Three Wrong Turns in the Desert

by Neil S. Plakcy

  “Close to dusk.” Liam sat down cross-legged beside Aidan.

  “Where’s Ifoudan?”

  “He’s looking after the camels. The man doesn’t seem to need much sleep.” He tapped his fist against Aidan’s thigh. “Unlike you. Just sleeping the day away, while I’m out gathering information.”

  “I have some information of my own.” Aidan sat up and told Liam about catching the pharmacist’s assistant snooping around.

  “Did he say anything?”

  Aidan shook his head. “I think he was as surprised as I was. He slipped away from me and ran.”

  “I don’t know what those two are up to,” Liam said. “They joined the caravan at the last minute in Remada, and they don’t know that older couple they’re traveling with. The girl’s Tuareg, but the guy’s not. His name is Hassan, and hers is Leila.”

  “Hassan was working at the pharmacy, but I don’t think he’s really a pharmacist,” Aidan said. “I was thinking about how he acted when I walked in. He didn’t seem to know anything, and he was always asking the pharmacist questions.”

  “Of course,” Liam said. “Now I remember. When my contact told me about this guy, this Wahid Zubran, he mentioned that he had a protégé in his office—the son of his mistress. That must be Hassan.”

  “And the girl?”

  Liam shrugged. “They must have recruited her in Tunis.”

  “Maybe she’s from another tribe,” Aidan suggested. “Maybe her tribe doesn’t want this other one to get the money.”

  Liam chewed the bottom of his lip. “It’s a possibility.” He got up and walked to the front of the tent, looking around, then came back, speaking in a lower voice. “I checked out the cargo Ifoudan was telling me about. There’s an awful lot of weaponry going out to a place that’s supposed to be a school and hospital.”

  “What kind of weaponry?”

  “AK-47s. M-6s. Bundles of dynamite. A couple of anti-personnel mines.”

  “Maybe it’s a prison, and the weapons are for the guards.”

  “You have a way of putting the most positive spin on things,” Liam said, laughing.

  “Well, excuse me, Mr. Doom and Gloom. Maybe there’s a secret military base in the middle of the desert, and we’re bringing in weapons to stage an armed insurrection.”

  “Equally creative,” Liam said, with a smile. “Unfortunately, there’s an equal possibility that’s the true story. Or that the truth is somewhere in between.”

  “The truth is always somewhere in between.”

  “I need to know who they are, and who they work for,” Liam said. “I have an idea. Wait here.”

  Before Aidan could protest, Liam had slipped out of the tent.

  Aidan crawled over to the entrance, but by the time he got there Liam had disappeared. The sun was very bright, without a single cloud to mar the expanse of light blue. Funny how such a beautiful day could have so many dark undercurrents, he thought. Back in Philadelphia, he’d loved sunny days and clear, cloudless nights. They made him think the world was safe and beautiful. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  Liam was back before Aidan had had a chance to imagine too many horrible deaths for him. “Let’s see what we’ve got,” Liam said, holding up a worn leather wallet. “Whatever this guy is, he’s not a professional spy. Stealing his wallet was way too easy.”

  “Unless he wanted you to steal it,” Aidan said.

  “You’ve watched too many movies,” Liam said. He opened the wallet and started flipping through the cards in it. “Well, well. Our friend is a cultural attaché.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Sometimes, it’s a person who organizes things like art exhibits and poetry readings and receptions for visiting dignitaries.”

  “And other times?”

  “Other times, it’s a cover for covert operations or military intelligence,” Liam said. He looked through the rest of the wallet. “His name seems to be Hassan el-Masri, but that could be an alias.”

  “How do we figure out what the truth is?”

  Liam yawned. “The truth is, I’m beat. I need a power nap before we start moving again.” He smiled at Aidan. “It would sure help me nod off if I was cuddled up with you.”

  “I’m here to serve,” Aidan said dryly, but he lay down on the mat, and Liam stretched his long body behind Aidan’s, one arm casually draped over his chest.

  Liam fell asleep almost immediately, but Aidan had too many thoughts running through his head. If Hassan e-Masri was an intelligence agent, where was his backup? Could Leila be another agent pretending to be his girlfriend?

