Ari and Ben joined him, waving wildly. Ari briefly considered aiming his Glock at the helicopter—until he saw the sniper in the Huey door. He looked down and saw a laser dot on his sport jacket.
"No! No! I am a friend! I love America! I fuck her every night, and sometimes in the morning!"
The dot moved up to his forehead.
"Is that not enough…?"
But a maimed man waving his cane was enough to convince the pilot there was more to this than lunacy. He pulled up and was circling the Huey over the trees when a man leaned out of a side window holding a launcher. A merc crouched against the house began to reach up to knock it aside. Then he saw he had no time and flung himself face-down as the backblast flung his tucked shirt out of his pants and over his head. The shooter began to fall out. A hand appeared from behind and pulled him inside. The rocket's black and purple smoke trail whisked in front of the helo's cockpit. This was enough to convince the pilot to leave things to the infantry. As he shot away there was an explosion far back in the trees.
The road around them erupted with bullets and the whine of ricochets against the gravel. The three men fell back behind the Cadillac.
"I don't think Yilmaz and Singh are making much progress in there," said Lawson as bullets riddled the other side of the car.
"That's an Uzi!" Ben exclaimed.
"I believe you are right."
"What if they do another Mike-Mike?" Ben said.
"We'll be done-done," Lawson answered.
Abu Jasim called Ari.
"What's with the fucking air-dragon?" he complained. "All this dust, I couldn't see—"
"Have they gone into the trees?"
"I think so. I can still see the front of the van. Nothing's moving. I don't know how many…but they may have left a driver."
"And it is your greatest desire to go over and kill him. Do not do so. And do not follow them into the woods. The driver might see you and call a warning."
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"Finish your whiz." Ari hung up and called Karen. "Deputy Marshal Sylvester, you and Fred are well?"
"I'm sorry about that copter, Ari. I had no idea—"
"It is never no mind—" Ari began.
"How did Sanad know who to call?" Karen continued. "He wouldn't have my number."
"I believe his men took the phones of the agents they killed outside of Allah's. Perhaps they thought they could eavesdrop on us. In any event, your headquarters number must have been programmed—"
"Oh God," Karen gasped.
"You will need to call upon the Almighty even more in the next few minutes. Sanad has reinforcements. They are moving in the woods in your direction."
"Uh…uh…uh…"
"Do you want to ask me how many of them there are?"
"Yeah? How many?"
"I don't know."
"Oh fuck, Ari—"
"We had been gleeful because we no longer had to consider hostages. But Lawson's men are trapped against the house. Ben and Elmore and I are trapped on the road."
"Hostages," Karen murmured.
"Indeed. You and Fred must set up a defensive position. Do not shoot unless these new men shoot first, or if you see them taking aim at Lawson's men. We need to see if Sirdar Singh and Yilmaz make any progress."
"What?"
"They are in the house right now, negotiating with the enemy. I have great hopes…"
"You do?"
"I have some hope. Now quick, arrange your hiding place."
"One thing more," said Karen. "Do these guys coming towards us…do they have…like…machine guns?"
"Hide behind a stout barrier," Ari advised before hanging up. He turned to find Lawson holding his phone up to him.
"It's for you. Yilmaz. She still doesn't have your number."
"Mr. Ciminon?" said Yilmaz calmly. "Mr. Sanad wants to talk to you."
"Put him on," Ari said.
"No…he wants you to come inside."
CHAPTER 20
Richmond, Virginia
July, 2008
Art & Mortality
One man held a gun on Ari while the other searched him. Ari had emptied his pockets before coming inside. No phones, no wallet, no weapons. Coming upon his empty holster, the man gave it a tug.
"I lost it in someone's hairy anus," said Ari.
The man drew back with a look of disgust.
"That's all the English you need to know," Ari continued. "If someone asks you the time, just tell them you lost your watch in someone's hairy—"
The man pushed him forward. Another man turned up the hallway, facing them.
"Mostafa," the guard behind Ari called.
