Hussein lookalike for the first time, but the Saddam Hussein lookalike was holding up a six pack of Farida Premium Lager.
"Get that out of my face," said Abu Jasim, taking a very dangerous swat at the Kalashnikov as he strode into the room. His highly recognizable physiognomy worked its usual magic. The two other Iraqis from O'Connor's, Baqir al-Rubaie and Nouri Salim, gasped in terror. There were also yipes from some of the hostages, who hid their faces behind hands or scarves. "It is I, the Man! The Boss!"
This was a trick that was weari
ng thin, Ari thought. He might have been able to intimidate a gang of bikers, but what about that shopkeeper in Cumberland who had taken shots at him?
"Ah, there you are," said Singh from the back of the line in the hallway. He stepped aside so that they could see Yilmaz rushing towards them. Her jilbaab was in disarray. She was breathing hard. And she had a black eye. "What happened to you?"
"Some fool thought he was a black belt," she said between breaths.
"Where is he now?"
Yilmaz put her fists together and made a twisting motion. "What's going on?"
Lawson shuffled up next to Ari. "There are small windows on both sides of the room that face the woods and parking lot. I told everyone to keep their laser sights off. No sense advertising what's coming."
"They would also reflect off the glass," said Ari knowledgably.
"That too. Is your friend dead yet?"
"I believe he is about to offer some of our famous Iraqi beer to the thirsty kidnappers." Ari mused for a moment. "Where did he find Farida in Richmond?"
"You boys have been working hard, I see," said Abu Jasim, strolling easily to the front of the room and stopping next to a woman tied to a chair. Nizzar Saqqal was standing next to her. Had it not been for the blood-spattered evening gown, Ari would not have recognized Nabihah. Lowering his free hand to Nabihah's chin, Abu Jasim tried to tilt her head sideways. Nabihah moaned and jerked away. "Very hard, indeed. Yes, this reminds me of the time I…but I suppose a few of you here remember those times. No hard feelings, right? After all, it was war."
"We weren't at war when I was in Abu Ghraib," Nouri Salim swayed and moaned.
"Maybe not actual war, but let's face it, we were almost at war all those years. It comes to the same thing. Did you cause trouble?"
"Never!" Nouri declaimed. "I was a law-abiding—"
"Highway robbery!" Ari called through the door. He remembered the man's case file.
Nouri jumped, gaping in Ari's direction. "The Godless One! The Godless One!"
"Yes, that moron over there is godless. But let's face it, I'm not all that religious, myself. So you were causing trouble? In times of trouble? And highway robbery! You got off easy. You should have gotten the death penalty."
"But I—"
"Now, now, let's not squabble. Besides, most of you eight…there's eight of you, I see…most of you wouldn't have a bone to pick with me. You're from other lands, some of our friendly neighbors. There aren't any Iranians in this lot, are there?"
The Shelter for Buttered Women Page 38