  Or was it possible that they were operating outside the scope of his authority? Maybe they were chasing down the money in the Swiss bank account as a nice little nest egg, something to kick off their married life together. How far would they go?

  And then Aidan fell asleep.

  31 - Meeting with Ibrahim

  When Aidan woke, the sun was setting, and Liam was gone, though he returned a few minutes later. “I gave our friend his wallet back,” he said. “Minus his ID, though.” He held up the plastic-coated ID card.

  Within a short time the caravan was moving again. Just as the last embers of the sun flared on the horizon, they passed the ruins of a Roman fortress. Aidan wished they could stop and explore, and for miles afterward he wondered what life had been like so many centuries before, when that fortress had been built.

  He tried to imagine being a Roman soldier, a thousand miles from home, baking in the desert heat. Surely it must have been just as sandy then, just as hot, just as isolated. Were there tribes in the desert then who launched attacks on the fortress? Did the soldiers take comfort from each other? Did they love each other as fiercely as Achilles and Patroclus?

  Once again they moved through the night climbing rises and threading through narrow passes. Aidan was getting accustomed to Ruby’s swaying motion, and though the saddle was still hard under his butt, he didn’t ache as much. The air was warm but dry, and he didn’t sweat.

  Liam spent some time riding next to him, and some time with Ifoudan. At one point Liam announced that they had crossed the border into Libya. “We did?” Aidan asked.

  “Sure, didn’t you see the border guards?” Liam laughed. “Seriously. There aren’t any borders in the desert, but Ifoudan is good at navigating with the stars. Between him and my GPS, I figured out we were in Libya now.”

  “Libya’s not exactly friendly toward Americans, is it?”

  “No. But I doubt we’ll be in this country that long. Ifoudan says we meet Ibrahim’s tribe at the next oasis. And then we’ll join up with them, turn around and head back to Tunisia.”

  Aidan wasn’t sure it would be that easy, but he didn’t say anything. Liam faded back into the night, and Aidan rocked gently on top of Ruby and tried not to think. Shortly after sunrise, they crested a tall dune and Aidan saw a group of palm trees ahead. He was tired and achy and his throat was dry, so he wasn’t sure if it was a mirage or not. At least not until they got closer and he saw the cluster of tents and a couple of camels grazing.

  This time the camels were better behaved as they approached the water. None of them got loose or galloped forward, and Liam returned to Aidan’s side to guide Ruby toward some thorny shrubs. “Can she actually eat that?” Aidan asked, as she went to her knees, her neck stretching out so she could nibble.

  “Her lips have some stiff hair that protects them from the thorns,” Liam said. “And her mouth and stomach are adapted to chewing and digesting that stuff.”

  “Better her than me,” Aidan said, hopping off her back. She ignored him to focus on the greenery in front of her. “Is this the place?” he asked. “Is that the tribe we’ve been looking for?”

  “That’s what Ifoudan says. I’ll know for sure soon.” Aidan helped Ifoudan set up his tent while Liam went off to look for Ibrahim. The sand around them was scattered with fossilized shells and pieces of red sea coral, and Aidan realized with a start that the whole plain must hav
e once been covered with water, either an inland sea or an arm of the Mediterranean. He marveled at what small creatures humans were in the grand sweep of time and the desert.

  When Liam returned, he said, “Ibrahim is eager to meet the most beneficent Charles Carlucci,” he whispered. “You ready to play the part?”

  “Well, if he doesn’t know Carlucci is dead he probably isn’t prepared to make small talk about Charlie’s wife and kids. I think I can manage it.”

  “No time like the present.”

  As they walked, Liam said, “Remember, I’m your bodyguard and translator. If you don’t know what to say at any point, just say something, and I’ll wing it.”

  Aidan felt a surge of adrenaline through his body, replacing the weariness that had accumulated during the long camel ride. His butt hurt and his lips were dry, but he was ready for action.

  They approached a large goatskin tent, with three women and two men underneath it. “The young one with the scar on his cheek is Ibrahim,” Liam whispered.

