The Godless One

by J. Clayton Rogers

  "They're everywhere," Abu Jasim commented as he studied a bag of gaz. "You've got one in the room with you right now."

  "Enough!" Ari commanded.

  Abu Jasim shrugged and drifted to the rear of the store.

  "The other day he tipped over one of the wire displays and started shouting that we didn't have fresh hummus. I'm filling up my shop with things no one else around here wants, just for him and his men. There's hardly room for Wonder Bread, and then that goes stale and moldy because other people stop coming. I owe money on the loan and the only reason they pay me sometimes is because there's no one else around who sells...well, as you see."

  "The police were here while he was ranting," Fatimah said in a quivering voice. "Parked right by the window. They saw him knocking things over and yelling. He didn't care, and they didn't come in."

  "He's always with his bodyguards," Joe added. "Half the time they don't bother hiding their guns."

  Not good, thought Ari. But it was not unusual for Uday to have local authorities in his pocket.

  "Does he call himself 'Uday' around you? Do any of his men call him that?"

  "They call him 'Boss'."

  Abu Jasim's head shot up. "Hey, that's my...that other guy's name."

  Uday Hussein had been the presumed successor until his behavior alienated even his father. Saddam had made Uday's brother, Qusay, the designated heir—which triggered even more violent behavior from the reject. But with Qusay and Qusay’s son now cinders, it was a legitimate appropriation.

  Having heard nothing that convinced him Uday was alive and well in Cumberland County, Abu Jasim began to make grumpy noises. Ari found himself mentally comparing him to a walrus. He couldn't say if he was fond of walruses.

  "We plan to get rid of him," said Ari abruptly.

  Joe's hands stopped midway down his apron. "What are you speaking of?"

  "Deport him if we can, kill him if there's no other way. I understand why you would want him gone," he continued as Fatimah drew close, eyes vast with doubt. "I have my own reasons. The world has reason enough."

  Abu Jasim made a derisive noise.

  "Most of the world, and he's only mocking me because he doesn't believe it's Uday. He most of all would want Uday gone. He was Saddam's fatid before he escaped. He knows that family like few others."

  Abu Jasim was watching Ari closely. "I think you've told them enough."

  "What's the harm, if that man isn't Uday?" said Ari breezily. "This poor sod had to stand up before huge crowds, pretending to be the President, knowing at any minute a sniper could clean out his brain or the balcony could explode under his feet. A true hero."

  Abu Jasim replaced a Snickers Bar in its tray and came over. "Colonel..."

  "Colonel!" Joe pulled back. "You were in the Army!"

  Ari gave Abu Jasim a thank you very much look and quickly moved to repair the damage.

  "Yes, I was in the Army. At times I was proud of it. At others, I was ashamed. I saw Uday at work during the Uprising. I knew a young soldier who killed himself rather than slaughter his own people. He has stayed in my mind for many years. And yes, he was a better man than me. But now I want to make amends. Uday will pay, and you can help. In fact, your help is critical. And I think there is no risk to either of you."

  Joe took another step back. "You sound like an insurance salesman."

  This drew such a laugh from Abu Jasim that Joe and even Fatimah broke into smiles. Abu Jasim had been in North America much longer than Ari and knew the subtle weaknesses that could produce laughter. And for an instant, it was as if Saddam Hussein had sprung back to life and said, Hey, everyone, it was all a joke! And look, no one was really hurt!

  "What do we have to do?" Joe asked, still holding a glimmer in his eye.

  "Receive one phone call—from me—and make two outgoing calls," said Ari hurriedly, amazed but thankful that it had been Abu Jasim who had broken through to them. "I'm afraid you will be talking to the police in person, again."

  The glimmer went hard.

  "And you will have to lie to them."

  Joe nodded, as though this was a matter of course. "Well, we talked to them before. Lied to them before. And no harm came as a result...except Uday came to ask us what it was all about."

  "Uday again!" Abu Jasim threw up his hands. He was so convinced that Joe and Fatimah exchanged bemused glances. Had they been plagued by a phantom?

  "What will you want us to say?"

  "That you have seen the white van again, the one Fatimah saw the night that man was killed and police asked questions. You are to say you saw it parked on the first fire road to the left off Sugar Loaf Road."

  "That's..."

  "Just past Uday's house, yes. And this time, you will give them a license plate number. Not the one out there now. This..." Ari took out a slip of paper. On it was a Quebec license plate number and two phone numbers. "If they ask you what you were doing out there, tell them you were on a nature hike."

  "They'll never believe that!" Joe protested.

  "Yes they will. Americans swear by nature hikes, it's just that few of them know a tree from a bush. They'll be impressed. They'll think you're really adapting to their country. And once he's gone...I'm sure he will be...you can stock your shelves with as many Twinkies as the market will bear."

