"I sputter with relief," said Ari.
"As well you should. The $500 given up front goes without saying. Have you spent it all already? Now there is a check for more...that $50,000 bonus we discussed. I would say the check is in the mail, but I don't have your mailing address. In fact, as I said, I have it right here, CVG certified."
Ari nodded glumly. Fifty-thousand was better than $500, but it was still not enough to cover his costs.
"Now, as to that heads-up you gave us about the fraud going on at the Richmond Port…that's in a different league. I don't have the final numbers, yet, but…let me give you some background. On your recommendation, we began going through the manifests. Various companies were reporting that entire shipments were vanishing, but nothing on-site seemed to be missing. That was the beauty of the operation. The black hats were hacking the container software and re-routing the merchandise. There was no need to break into the port…the containers were just being shipped to new destinations. Some of the drivers didn't even know they were part of the operation. They just picked whatever showed up on the loading boards."
"Ah," said Ari, a little too admiringly.
"Our original fear was unfounded. There were no nuclear materials. Nor any drugs, for that matter. Unless the FDA has its way, and then tobacco will be declared a drug."
"Cigarettes?" Ari exclaimed. "They are no more a drug than tulips. My friend's nephew is very hard core. He inhales oxygen in a bar in Chicago."
Yilmaz turned in his direction, changing her focus from the maimed menace to the lunatic.
"I lost a shipment of cigarettes," Nabihah said.
"Nizzar was not averse to making a little change on the side. That cargo disappeared somewhere in Ontario. I'm sure our Claims people will honor your loss. Count yourself lucky that none of your 'guests' ended up at the bottom of Lake Erie."
"Yes…I thank the Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him."
"As far as the losses at the port go…it might have been common cargo, but the thievery has been going on for almost eight months. The losses were massive, but the thieves must have realized the insurance companies weren't cross-referencing very well. They hit just about every freight insurance carrier in the industry. That's why Ari's reward might take a while to wrap up."
"Reward?" Ari perked up.
"Let me put it this way…I'll use this as a rule of thumb. Last year in Florida, sixteen-million in recovered losses resulted in $250,000 in rewards."
"A little over 1.56%," Nabihah murmured.
"They rewarded the people who snaked on the perpetrators?" Ari marveled. It was a new concept to him, although it should not have been. He had spent the last year and a half selling out the insurgents in Iraq. By American lights, he was well compensated for this. He and his wife and son were safe, at government expense. But this involved the betrayal of the worst kinds of murderers. The moral justification was obvious. Performing a similar task against honest thieves seemed to Ari to be a kind of…moral and impractical impertinence.
"I believe you mean 'ratting', not 'snaking', but it amounts to the same thing. Yes, insurance companies reward individuals who come forward to report fraud, sometimes at the risk of their lives."
"And were $16 million worth of goods stolen from the port?" Ari asked.
"A bit more than that. In the area of two-hundred million. If you calculate that percentage from the quarter million dollars awarded in Florida—"
"$3,120,000," said Nabihah, a businesswoman with a flair for numbers.
Ari turned away to wipe away a tear and an unsightly bit of drool.
"Now…in all fairness…you would not have discovered the fraud at the port if I hadn't hired you to investigate the O'Connor's hijackings."
Having discovered nothing at the port, Ari remained mute.
"That brings us to the arrangement I was discussing with Mrs. Sadiq. Because she was so cooperative throughout this investigation, I think it only reasonable that the two of you split the reward."
"Uhm?" said Ari, his mouth drying quickly. "Cooperative? She?"
"I know I would be more than satisfied with over a million and a half," Lawson continued. "Don't you think…"
Feeling the money slip out of his open wound, Ari twisted sideways in his chair.
"I can see you're not taking this well," Nabihah said.
"Yes," Lawson said. "All right, Ari…I was going to bring this up, anyway, but I didn't realize you were going to be a prick. Here goes. I don't know what your involvement is with the Feds, but I can take a pretty good guess. And you know what? As an unofficial employee of the United States…should I add, as a foreign snitch?...you won't be allowed to keep a penny of that reward."
"I'll give you my mailing address," Ari gasped, doubling over in the opposite direction.