  As they had rehearsed, Aidan stepped forward, bowed, and said, “My name is Charles Carlucci and I am here to greet the Amenokal of this tribe.”

  The young man stood, and stepped forward to shake his hand. “Hello,” he said in English. Then he continued in Arabic, and Aidan looked to Liam.

  “The Amenokal apologizes for being unable to communicate with you in your own language. He hopes you will forgive him, but his only languages are Arabic, Tamashek and French.”

  “No apologies are necessary. I am honored to be welcomed.”

  They went through some more formalities, including the offer of seating and green tea. Ibrahim inquired about their journey, and asked how they were holding up under the heat.

  Aidan wanted to get to the reason why he and Liam had struggled through the last week, being ambushed in the souk, running through the streets of El Jem, then enduring the long camel trek into the desert. It was frustrating to suffer through these formalities. After a long speech by Ibrahim, Liam said, “The Amenokal asks if we have brought something for him.”

  He looked confused, though, so Aidan asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “He used the words for trading,” Liam said. “So it appears he has something to give us.”

  “I hope it’s not a goat,” Aidan said. “Or his first-born daughter.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Aidan opened his wallet and pulled out a piece of paper, on which he had carefully written the account number and password, and handed it to Ibrahim. “You know what to do with this?” Aidan asked.

  Ibrahim nodded even before Liam had finished translating. “He says he has friends from school who will help him access the money,” Liam said. “I guess that means the pharmacist and the goldsmith.”

  Ibrahim must have recognized the word “pharmacist,” because he began talking rapidly. Liam had to ask him to slow down, and then launched into his own monologue in Arabic, first telling Aidan that he was filling Ibrahim in on everything that had happened.

  Ibrahim looked at Aidan and spoke. Liam said, “He asks who you are, if you are not Carlucci. I told him that Carlucci was dead.”

  “What should I say?”

  “Tell him the truth.”

  Aidan explained that he and Liam had seen Carlucci killed, and that because Aidan looked somewhat like him, Liam had asked him to help carry out Carlucci’s mission. He pulled the eye charm on its chain from around his neck, which he hadn’t been able to return in El Jem, and handed it to Ibrahim. “Will you see that this goes back to your friend the goldsmith?”

  Ibrahim nodded. Then he spoke, and Liam looked at first confused, then nodded, then his face turned grim.

  “What?” Aidan asked. “What’s he saying?”

  Liam held up his hand, so that Ibrahim could finish. When he did, Liam took a deep breath, then sighed. “This is worse than I thought,” he said.

  “What? What’s worse?”

  He turned to Ibrahim and spoke, Ibrahim nodding. Then he said, “Let’s go back to our tent. I told Ibrahim we will come speak with him later.”

  Ibrahim was eager to jump up and shake Aidan’s hand again, and though Aidan was worried about what Liam wasn’t telling him, he felt relieved that they had carried out their mission.

  When they returned to Ifoudan’s tent, the caravan leader was there, fast asleep on his own mat. Aidan yawned, and in a low voice Liam said, “We should both get some sleep.”

  “But what did Ibrahim tell you?” Aidan asked.

  “Sleep now,” he said firmly. “We’ll talk later.”

  “But...”

  “The only butt I want is yours, up against me.” Liam pointed toward the sleeping mat.

  I could argue, Aidan thought. But he was tired, now that the adrenaline from meeting Ibrahim had drained away. And there were worse things in the world than curling up with a handsome, sexy guy behind him, even if the lack of privacy prevented them from doing anything fun.

  Aidan thought he’d probably lie awake again, savoring the feel of Liam’s body against his, or wondering what Ibrahim had said that had upset Liam, but instead he dozed off. When he woke, a few hours later, the tent was empty. The wind had blown up while he slept, and there was a film of sand over everything. All he’d had to eat since the previous oasis was some dates he’d kept in his pocket, and the green tea served by Ibrahim’s tribeswomen. He was starving, and he had to pee.