Wearing jeans and sporting a crewcut, Mostafa could have been any male model yanked off the street for his big break. Two men in the living room nodded deferentially. So this was Sanad's new lieutenant, taking charge while he was laid up with a leg wound, and Nizzar was laid up permanently.
Ari had counted six so far. These three at the door, one at the window holding a rocket launcher, and two seated on a couch, their hands clasped, guns across their laps. They were listening to Yilmaz, who had pulled a chair over and was seated in front of them. She was speaking in a low voice. The two men leaned on her every word. Mostafa gave them a wary glance. He must be uncertain of his authority, otherwise he would never have allowed Singh and Yilmaz inside to plant doubts in his men.
Singh….
Ari turned towards a small dining room. Seated at the table was the Sikh, staring off into space as he probed his head wound. Ben was right. It was pretty revolting. Seated only a few feet away was another of Sanad's men, an Uzi on his lap, trying his best not to stare at the man under guard. There were a few empty Chinese food cartons on the dining room table. There had been not nearly enough to feed so many men, which explained the van in the road-turn. They had needed more China Panda.
Ari's eyes drifted up to the hall light. The globe and bulbs had been removed. Several wires dangled over the hallway. They were taped to the wall to keep them out of the way. From the tape they ran down to the floor trim, splitting in three directions at the bottom. One of the wires curved around the wall into the dining room and disappeared inside a knapsack. The man watching Singh had only to reach around the partition to hit the light switch and set off this and all the other bombs.
Lowering his eyes to the table, Singh took up one of the cartons and swished his bloody finger around the gooey leftovers. The guard almost heaved when Singh brought his hand to his mouth and sucked on his finger.
"Ugh!" he said, looking away.
"Ugh!" said Ari, looking away.
"I don't know why he wants to see you," said Mostafa, cocking his head towards a door down the hallway. "There's nothing to talk about. Or maybe he wants revenge for what happened at Allah's."
"Perfectly understandable," Ari nodded, looking at a blood trail on the carpet leading to the same door Mostafa was shoving him towards. Sanad was still bleeding? No, it must be from the man Lawson's mercs had shot at the front door.
Mostafa knocked at the door. A curious bit of protocol in a chaotic situation.
"Yes, come!"
Holding his pistol on Ari, Mostafa nudged him against the door. Ari turned the knob and entered.
Sanad Raimouny was lying on a bed, his pants leg ripped open and a bandage tied around his thigh. He was propped up on some pillows.
"I presume my house call has been delayed?" he said to Mostafa.
"I…" The new lieutenant looked confused.
"The doctor."
"He is delayed," Mostafa said slowly. "But he will arrive soon."
"Ah, my chief of operations! You have arranged some mischief for the unbelievers. That is just as well. If we all blow up, you don't get paid, nor do your families benefit." With a grimace, Sanad adjusted his position on the pillows. "If you succeed, but I perish, the same holds true. I am the only one with the bank codes." He said this with reluctance, finding it distasteful to be dr
agged down to the mundane. He held up a small Ruger. "You can go, now. This man will die if he tries anything untoward."
Mostafa nodded towards the bedroom window.
"You think someone is crouched just outside? Do you really think he'll try anything with all these bombs around?"
So the call to Karen had been a threat, not a warning. So much for Sanad's halo.
"We think this man is—"
"I heard the stories from Nouri and the others at the depot. They think this is the famous 'Godless One'. If it is true, he will know God soon enough. Go. And close the door after you."
"You have a large organization," said Ari once Mostafa was gone.
"You're surprised I have so many men working for me?" Seeing Ari eye the corpse on the floor at the foot of the bed, Sanad added, "Less one. And a number of others, I believe. No, finding them was no problem. Some believe in what we are doing, redeeming treasures from the infidels. Others see it as an act of national pride. The West has robbed of them of so much…and I presented the chance to get some of it back."
"And to punish the thieves," said Ari, looking around for a chair.
