Three Wrong Turns in the Desert

by Neil S. Plakcy

  He watched the line of men and camels approach the camp, and then stop. A Jeep approached, passing the line and throwing up a rooster tail of sand behind it. Who was that, he worried. Another terrorist come for training? Wahid Zubran, having tracked his inept assistant? How would this character affect the plan?

  Despite his long sleeves and long pants, the safari hat over his head, his skin burned. He took small sips of water whenever he felt faint, sitting back against the bags. How did Liam manage this level of concentration? What was he doing—had he inserted the anthrax into the ventilation system? What if a guard had caught him, and he was being interrogated as Aidan sat outside, unable to help him?

  The heat rose from the sand in hazy waves. Aidan nodded off, then jerked awake. In the distance, he saw a dark cloud rising. Another sandstorm? Or just a mirage?

  AS HE DIRECTED THE men underground, Liam worried about Wahid Zubran, and wondered if the anthrax was doing what it was supposed to, making its way through the ductwork. His eyes watered and he sneezed, sometimes several times in rapid succession, but no one else seemed affected.

  He switched duties with Ifoudan and joined the men carrying the last boxes of arms in from the camels. Shouldering a box, he moved through the arched front doorway, passing a pair of guards with rifles against their shoulders. What if they finished the unloading, but the anthrax failed to circulate? The plan would fail, and there would be no way to infiltrate the complex again.

  Carrying in the fourth load, he passed the gymnasium and saw Zubran inside, with Hassan next to him. They were speaking with the man Liam thought was Abdul Bin-Tahari, in his Hawaiian shirt. The boy was speaking, the two older men listening.

  But Liam could not linger and eavesdrop; he had to keep moving behind the man in front of him, like an obedient camel. Even if the anthrax was passing through the ducts, would anyone believe the bullhorn warning? What if the guards sealed the garrison before he could get out? What if no one left, and the soldiers inside the school mounted an attack on the SEALs outside? He could be trapped inside, with anthrax in the vents and armed guards searching for him.

  As they were returning up the stairs, one of the men sneezed and caused a chain reaction. Within minutes, three other men were sniffling and sneezing. “The air is bad down here,” one man said.

  Liam sneezed himself. He touched his forehead, and felt the heat radiating from it. The anthrax was working. He pulled Ifoudan aside. “We have to get out of here,” he said in a low voice. “There is something dangerous in the air.”

  By the time the line of men had returned to the courtyard, almost all of them were sneezing, their eyes watering. Ifoudan went to the soldier in charge and insisted that there was something wrong, and his men had to leave.

  Liam stood close enough to Ifoudan to hear the conversation. If they could just get out before Abdul bin-Tahari ordered a lockdown, the plan had a chance of working. He couldn’t tell if the sweat that beaded on his forehead was from the heat, the fever, or nerves. Either way, it stung his eyes.

  The soldier called an older man who appeared to be in charge of the garrison. He might not have been convinced, had he not begun sneezing himself. “Go,” he said. “These filthy camels are making everyone sneeze. Don’t come back until tomorrow.”

  THE SANDSTORM SWIRLED closer; Aidan alternated between watching the gates of the Tagant School and turning forty-five degrees to keep an eye on the cloud of sand. He couldn’t tell if it was heading toward him, staying in the same place, or aimed in a different direction entirely.

  When the sun was at its highest, and Aidan was sipping the last few drops of water from the bottle in his pack, the gates opened, and the men and camels straggled out. Several men stumbled, and they clung to each other. Sometimes the camels appeared to be pulling them.

  Where was Liam? Aidan cursed Liam’s ability to blend in so well. There was no way to tell if Liam was there or not. What if he’d been discovered, and captured?

  The sandstorm looked like it was coming closer. Would it interfere with the ability of the SEALs to capture the terrorists? Would the chopper be able to land?

  IFOUDAN LED THE CARAVAN out through the gates. Liam felt lousy, and it was a struggle to put one foot in front of the other. The line of men and camels was halfway back to the caravan camp when he heard the bullhorn.

  It was Joey Sheridan’s voice, in perfect Arabic. “Your facility has been infected with deadly poison. If you do not evacuate immediately you will die.”