"This is really unseemly behavior, Mr. Ciminon," Nabihah said.
"Such you say! And did you not flail in grief when I mentioned the Cairo Gang?"
"He has a point," Nabihah winced.
"Like I said, Ari will have to fill me in on the Cairo connection. In the meantime…Ari…Ari?"
"Yes?"
"I think the best solution would be if the entire reward go to Mrs. Sadiq. Ari? Ari?"
"I think he's going to be sick," said Yilmaz pleasantly.
"He's a grown man. Of course he won't be sick."
"I know hyperventilation when I see it."
"Hold on, Ari. Before you tie yourself up in knots, I have Mrs. Sadiq's word that you'll receive your fair share."
"He's definitely hyperventilating," Yilmaz grinned.
"Would you think about it for a minute? There are a dozen insurance companies involved. Mrs. Sadiq has the bureaucratic wherewithal to process all those claims, because they aren't going to willingly hand over millions of dollars, believe me. And since you're supposed to be so anonymous, it would be safer for you if your name didn't show up on a million legal documents. If those documents showed up at DOJ, they would all too happily claim your stake. And to tell you the truth, something like this could drag on for years."
"But…she's an art thief! She is destroying the heritage of millennia!"
"Cut out the Sanad impersonation. Mrs. Sadiq made a few bad calls. Who hasn't? And you want to know the truth? I have been charmed by Mrs. Sadiq."
"Even as I am?" Nabihah cast her hands across her damaged body, the deep bruising, the stitches. Then she lifted a hand to her battered face.
"My dear, why would anyone in my condition see anything but beauty? And I'm certain that Ari, who is disgustingly fit, would agree. When I think of what Nizzar did…I want to cry. Don't you?"
"Yes, I want to cry." Rubbing the knee Yilmaz had damaged, Ari nodded. "What Nizzar did has made you a stranger to yourself. But you will return."
"Very nice," Lawson nodded. "You see? We don't have to wallow in moral turpitude. I, personally, will make very little out of this. True, I get a commission…but it's a hard percentage. But you, with Mrs. Sadiq's admirable cooperation, will make out like the bandit you are."
Ari searched hard for honesty in Nabihah's eyes. She looked away.
"Taekwondo in thirty minutes!" Yilmaz shouted, her hands cupped around her mouth. "Be at the tennis court in thirty minutes!"
"She's giving karate lessons to some of my guests," Nabihah explained.
"All right, let's leave it there, for now," said Lawson, pressing down on his cane and rising. "You two have a lot to discuss. And if it gets back to me that you have threatened Mrs. Sadiq into guaranteeing your half…"
"It won't happen," said Yilmaz.
"Let's let these two work out the payment schedule in a civilized fashion," said Lawson, trying to urge Yilmaz away from them. "Why don't you jump in the pool with your mother? She's been in there a long time. She might get a cramp."
Yilmaz looked doubtful as she watched Karida pushing the tugboat the length of the pool.
"I wouldn't worry about security for a while. I understand Wookie Monster is in ch
arge of this shift. I can't imagine anything getting past her."
To everyone's surprise, Yilmaz sprang into the air and landed in the water, splashing Ari thoroughly.
"Excellent," said Lawson, using the rubber tip of his cane to throw a towel to Ari. Then he handed him an envelope containing a check for $50,000. "I'll get a receipt for that later. Right now…I'm bushed. Toodaloo…"
"But I came here with you."
"I'm sure Mrs. Sadiq can arrange a ride for you. Don't you think Sirdar Singh looks remarkably fit for a man in his condition?"
Lawson disappeared through the bushes.
"Well," said Nabihah.
"Yes," said Ari, drying his face.
"Yes," said Nabihah as a woman refilled her glass.
"Well," said Ari, removing his jacket in an attempt to flap it dry.
"I'm afraid…"
"Yes?" said Ari, seeing trouble.
"Mr. Lawson did not divulge the entire arrangement."
"The fact that neither your husband nor you are not going to jail speaks volumes for the lapse judicial system. Something to do with the paintings, I presume?"
"The Central Virginia Group has chosen not to press charges against us. This is not because Mr. Lawson has succumbed to my charms. They have cancelled the insurance on my paintings, as well as everything else they carried. A nuisance, but I'm sure I can find someone else. I will be responsible for the damage Nizzar did to my home. However, I will be responsible for certain fees. Steep fees."