"Be careful how you move," Sanad cautioned.
"I am fretfully chary." Dragging a small armless chair from against the wall, Ari settled close to the bed.
"Back a bit."
Ari scooted the chair back.
"A bit more."
Ari obeyed.
"Good…I believe I can squeeze off a couple of shots before you can reach me."
"I commend you on your knowledge of firearms," said Ari. "You were saying all of this is an act of patriotism with a smidgeon of true faith?"
"Truthfully? These men are all poor. Their families are hungry. My employers pay well."
"But this punishment you mentioned is very severe."
"It is the only effective means to manage a problem that is out of control."
"But you know, of course, that even if it was Nizzar who pulled the trigger or arranged the fatal accidents, you are responsible?"
"Am I the Namus, you mean? How clever of Nabihah to come up with that notion. I suppose…if the name fits..." When Ari twisted sideways, Sanad lifted his gun. "What are you doing?"
"The irony is giving me a pain in the pancreas."
Sanad grinned. "I know what you mean. I have the same problem. I'm glad you came…this is what I wanted to talk to you about. We share the same wavelength. You sense that, don't you?"
"Alas," said Ari in acknowledgment. "Neither of us has faith in our paymasters."
Even in pain, Sanad's waxy face possessed the same aesthetic severity Ari had seen at Sadiq's townhouse. The expression of thwarted afflatus, of a fall from the divine. A wart on the side of his nose seemed to sink like a hulled boat.
"I do not believe death holds any fear for you," said Ari.
"When I speak, there is no answer…not even from myself. Isn't that how you feel? You don't care if you die?"
Ari felt a chill. The son of a bitch knew him.
"You could shoot me and then turn the gun on yourself. That would settle things nicely."
"Certain parameters are unavoidable," Sanad sighed. "Certain…annoyances that I would prefer to exclude from my demise. I would find death a nuisance. But you…it would be a bit more."
"Obligations," said Ari. "Loyalty."
"Loyalty to what?" Sanad demanded.
"Well…" Ari cleared his throat, somewhat embarrassed.
"To what?" Sanad persisted. "No…I can guess. Love. Loyalty to your beloved."
"I have a wife who I—"
"What tripe! How bourgeois!"
"You told me you have a wife and children. Is there no feeling—"
"They are things."
"But I heard to speak of them with affection."
"Things," Sanad repeated, and Ari remembered what Nabihah had said about Sanad being a touch 'luti'. "We were so close…and now this. Really, are you the Godless One I've heard about? No, it can't be. It's inconceivable. I took you for—"
"And you, Sanad…why are you doing this? Why do you kill, and risk your own life in the process? I will not insult you with 'money', although that is the final refuge. Many desire to live in luxury."
"At first…yes, money. And the worship of art. I could not allow these paintings to fall into the hands of thick-headed—does the word 'parvenus' mean anything to you?"
"May I suggest those who feign artistic sensitivity?"
"That's a start."
"I get the impression that your victims were punished because they used art as common wall decorations. That's a rather severe way to critique someone's life."
"Is it? Is it really? Art is the storyboard of humanity. To hang a Picasso in the drawing room because it matches the drapes? It's appalling. And all too common."
"I see something familiar here…" Ari looked down at the dead man on the floor, but he saw the face of a middle-aged man in Sindabad. "If I said that the drapes were important…that they were as important as the painting…no, even more important, because they shielded us from the sun's rays—I can imagine your reaction. I would be a kafir in your eyes. An apostate against what you hold sacred."
"You're invoking Islam! Art is eternal, and you invoke religion!"
"And the religious use the same language as you do for art, and impose the same punishments. True belief is unforgiveness. Are you claiming to be better than the takfiris slaughtering each other for spitting on different days?"
Sanad had grown pale. It could have been the result of his wound.
"But we can't believe if we can't eat."
"You say I do all of things for money? Didn't I tell you? You seemed to understand."