  The men of the caravan stopped to listen, then burst into frantic Arabic. Liam pulled Ifoudan aside. “A Navy medic is coming to your camp,” he said. “Make sure each one of your men takes the medicine he brings you. Every day, until two cycles of the moon have passed. If they do that, they will all survive. Do you understand?”

  Ifoudan himself was sneezing, his eyes watering. “I understand.”

  Liam forced himself to run, shedding the heavy cloak and scarf as he did. He had been planning to rendezvous with the team and help with the evacuation, but he realized, as he struggled ahead, that he would be no good. He had to find Aidan.

  THE RAGTAG GROUP WAS halfway to the camp when Aidan harsh words in Arabic blasting through the bullhorn. Even though it was the sound he’d been waiting for, hoping for, it scared him.

  The orderly line exiting the school dissolved as men ran toward the camp. One, though, took a different tack, and headed toward Aidan. As he shed his cloak, Aidan realized that it was Liam, and that he was in trouble. His customary grace had deserted him; he stumbled and nearly fell twice as he ran.

  Forgetting his exhaustion and dehydration, Aidan took off down the slope toward Liam, his pack swaying on his back, Liam’s duffle banging against his side.

  “Stay back,” Liam said, as he neared. “I’m getting sick. I must have breathed too much of the stuff.”

  “I don’t care,” Aidan said, grabbing him around the waist. “Lean on me. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  Suddenly, there were armed men running past them, wearing camouflage BDUs. The last was a stocky man around Aidan’s height. “Hoo-rah, brother,” the man said, pausing for a second to high-five Liam. “Good job.”

  Liam could only nod as the man ran off.

  Looking behind him, Aidan saw the gates of the facility open, and men begin to stream out. The SEALs were in place by that time, and even though there were only a dozen of them, they had weapons trained, and began shepherding the fleeing soldiers into groups.

  Without his vantage point at the top of the rise, Aidan had no idea if the sandstorm was approaching, and when he heard a loud roar, he worried that they’d be engulfed in minutes, and began looking for a place he and Liam could shelter. The bodyguard was moving slowly, stumbling over his feet. He hadn’t even been able to carry the duffle, so Aidan was still burdened with both bags.

  The sand began to swirl around them and Aidan despaired. There was no cover anywhere, just acres of empty sand. He risked a glance up and was astonished to see, instead of a cloud of sand, a dark green helicopter hovering overhead.

  As he watched, the big troop transport lowered to the ground. A half dozen SEALs ran toward it, forcing with them a group of men wearing civilian clothes, including an older man in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt. As the chopper landed, someone on board opened the side door, and the SEALs began shepherding their crew inside.

  Liam and Aidan watched. As the last of the SEALs was preparing to jump on, Aidan recognized him as the stocky guy who’d high-fived Liam, and grabbed his arm. “Take Liam,” he said. “He’s sick. Get him out of here.”

  “Joey, I’m not going without him,” Liam said, but he was weak and could hardly speak without coughing.

  “I’ll be on the next one,” Aidan said. He pointed to the sky, where a second helicopter was preparing to land.

  The SEAL grabbed Liam. “Come on, brother. Get in the bird.” Between him and Aidan, they forced Liam inside. Aidan threw Liam’s duffle inside with him. Then the SEAL climbed in,
and slid the door shut.

  As soon as the helicopter took off, the second one landed, and the other six SEALs appeared on the horizon, shepherding another group of men. Aidan waited until they were loaded, then tried to jump on.

  The last SEAL blocked his way. “I’m with Liam,” Aidan shouted. “Liam McCullough.”

  The SEAL peered at him. “You know Billy?”

  The oldest of the SEALs, a man in his forties with wire-rimmed glasses and deep lines across his forehead, stepped forward. Aidan didn’t know enough about military insignia to tell his rank, but everything about his body language said he was the troop leader.

  “Billy said he had an associate. That’s you?”

