by Tom Saric
“No.”
In the corner of his eye, Paul saw the guard rise to his knees. Paul curled his finger around the trigger and then fired three rounds into the ceiling. The kickback twisted his wrist painfully. “Stay down, I said!”
The guard flopped back down on his belly and stretched his hands out in front of him on the floor. Satisfied that he had been subdued, Paul pointed the gun at James again.
“I need you to let me out the front door.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Let me out.” Paul held the gun’s muzzle an inch from James’ forehead.
“I can’t.” James pulled his head back. “Put the gun down and maybe we can figure this out. What’s the problem?”
“You didn’t give me the manifest.”
“What?” the edges of James’ mouth turned up anxiously. He let out a nervous laugh, “what are you talking about?”
“You lied to me. The decryption code didn’t come from you.” Paul shoved the gun in James’ face.
“Where else could it come from, Paul?”
“Me.” Ellen seemed to materialize in front of Paul, placed her hand on the gun, and lowered it. He saw no trace of fear or panic. She turned towards James. “I switched the SIM cards.”
James boomed a laugh. “You did? Your girlfriend has got you in a lot of trouble.”
James sneered and Paul felt his insides twist. In that instant James lunged forward, grabbed Ellen, and spun her around. A gun suddenly appeared in his hand and he had it pressed to her head. James’ face sat a full foot higher than Ellen’s.
“Put the gun down, Paul,” he commanded.
Instead, Paul raised his gun and pointed it at James’ face.
“You don’t want her to die, do you?”
“To tell you the truth,” Paul shrugged, “at this point I don’t really care.”
He kept his eyes on James. He couldn’t look at Ellen and see the pain his comment had caused. Part of him had meant it because it was all over now, wasn’t it? There was no going back to the way things were.
“Just go,” Ellen said. “Just go.”
James’ giant-like grip enveloped her tiny frame. He wanted to leave. She had caused this, after all. If she hadn’t believed the man posing as an INTERPOL agent, they wouldn’t be here. They would still be in Bosaso. She would still love him.
Then he realized he wasn’t the only loose end.
Ellen had heard everything about the CIA involvement in Somalia. She had seen the faces and knew the identities of several undercover operatives. There was no way they would let her live. Letting her stay was letting her die.
He didn’t think about it; it just happened. Before he realized his finger had wrapped around the trigger and tightened, James’ head snapped back and a thick red spray burst out onto the wall. The bang echoed off the floors. James’ body slammed against the wall and slid down, leaving a smeared track of blood.
Paul looked at James’ corpse, entranced. James’ eyes had crossed slightly. It was the only feature on his face that was still recognizable. The rest was an explosion of bone and tissue. Ellen swept her hands down her arms as if she were covered in some toxic substance.
They ran past the guard into the dining room. The guard drew a pistol from a leg holster, scrambled to his feet, and took cover around the corner. His head popped out and he fired two shots that narrowly missed Paul’s head and instead thudded into one of the bulletproof windows, creating a small chip.
Ellen slithered along the floor and took cover underneath the glass dining table, while Paul took cover behind an armchair by the window. He took a deep, huffing breath. For a moment, he thought of how in one day he had already fired a gun more times than in the past decade. Then he realized he had already killed two men and was now in a firefight with a third.
Two shots whistled past, tearing holes in the armchair’s fabric, inches away from Paul’s hip. The bullet hit the window, now cracking the glass. Paul turned and fired another two shots towards the guard.
Paul looked at the window. He knew that bullet-proof glass really only meant bullet-resistant, and enough impact could break it. Getting past the guard seemed impossible. Even then, the front door was locked by a keypad. He had to get out through the window.
He placed the forearm of his free hand over his eyes and fired five shots at the window. Each bullet thumped against the window like a fist, and a fine white lace fanned out around each bullet hole.
He kept firing. Thump, thump, thump.
Crack.
The fine cracks merged and a thick white line ran diagonally through the window.
He fired a barrage of bullets towards the guard, but hit the wall instead, spraying chunks of plaster and dust. Then Paul swung the butt of the gun into the window. The glass separated at the crack and the shards fell down to the terrace below, opening a large hole in the window.
Paul turned and saw the guard aiming his weapon, so he quickly took cover behind the armchair. He glanced at Ellen lying prone under the glass table and waved for her to come over. As she slid out from under the table, Paul fired at the guard again. She sprinted across the living room and slid into him behind the armchair.
“We have to jump.” He saw the front door open and two men holding pistols ran in. More guards. “Now!”
They ripped through the water below. Paul’s heels smashed into the pool’s floor, his knees buckling. Chlorine burned his sinuses. He looked up at the sunlight penetrating the water. Shots zipped through the water. He pushed off the bottom and broke through the surface, heard a shout, and looked up. Two guards stood in the open window, aiming their pistols at them.
Paul pulled himself out of the pool and coughed up a good amount of water. He looked over and saw Ellen climbing out as well. Paul took her hand and they raced towards the glass door leading back into the apartment building. Sprays of cement and dust exploded behind them as they ran. Ellen opened the door and ran inside. Paul looked up at the window again. He had seen two guards enter from outside just before they had jumped out of the window. He didn’t see the guard with the Hawaiian shirt and he could pick that ugly shirt out from any distance.