"Which will be paid for out of your reward from the insurance companies," Ari half-moaned.
"And I'm afraid they have priority over you and me. And besides, as Mr. Lawson said, claiming that reward will involve legalities, which by definition—"
"Take eternity," Ari finished. "And the Federal people? I am sure they are very bitter about losing three of their agents."
"Indeed, they are. I have been questioned severely—in the presence of my lawyer."
"The same one who stole O'Connor's from your husband?"
"A very interesting man who is the senior partner in a firm based in Washington."
"A political lawyer," Ari nodded grimly. "Only the best. And the best costs…"
"Too true, Mr. Ciminon. Fortunately, the textile strike in Mahalla has been suppressed and my father has resumed my allowance, for the time being. My cash flow is more than adequate to weather the current emergency."
"How can the F.B.I. be convinced that you had nothing to do with the deaths of its men? They had Allah's Oriental Carpets under observation when they died. Why is it that you aren't in jail with Nohra, your partner, and all of his kindlings?"
"All of his young male relatives? They will be free, soon, on condition that they—and I, also—assist the authorities on recovering the lost masterpieces. My lawyer and his firm represent them, as well."
"Only the best," Ari repeated.
"We were innocent dupes of Sanad and Nizzar. Of the Namus. It is a most acceptable story. Don't take it hard. As I said, my cash flow is excellent at the moment, and I owe you for solving the hijackings. Do I not?"
Ari took heart. "I believe you do."
"And because of your efforts, you are now in arrears. What sum are you talking of?"
Sixty-two thousand, seven-hundred and eighty-nine dollars and fifty-nine cents, Ari thought. "One-hundred thousand dollars," Ari said.
"A nice, rounded-up amount."
"I had many expenses. I had to hire—"
"There is no need for further discussion. I should take into consideration the check Mr. Lawson just gave you, but…I'll have my business manager cut you one for $100,000 tomorrow morning."
Astonished, Ari stopped flapping his jacket. Still, her reaction made sense. He had no intention of becoming her enemy, but she did not know that.
"You are too—" Ari began, then stopped and amended his next words. "You are an astute businesswoman."
"I like to think so." She glanced at the slim watch on her wrist. "Look at the time! They will be announcing Maghrib soon. Aren't we an odd lot? Some of my guests will be attending evening prayer right after their karate class." She lay back down. It seemed an odd thing to do. The sun was setting. Nabihah's guests had gone inside. Only Teraq, Singh, Yilmaz and her mother were left.
"Then things have worked out well. The dead and wounded are left to recover, but overall—"
"How can the dead 'recover', Mr. Ciminon?"
"I believe I phrased that badly," said Ari, abashed by her harsh tone.
"There's nothing more annoying than a bright man who doesn't think."
"I can see why that might be—"
"Look at me, Mr. Ciminon!" Nabihah spread her bruised arms, again spilling her glass. "Look at me! And you say things have worked out well? Will it always be thus?"
Yilmaz and Karida had been happily pushing the tugboat back and forth. They stopped and stared at Nabihah. Hearing her cry, Teraq sprang up from his chair and began huffing his way around the pool to help his wife. Ari decided this would be a good time to depart. He stood, draping his wet sports jacket over his arm.
"I will take my leave, Mrs. Sadiq. I see your husband coming to…love you. I do not want to intrude. Don't worry about giving me a ride. I live within jogging distance."
Nabihah dismissed him with a brusque stroke of her hand.
The inflatable tugboat, no longer under control, bumped against the side of the pool. It was a soft collision, with scarcely a sound. But Ari looked at it with a kind of horror. He heard a loud scrape and moan broadcasted across southern Baghdad. It sounded like Godzilla.
In a bad mood.