  Aidan nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Welcome aboard. Now let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  The first SEAL lowered his rifle and motioned Aidan inside. He stepped in, and found a place for himself against the wall, taking off his backpack but looping the strap around his arm. The last SEAL kept the door open as they rose, firing a few rounds toward the ground to discourage any of the soldiers who’d followed them from shooting.

  Aidan had no idea where they were going. Liam was in the other chopper, so he was on his own. Instead of being frightening, though, the thought was exhilarating. They had done what they set out to do, and more. They’d delivered the account number to Ibrahim’s tribe. They’d managed to evacuate and shut down the training facility, and deliver a bunch of suspected terrorists to the SEALs.

  The helicopter shook and banked as it rose, knocking Aidan against the wall. He slid a foot along the floor, then stopped himself by pressing his foot against a ridge in the metal floor.

  He looked around him. The man closest to him reminded him of a Filipino student he’d had in class the year before, skinny and dark-haired, with bad teeth and a scowl. Only one of the other men wore a uniform; the others looked too dark-skinned to be Arabs; they might have been Pakistani or Indonesian.

  All the prisoners had been cuffed hand and foot, and two SEALs were guarding them. Aidan took a deep breath. Things had worked out as planned, and he’d be safe on the ground soon with Liam.

  Then he heard the pilot say, “We’ve got Libyan military on our tail.”

  41 – Evacuation

  “Hold on,” the SEAL by the door said to Aidan. “This might get rocky.”

  Hold on to what? Aidan’s back was to the wall of the chopper; it wasn’t like there was a seat belt he could hook into. He grabbed a piece of the bulkhead as the chopper dipped and swooped, trying to avoid missiles being shot at it.

  “There’s another one on our tail now,” the pilot shouted. “The first one’s heading for the other chopper.”

  That was the helicopter carrying Liam, Aidan realized. Could they have come so far only to be shot down now? God damn it, what a stupid way for this to end. At the very least, he wanted to see Liam safe on solid ground again, nurse him back to health. And then if they had to go their separate ways, if he had to return to Philadelphia leaving Liam in Tunis, he would. It would hurt like hell, but he could do it if he had to. At least he’d be leaving Liam alive, and he could hold the memory of their time together, and the possibility that they might meet again.

  He didn’t want to blow up over the Libyan desert, even if they’d accomplished what they set out to do. It was a stupid, stupid waste.

  The chopper dived, and Aidan thought he might throw up. A couple of the hostages did. And then there was a huge explosion, and the chopper swerved sharply, knocking Aidan against the bulkhead, where his head connected with the metal. Lights flashed behind his eyelids, and he passed out.

  “COME ON, BUDDY, WAKE up.” Aidan opened his eyes and looked up, not at Liam, but at another of the SEALs. The terrorists had been unloaded from the chopper, and only the smell of sweat and vomit remained.

  Aidan looked up. “Where are we?”

  “We’re safe. That’s all you need to know for now.” The guy put his hands under Aidan’s shoulders and lifted.

  Aidan had a hell of a headache, and he was disoriented, to boot. Where was he? What had happened? The last thing he remembered was standing on the rise in the desert, watching the facility and waiting for Liam.

  “Liam. Where’s Liam?”

  “You mean Billy? He’s in the hospital,” the SEAL said. “That’s where you’re headed, too.”

  It was only then that Aidan felt the congealed blood on his head, and saw how it had dripped over his clothes. “Holy shit,” he said, and then passed out again.

  THE NEXT TIME AIDAN woke up, he was in a hospital bed. His head still hurt, but at least it was swathed in bandages, and somebody had cleaned up all the blood. His ribs ached every time he took a breath, and he saw a huge black and blue mark on his left arm. His throat was dry as the desert, and as soon as he struggled up to a sitting position he spied the plastic cup of water on the bedside table and brought it to his lips.

  “About time you woke up.”

  Aidan looked in the direction of the voice. Wearing a hospital gown that had fallen loose over one shoulder, Liam sat amidst rumpled sheets, on the edge of the bed next to his. He started coughing, his face turning purple with the effort.

  Aidan stared at him. His memory was coming back; he remembered seeing Liam off on that first chopper, then getting on the second one himself. But that was it. “Where are we?” he asked.