“Wait,” Paul grabbed Ellen’s elbow. “One of the guards isn’t up there. They’re expecting us to go into the building. He’s probably coming down here right now.”
“Where else are we going to run?”
Paul scanned the terrace. Behind the rows of terracotta planters and padded lounge chairs, a waist-high concrete ledge ran along the perimeter. “We jump.”
They counted to three and ran back out to the terrace. A barrage of bullets swirled past them, smashing two pots and busting up the concrete floor. The shots didn’t stop; they seemed to be coming from all angles. Paul looked back at the doorway and saw the guard in the Hawaiian shirt firing at them. They sprinted to the ledge, without breaking their stride, without looking down, they fell.
They landed hard on the gravel parking lot below. Paul fell forward, landing on his palms and skidding forward. Ellen tumbled over onto her side. Paul scrambled to his feet and lifted Ellen. They rounded a corner, out of the guard’s line of sight.
He saw the Benz parked there. Paul touched the two frayed red wires together, praying that the car would start. It did. Paul threw it into gear and accelerated out of the parking lot.
He didn’t see the guards exit the building, which meant he had a head start. They would certainly try to follow him, so he knew that the farther he could get mixed into city traffic, the easier an escape would be. He pulled onto a main road and immediately passed two cars. Traffic swelled. Paul took a corner, and another. He continually checked his rearview mirror and saw no sign that he was being followed.
“Where do we go now?” Ellen asked. Paul thought for a moment. Who could keep them safe now? He could only think of one person.
He checked his mirrors again and made another turn. “I have a plan.”
17
A crumbling, potholed road spanne
d the one hundred eighty-five miles of desert between Garowe and Bosaso, but that didn’t stop Paul from keeping the accelerator to the floor. In the passenger seat, Ellen reclined with her eyes closed. Her t-shirt was still damp.
The car shuddered and twisted as he maneuvered the old Benz around the cracked pavement. As they passed the town of Qardho, marking the halfway point between the two cities, Paul thought the dry, rocky landscape had become sufficiently dim that he flicked on the high beams. He checked all three of his rearview mirrors again, but saw no sign of pursuers. In fact, he hadn’t seen another vehicle in over thirty minutes.
Had the guards given up the chase? He knew it was impossible, but he clung to that glimmer of hope. Hope that he and Ellen could return to Bosaso, fall asleep in each other’s arms, then start work in the morning like nothing happened. Put it all behind them: James’ murder, Kadar Hadad, Marshall Ramsey.
It wasn’t possible anymore. The guards would have immediately notified Langley of James Wright’s death. They would then notify security at airports and border crossings that a dangerous fugitive was on the loose. They would send men to his home, the clinic, and anywhere else they thought Paul could go.
The tire thudded up into the wheel well and a high-pitched clattering sound vibrated through the car. He heard a loud pop! before the Benz lurched forward and swerved to the left. Ellen shot up in her seat and braced herself with one hand on the dashboard and the other on the window frame. She screamed something Paul couldn’t make out over the wailing of the tires. Paul jerked the wheel to the right and that made the tires squeal desperately. The momentum sent the side of his head into the window frame and he saw twinkling blue dust before his eyes. All he could think to do was brake and he thrust his heel into the pedal.
The car slowed, then bounced up and down with each rotation of the flat driver’s side tire. It came to a stop in the middle of the road. Paul’s heart pounded so strongly he could feel its thumping all the way up his neck and down his abdomen. He looked at Ellen, who still held on to the dash.
“I’d better see if there’s a spare,” he nervously chuckled. He opened the door, walked around the car and popped the trunk. Underneath the trunk liner, he found a small spare, tire iron, and jack, all in perfect condition. He felt dizzy. He placed his hands on the bumper and hunched forward. For an instant, he felt he would retch, but the feeling dissipated. Instead, he laughed, laughed hard, harder than he had in a long time. He couldn’t stop himself. He laughed so hard that his eyes squeezed out tears. He dropped down and leaned against the back bumper.
Ellen stepped out of the car and looked down at Paul sideways. “Are you okay?”
“What are the chances,” he chuckled and pointed over his shoulder with his thumb, “that a twenty year old car is going to have a spare kit in perfect condition?” He shook his head and smiled. “What are the chances?”
Ellen showed a sympathetic smile, one that said well at least you’re still able to see the light side of things, and sat on the road next to him. She took his hand and rested her face on his arm. She ran her thumb along his fingers and gazed up at the night sky. “Remember when we went on our first trip to the Red Sea and we went to that beach?”
Paul nodded. “Gurgusum.”
“Yeah,” Ellen smiled. “The sky looks the same as it did that day.”
He shrugged. “The sky doesn’t change.”
Paul felt better. The dizziness and shakes he had experienced earlier in the day had dissipated. Amazing what adrenaline could do, he thought. A feeling crept through him, one of relief and of calm. Energy ran between them, one that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Strong, maybe stronger than it had ever been. Ellen turned her head and looked at him grimly. “It’s my fault, what happened today.”