EPILOGUE
Sindabad – Baghdad – Iraq
June 8, 2006 - 0410 hours
Naturally, the spectacular destruction of the barge caught the attention of the Americans. The flash was seen in Camp Rustamiyah. The helos providing support to the QRF's dispatched to find the jihadists targeting the base with mortars and rockets swooped towards the Tigris to investigate. As they approached the burning hulk they saw muzzle flashes along the shore and along the street leading to downtown Sindabad, where they located a column of Toyota compact pickups struggling against heavy resistance to reach (the pilots assumed) the site of the explosion. The antagonists all wore civilian clothes. The pilot of a Cobra reported that it looked as if yet another fight had broken out between opposing tribesman.
It was Rostmeyer who set them straight, breaking into the comm net with all the proper codes and passwords and informing the battalion that they were "sort of fucked". Being familiar with the area and its landmarks, he fell into the role of forward observer. The Gurkhas stormed the apartment building next door to the restaurant, providing Rostmeyer a reasonably secure passage to the roof. With the assistance of a pair of UAV's buzzing overhead, he was able to direct the rescue operation in a way that minimized friendly fire and maximized destruction of the enemy.
Gates commandeered the restaurant to hold his right. The balcony was a ruin, but the building itself had survived the blast. The Fijians knocked out the mushrabiyas and fired from the windows facing the street.
Gates could not leave until his trucks arrived and Carlos Slim stabilized two of his badly wounded men. But the arrival of the convoy was an iffy proposition. Between their own intense firefight and roar of Cobras overhead they could hear more shooting up the street. Several explosions signaled IED and RPG attacks, causing Gates to fear for his Fijian drivers, as well as his £25,000 Hiluxes.
He also feared for Ghaith, who showed a gut-wrenching inclination to run after the Gurkhas not guarding Rostmeyer and join them in hand-to-hand combat with any insurgents they got their hands on. It was bad enough that the U.S. Army would ream Gates and drag him over the coals for sending out his team without notifying ops. They might even fine the company he worked for, although this was unlikely. The Feds might sue KBR over burn pits that exposed their troops to noxious gases, but men putting their asses on the line (as well as the firms that emplo
yed them) usually got a break—if they survived.
Ghaith's behavior became so extreme (he had removed his balaclava) that Gates dodged across the parallel road to rein him in. Finding the translator crouched behind a Jersey wall, bobbing up and down with his AK-47 to exchange fire with insurgents taunting him from a nearby building, Gates begged him to come back to the shelter of the restaurant. Then they heard an engine roar and the deep chatter of a 25 mm autocannon and knew the QRF was getting close. What sounded like a gang of gorillas hooted up the street. The common reaction of American infantry when they took out an enemy strongpoint.
"Bloody Yanks, it's all football to them."
The gunfire from the opposition lessened as the muj redirected their attention to the new threat from their rear. But they had no intention of giving up. Ghaith knew his countrymen. He found the motivations and behavior repugnant, and their training usually laughable, but the insurgents had guts galore.
A Gurkha shouted a warning. Gates and Ghaith ducked behind the barrier, but the blast was close enough to throw both men on their backs. They lay side by side in stunned silence for a minute like a couple stupefied by nightlong sex. Ghaith finally pushed himself up onto his elbows.
"Are you all right, Mr. Gates?" he asked when he saw tears streaking the gunpowder grime on his cheeks.
"I've known Sergeant Gurung since we competed in the Trailwalker 100km in South Downs. He was a bloody Oxfam champion. The best our fucking team could do was 12 hours. Gurung's team made it in 8. To end up at the bottom of the bloody Tigris like that…"
"We shall eat our masgouf with respect from now on," said Ghaith.
Sitting up, Gates laughed bitterly. "Now you've seen a grown merc cry."
The shooting had stopped in the immediate vicinity. Carlos Slim raced out of the restaurant to check on them. They waved him off.
There was another string of cannon blasts. The ground heaved and settled. Then the grunts appeared around the corner, followed closely by a Bradley. The turret swiveled in the direction of the Jersey wall. No matter how angry and despondent they were over the deaths of Gurung, Hutton and Sarah, there was no room for despairing irony. Besides, if Ghaith had stood and yelled 'Go ahead, shoot!', Gates and the Gurkha beside them would have also suffered the consequences. The grunts had confronted much insurgent bravado this night. Their habit of mocking the cries of trapped or wounded soldiers did not sit well. Lowering their guns to the road, they stood with arms raised.
The Shelter for Buttered Women Page 45