  Liam managed to croak out, “Hospital” before another round of coughing took him.

  “I didn’t think it was the Ritz Carlton,” Aidan said. “You sound like shit.”

  “Anthrax’ll do that to you. The Cipro they give you is almost as bad. I can’t keep anything down except clear liquids.”

  He reached a hand out to Aidan, who struggled against the pain in his side to grab it. “Did we...” Aidan asked. “Did we... what were we supposed to do?”

  Liam laughed, which set off another coughing fit. Aidan wrapped Liam’s hand in his own. The bodyguard didn’t have his customary strength, but his hand was warm, and Aidan felt reassured, that he could face anything as long as Liam was there next to him.

  A male nurse entered the room. “Mr. McCullough,” the nurse said. “What the fuck are you doing up?”

  “Sorry,” Liam said, releasing Aidan’s hand and sinking back to his pillow.

  The nurse surveyed the situation. He walked across the room and around to the far side of Aidan’s bed. “Hold on,” he said. He put both hands on the side of the bed and pushed.

  That wasn’t close enough. He had to move around to the far side of Liam’s bed and push it as well. By the time he was done, Aidan and Liam could reach across the narrow gap between the beds and hold hands again.

  And they did.

  42 – Return to Tunis

  Two days later, Colonel Hardwick arranged seats for Liam and Aidan on a military transport returning to Tunis. That way they could avoid issues of passports, and why there was no exit stamp that showed them leaving Tunisia. Liam had turned Charles Carlucci’s passport over to the SEALs, to be returned to his next of kin, the bank account information carefully excised. He’d even spoken to the woman who held Aidan’s and Carlucci’s belongings in Tunis and arranged for her to deliver Carlucci’s luggage to the US embassy.

  The morning of the flight, Aidan woke up in his hospital bed and looked over at Liam, asleep in the bed next to his. Liam was still sick, prone to coughing fits, though his fever was gone. He was weak, and it would be six weeks before he had run through the course of Cipro. Even then, he might need additional medication; he’d had a lot of exposure to the anthrax.

  He and Aidan hadn’t talked much; hospitals weren’t great places for private conversations. They held hands now and then, thanks to the nurse who’d moved their beds close enough. Aidan had sat on Liam’s bed next to him, and in the chair next to the bed. But they hadn’t talked about the future, only the past.

  What did that mean, Aidan wondered, as he stared at Liam’s sleeping form. He resemble
d one of those warrior angels in Renaissance paintings, strong yet pure. Aidan couldn’t look at him without feeling his heart flood with emotion.

  They’d both admitted to love—but had they been telling the truth? Was it love between them, or just lust? Had the passion of the situation overwhelmed them? If he had a reason to stick around Tunis, maybe a real relationship could develop. But he couldn’t imagine Liam on a date. His don’t ask, don’t tell experience in the military seemed to have scarred him, made him unable to express himself, and probably unable to commit to someone in the way Aidan wanted.

  And he did want that, he recognized. He had been happy with Blake, and not just because Blake’s money allowed him a comfortable life. He liked being in a relationship, having someone to come home to, someone to look after. He didn’t see a strong, competent soldier of fortune like Liam McCullough ever able to settle down in that way.

  What would happen when they returned to Tunis? Liam had invited Aidan to stay at his little house as long as he wanted. The invitation had been carefully couched, though. It wasn’t a “come move in with me;” more like a “you can crash at my place if you want.” Not exactly the commitment that Aidan longed for.

  He considered his options. He didn’t have a job in Tunis, and his only contact was Madame Habiba Abboud. Had enough time passed that she could apply for a teaching permit for him again? It seemed so long since he had been in her office, like another lifetime.

  If he wanted, he could go back to Philadelphia, sleep on his friend Coral’s couch for a few days, and find himself an apartment and some adjunct work teaching. Liam had promised him enough money from Charles Carlucci’s foundation to get him settled again.

  But was that what he wanted? That life seemed awfully boring after a couple of weeks of being pursued through the desert by Libyan intelligence agents, riding camels, hiding inside a burqa and being evacuated by a military helicopter from the middle of nowhere.