"You no longer hear an answer…"
"Yes! You do understand! And yet…you are strangely unconvincing." Sanad turned his head to the side. "In one respect, you are right. I am growing tired of a world where everything has to be one way? 'Our way, or no way.' I willingly accept those drapes…"
"A child that does not want to share destroys the toy."
"And that never changes. It's God, our way, or you must be destroyed."
"It is the same principle behind MAD."
"I don't understand," said Sanad with a brief shake of his head.
"It is one of the few Western acronyms that make sense to me. 'Mutually Assured Destruction.' Which by definition means 'self-destruction'. It is the doctrine pursued by East and West. I see no way to survival. One day, one overgrown child will dispute the possession of a toy with another, and there will be a full-scale nuclear exchange. The slate will be wiped clean. No memories, because there will be no one left to remember. All of our accumulated history, all our scholarship, all our cleverness, all of our…art. Nothing."
Sanad drew a deep breath.
"Tell me the truth," said Ari. "When you die, do you want to be buried facing Mecca?"
Sanad was taken aback by the question and seemed on the verge of giving a tart negative. And then he saw the point.
"I suppose you're right. We can't escape our humanity. Our animality. You are right about the money…I had to eat. But unlike the Sadiqs, I was never enamored with luxury. Unless you count luxury of the mind."
"I, too, was raised a Sunni," said Ari.
"What…?" Sanad was again surprised. "In Iraq? You have a degree from the University of Baghdad, then? You seem better educated than most, even if your English…"
"I managed a bit of college, but I was put to work before I could achieve a degree," Ari shrugged.
"Oh," said Sanad, a little disparagingly. A poor, underprivileged Sunni. There was not much to choose between Ari and an uneducated Shiite, after all.
Annoyed by the assumption written on his face, Ari added:
"Yes, I was put to work by the government."
"Without a degree? What could you do…" Sanad's eyes widened. "I had forgotten because you seem to be in league with the Americans. Mukhabarat…"
"The Godless One meets the
Namus," Ari chortled. "It sounds like one of those old Godzilla movies they used to show on Channel 2."
Sanad's hand tightened on the gun. It took a trained eye to spot expertise in weaponry, and Ari saw none here.
"To answer your question, whoever you are…I would not mind being buried facing Mecca."
"Nor I," said Ari. "Curious."
"The child is the father of the adult."
"Not always. I never played cops and robbers as a child." Ari had already scouted the room. There were several items near at hand that he could use as weapons. But there was no need to leap for any of them.
The shots from the woods caused Sanad to jump. It was all Ari required. By the time the wounded man recovered, Ari had broken his gun hand. Sanad's shout of pain was cut down to a murmur as Ari clamped his arm around his neck and shut his jaw. "Ssshhh…ssshhh…" said Ari.
Sanad began to thrash. Even without the wound and broken hand, it did not appear that he was a particularly strong man.
"Ssshhh," said Ari. "There are other lives to consider."
Sanad thrashed harder. There was fear, after all.
At any moment, one of his men might enter the room. Ari pressed harder, threatening the man's windpipe. It didn't work. Sanad kicked out with his one good leg, trying to raise himself as he made feeble attempts to claw at Ari with his remaining hand.
"Ssshhh, please," said Ari. The human head, ten to twelve pounds. And Ari thought of a Bongo truck in Sindabad, two dozen heads rolling around in the bed. Two dozen minds. "You deserve eternity in Hell…but not so soon."
Tears began to run down Sanad's face, but he continued to struggle. In Ari's mind, he saw a father in Baghdad, staring up at him in terror and incomprehension. The man's daughter, Sarah, had been sent to torture and death. Was it given to Ari to punish men for killing for their beliefs? Well, yes. He had done it many times. But a father had absolute rule over his daughter. It had been thus for countless generations. And yet, did the age of a particular evil mean anything? Did it matter if it was centuries old, or a newborn aberration? Should Ari have killed the man in order to prevent future evil? He thought of the house in Sindabad and the girls peering from the next room. What would be their fate?
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