Part of him agreed with her. The sour, betrayed part. “No, it’s not.” He shook his head. “I pulled you into this situation. Please believe me when I say that I never meant for you get wrapped up in this world. I thought I could keep it separate from us.” He stood and leaned on the bumper. “But something bigger is happening here. We’re pawns in whatever this game is.”
Ellen swallowed hard. “I’m with you, you know? I’m with you.”
Paul closed his eyes. How could she be with him when she didn’t know his secrets? They had been convenient, protective, but now, they were in the way. He took a deep breath.
“My real name is Marshall,” Paul said, looking at the horizon. The words flowed out, like an abscess that had been opened. “Ten years ago, I was working a case searching for the Nairobi embassy bombers. We found the prime suspect. His name is Kadar Hadad. We interrogated him for a long time and my role was to monitor his health through the interrogation. I watched as they used techniques to get him to talk.” Paul paused for a moment and then looked at Ellen. “We went too far. Next thing we knew, we’re under investigation for prisoner abuse. Politicians got their hands on it, and the authorities let Hadad go. So I did what I thought I had to do. I confessed, in exchange for getting the charges dropped. They used my confession to convict the others, but I thought it was worth it. In exchange for the testimony, they issued Marshall Ramsey a death certificate and I moved here to a new post. I still get to be a doctor and help people.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I just want to be honest.”
“Why now? Why tell me?”
“You wanted me to lie?”
“I wanted what we had.”
“Did you?”
Ellen shook her head and put her hand to her face.
“Hadad is back.”
“Back where?”
“He’s the one who interrogated me. Somehow he found out that I’m here in Somalia and he found me. Now he’s stolen nuclear weapons.”
The chasm he thought would develop between them and swallow them up never appeared. The sparkle that had lived in her eyes reappeared. They were partners now.
“Maybe it’s over?” A look of relief flashed across her face. “You’ve informed the people at Langley about the stolen weapons, so that’s good. Maybe once they track them down, they’ll stop looking for us.”
“As far as the U.S government knows, I gave nuclear weapons to terrorists. I killed a U.S. operative. I don’t think they’ll ever stop searching for me.”
“I was there, Paul. You had to kill him. There was no choice.”
“They’re not going to see it that way.” Paul shook his head.
“Well, maybe you’ll have to explain it to them.”
“My only connection to them is dead.”
Ellen reached out and touched his thigh. He felt a hard block press against his leg. The cell phone in his pocket. “Langley was the last place James called.” She smiled.
Some part of him realized that dialing would be useless. There wasn’t enough time to explain; he didn’t even know how he would begin. But it was the only option left. By now, a comprehensive, organized search was undoubtedly underway. He could almost feel the search party circling him like a pack of wolves. He pressed the REDIAL button and gripped the phone tightly to his ear. The phone began dialing.
The pitch-black desert around him suddenly seemed congested. The small, low-lying shrubs that were a tinge darker than the rest of the landscape crept almost imperceptibly closer. A sudden breeze kicked a spray of dust into Paul’s eyes. An operator came on the line and he said his name was James Wright and she promptly patched him through.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice came over the phone.
By this time, his heart had reached a full out gallop and sweat tracked down his face. He felt a large, unmovable lump in his throat.
“Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?” the voice cut in and out.
“Who is this?” he forced out.
A long, staticky pause. Then, “who is this?”
“This is Paul Alban.”
An even longer pause. “Doctor Alban, where are you?”
“I’ve left Garowe; you can stop looking for me th
ere,” Paul said. “Who are you?”
“My name is Officer Clarke.” Papers shuffling and then a thump on the other end. “N-National Clandestine Service.” Fuzz through the receiver. “How did you get this number?”
How did I get this number? What was he doing calling Langley anyway? Did he expect them to say oh, yeah, you killed an operative, no worries. He should have changed the tire, hit the road, and kept on driving. “This is James Wright’s cell phone. You were the last person he called,” came out matter-of-factly.
“How did you get his phone?”
“Because he wanted to kill me and I had to defend myself.”
“You killed him?”
“Self-defense.”
“We need to get more details on what happened.” Officer Clarke’s words suddenly came out smoothly. “The best way is for us to meet. Where can that take place?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“No?”
“No. You want me dead,” he said evenly.
“That’s not true,” the tremble returned to the voice. “We just want to sort it out.”
Sort it out. His mind retrieved the image of the last time an agent at Langley had told him they would help him sort it out. He could count the strands of hair covering the shiny bald patch on the man’s head and still see his moustache bounce up and down as he read off of the clipboard in front of him. He had given him the option: Either you go to trial, where you will likely be convicted of torture, or you make a statement that Sergeant Sidwell ordered the torture of Kadar Hadad and then we can help you move on from this. Put it all behind you. Start over.
“Sort what out?” Paul snorted. “Three of your men already tried to kill me today. Forgive me for thinking you want me dead.”
“All we know is that you provided a detailed ship’s manifest containing nuclear materials to a group of pirates. If we meet—”
“It was a manifest the National Clandestine Service provided. I did my job according to protocol. Someone sent that manifest to me, with a decryption code.”