  He was careful, peering out of the tent in case Hassan el-Masri or Leila were lurking around. It was the heat of the day, and everyone appeared to be sleeping, so he crept out to the edge of the encampment and found a private spot.

  When he’d finished, he walked back, following his nose back toward Ibrahim’s camp. Something smelled delicious.

  He found a young woman in Ibrahim’s tent, stirring a pot over a small fire. As soon as Ibrahim spotted him, he jumped up and said, “Hello! Hello!”

  Aidan answered him in French. His command of the language wasn’t great, but at least he could say more than he could in Arabic. Ibrahim was delighted that they could communicate, and he started asking a lot of questions about Aidan’s life and what he was doing in Tunisia.

  “Are we in Tunisia?” Aidan asked. “Or Libya?”

  “These borders mean little to us.”

  Aidan tried to be careful in what he said, because he didn’t know if he could trust Ibrahim, at least not until he heard what the Amenokal had told Liam that had upset him. Aidan said that he was an English teacher, and that he had come to Tunis to teach. That he had enjoyed seeing the country as they traveled south.

  Ibrahim asked about America, and Aidan told him about Philadelphia. It reminded him of the dialogues he had had to memorize in French class—“Les Etats-Unis est une grande pays,” or “The United States is a big country.”

  The woman, Ibrahim’s sister, served them big sloppy plates of food, which they ate with their fingers. Aidan wondered where Liam was. He’d grown accustomed to the bodyguard’s periodic disappearances, but still, what if he’d abandoned Aidan now that he had served his purpose? Suppose Liam had lit out on his camel, heading back to civilization, without a thought to Aidan?

  Or what if Ibrahim had given him some information that had to be relayed immediately to the police, or the CIA, or whoever it was that Liam had worked for? Or perhaps still worked? Would he abandon Aidan if he got in the way of Liam’s mission?

  Ibrahim was busy eating, so Aidan didn’t have to worry about following his conversation and translating in his head. The food was delicious, though he couldn’t identify anything in it beyond the couscous. When they finished, Ibrahim’s sister served dates rolled in coconut, and Aidan thought he’d never tasted a sweeter dessert.

  But still, he worried, where was Liam?

  32 – Aidan Makes a Suggestion

  After he’d eaten, Aidan made his way back to Ifoudan’s tent. Just before he got there, Liam accosted him. “Where have you been?” he asked. “I’ve been searching for yo
u.”

  “I went over to Ibrahim’s tent and he gave me something to eat.”

  “You shouldn’t have left without telling me where you were going.”

  “I would have—except you’d disappeared on me.”

  Liam’s body language relaxed. “I was worried about you,” he said. “After what Ibrahim said...”

  “Which you still haven’t passed on to me,” Aidan said.

  “I haven’t told you because I’m not sure what to do yet.”

  “Then talk to me,” Aidan said. Liam looked skeptical. “Come on, you must know that the best way to figure something out is to talk it out.”

  “You’re a great guy, Aidan. You have a lot of unexpected qualities. But you’re not a soldier and you’ve never been.”

  “I have two ears, and a brain,” Aidan said. “And it doesn’t look like there are any other SEALs, or former SEALs, around for you to brainstorm with. So you’re stuck with me.”

  He sighed. “I guess you’re right. Let’s find a shady place where we can talk.”

  Ifoudan was tending to the camels, so they climbed back under his tent. “What did Ibrahim tell you?” Aidan said. “What made you so upset?”

  Aidan could see Liam thinking, trying to figure out how to phrase what he had to say. He said, “The money we brought? It wasn’t just a charitable donation. Ibrahim had some information he was selling to Carlucci’s foundation.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “You know the caravan is heading to a school and hospital in the desert, right?”

  Aidan nodded. “And you were wondering why we’re delivering so many weapons to a school.”

  “Well, I know why, now. It’s not just a school; it’s a military training facility, called the Tagant School. Tagant’s the Tuareg name for one of the desert regions.”

  Liam leaned back against the sleeping mat. “It sits on an ancient underground site, something the Bedouins built centuries ago as a way station. There are caves there, with ground water. The school and hospital are on the ground level, but the Libyans are training soldiers underground.”