  Father and daughter weathered inward storms as they eyed this battered man. Their belief was nonexistent, but their hope struggled to the surface. It was not enough, though, until Abu Jasim whipped out his Saddam moustache, planted it crookedly on his face, and declaimed, "Would I lie to you?"

  Their laughter was spontaneous and hard, too hard, it cracked their lungs and made them weep.

  "Well?" Ari asked impatiently, feeling time growing thin.

  Joe's childhood and youth were spent in a world where the only clock was Nature. The barbel spawned, the nights grew chilly, blood feuds were settled in death or resolved by ancient councils. Then Saddam Hussein came and time acquired unimagined velocity. There was the death of the eternally shifting marshlands. People were left gasping, like the fish dying on the embankments. And there were the quick knife thrusts of military incursion, with the Madan fleeing for their lives, sometimes reaching the crossings to Iran, often being caught and deported, often being killed on the spot. One’s mind and body raced together in this new world where imaginary monsters became real while the charm of the seasons lay slain in the mud. Then there was the sickness, followed by flight in a window-less military transport, and then the door opening to this new blacktopped land of chemical smells and indifferent strangers. Joe forced himself out of the old mode of existence to become a shopkeeper, and for awhile it was a time of panic as he learned to sell small bits of food and tanks of gasoline to voluntary wayfarers. His last ounce of emotional energy had been consumed by this compromise between safety and misery. Uday had come, a hateful miracle, and yet devils had a place in Joe's universe, and he was just one more to be accommodated. Joe had even comforted himself with the idea that Uday was a link to his homeland, perverted to be sure, but also a strange consolation. Iraq, ancient, venomous, home—was still alive. Staring at the paper in Ari's hand, he drew back a little further and bumped into a wire stand piled with free real estate magazines.

  Fatimah watched him closely, fully comprehending his turmoil. Her father could retreat no further, would make all the concessions necessary to stay in place. He had not kept the gun under his apron with the thought of one day killing Uday and his henchmen. There had been an armed robbery at Buddy's the week before, and Joe had conceded to the need to arm himself. He had attacked Abu Jasim because the past and present had conflated in his mind: Saddam was a bandit from the grave, come to rob the Stop-N. Otherwise, Joe had relinquished any hold he might have on his fate, and the fate of his daughter. But her poisoned body had a healthy grasp on the new world. She stepped up to Ari and snatched the paper out of his hand. "I'll call."

  "Fatimah," her father gasped.

  "Also," Ari contin
ued, "you say Uday came here after the police questioned you? He wanted to know what they asked about?"

  Father and daughter nodded tentatively.

  "I can see why he might be interested. But tell me, wasn't there something else? Fatimah...you didn't call the police yourself, did you? They came here because they were asking everyone in the area if they had seen something the night that police detective was killed. Buddy up the street...the local antique dealers...farmers.... They probably even stopped by Uday's house."

  "Yes?" Joe said questioningly.

  "Then why would Uday come here, when he knew everyone had been questioned?"

  "He must have seen us talking..."

  "No, you called someone, didn't you? I suspect Uday has forced you to be his eyes and ears in this village. It's the perfect location. You're in a better position to hear local gossip. And on that night, you called and told him his very own father had shown up on your doorstep. I'll bet Uday came blazing a streak when he heard that. He knew that since he had survived, perhaps his father had, too." Ari was speaking gently, directing most of his words at Fatimah. Joe was too dazed to protest. "He decided you were deluded, didn't he? That you were a silly girl not worth paying attention to. And knowing him, he probably did worse."

  "He said the poison had gotten into my brain." Fatimah stilled her shaking by crossing her arms and curling her hands at her elbows.

  "I need that phone number, the one you called that night. It's very important."

  "You aren't going to call..."

  "I am, I won't lie. But it's not to say anything about you."

  "A trap?" Joe asked. Ari answered with a vague smile.

  Fatimah went behind the counter and brought back a yellow stickynote bearing a phone number.

  "Is there anything else?" she asked calmly. "Do you still want a sandwich? They're $3.50 each."

  Ari studied her for a moment, and knew she would do.

  "Yes. My companion looks hungry. We'll take two sandwiches. And..." Ari went over to a wire basket on the nearest shelf. It contained new padlocks. "And I want to buy this. Replace the lock on your walk-in cooler with it and give me the old one and its key. Please don't leave any scratches on it."

  Fatimah was startled, but said nothing. Abu Jasim was startled, and with a shake of his head, said, "Off your rocker, Colonel..."

  Back in the Astrovan, Ari called Ahmad and told him to drive his uncle's new Sprinter to the fire road past Uday's house. After hanging up, he found Abu Jasim staring at him. "Well? Drive on. We'll meet your nephew in the woods."

  Muttering, Abu Jasim pulled out and they were soon on Bear Creek Lake Road.

  "Uday my ass," Abu Jasim said grimly as he turned onto Sugar Loaf. "Maybe it's not Latif Yahia. It could be another of Uday's doubles."

  "How many of them could there be?" Ari asked.

  "There weren't many fatids," said Abu Jasim. "We didn't have a union. But I wasn't the only one for Saddam, and I'm sure Uday had his share, too, buck teeth and all. What if it's just another one of those that you're after? He would still have plenty of information the Americans would be interested in. How's that, Colonel? What if it's the Americans who are protecting him? They would invest a small army, just like the one we saw. Eh, Colonel? He could be another you, crouching like a tiger in—"

  "I'm aware of that!" Ari snapped, giving vent to a fear he had borne for days. "It's possible. But wouldn't it be the right thing to do, anyway? To get rid of a bully?"

  "I'm sure the Americans will appreciate that."

  "But isn't that why they went to war against us?" Ari reasoned speciously. "They sent their state-of-the-art against our decrepit army, just to kill a bully."

  Abu Jasim began to slow down as they approached Uday's driveway.

  "Don't worry," said Ari. "They won't notice us. There's a state park nearby. They're used to people going back and forth."

  On the fire road Abu Jasim sped along without concern for the rocks banging up against the old van’s chassis. On reaching the secondary, dead-end fire road he had Abu Jasim lift the barrier and pull the van in as far as it would go. Then he had him remove the license plate and replace it with the one he had brought from Montreal.

  "Now we wipe it down. Every inch. You must have left prints everywhere when you took down the fake panels."

  Abu Jasim grumbled as he began plying a cloth. He grumbled even more when Ari tried to help. "Colonel, can't you work without moaning and groaning?"

  "I could say the same to you," Ari shot back. "When we're done, leave the key under the seat.

  When they were done, they stood back for a moment, as though admiring a new coat of paint. Then they walked back to the main fire road to meet Ahmad.

  "There's plenty of room," Ari said. "The other car will fit nicely."

  Abu Jasim made a sound in lieu of asking Ari what he was up to. He yanked Ahmad out of the Sprinter driver seat.

  "Hey, I wasn't stealing it!" the young man complained.

  "You were driving it! It comes to the same thing."

  "But—"

  Ari told Abu Jasim to turn around and return to the secondary fire road where the Lexus was parked.

  "Here, start making it look as if no one's been here. Use branches, be creative. Make it seem the last people to walk this way were the Indians."

  Abu Jasim, a little short on history, gave Ari a perplexed look.

  "He means Native Americans," Ahmad said, and received a cuff for his education.

  "Remember how we camouflaged our tanks and artillery when the Americans came?" Ari said.

  "Lot of good it did us," Abu Jasim frowned.

  "Same idea. Cover the tracks. The grass further up is tall. Bend it back this way. It should straighten up."

  "But there's so much mud!"

  "The snow's melted and there aren't any tire tracks. He hasn't driven the Lexus since the storm."

  Abu Jasim watched skeptically as Ari removed the broken lock from the barrier and inserted Joe's age-tarnished walk-in cooler lock in its place, taking care to wipe off any prints. Then he spent an hour directing uncle and nephew in their attempt to make the lane look pristine. It was truly a long shot, but it was the best he could think of.

  "Stop," he commanded finally. "If we go on too long, it will begin looking like a buffalo herd went through. When you return, be sure to wipe off your fingerprints from the broken lock before you put it back."

  "We're coming back?"

  "Both of you, this evening. I want the GT in place. We have to move quickly, before Uday or one of his men find the new lock. But first..."

  "What?"

  "More reconnaissance. We need to see where this fire road ends up. We'll be coming in on the other side. And...here..." Ari was standing near the entrance of the secondary fire road. He began walking slowly up the main fire road, peering into the underbrush. Suddenly, he stopped and pointed. "See where those trees have fallen in there, behind those bushes?"

  Abu Jasim and Ahmad eyed him with some alarm.

  "Go in there and clear out a spot. Make sure you can see the entrances to both secondary roads. Someone with night goggles can—"

  "No!" Ahmad wailed, seeing what was coming. "It's cold and going to get colder! The woods are full of vermin...or something. And coyotes! Didn't you say there were coyotes?"

  "The bugs are dormant," said Ari, hoping they were but knowing it didn't matter. "And you'll be armed. As soon as you see those fangs coming for your neck, shoot. But use a silencer."

  Ahmad turned frantically to his uncle, who shrugged resignedly. "We'll get you some battery-heated socks and underwear on the way back. You'll be snug," he added, leering. "We'll even leave you a few crackers."

  They spent another hour doing as Ari bid, finishing around noon. Ari walked down to the road where they had parked the Astrovan and waved at Ahmad, crouched like a sour ball in the blind. Reluctantly, he waved back. Then Ari walked to the entrance of Uday's escape hatch and again exchanged waves. He nodded in satisfac
tion.

  "You'll be on the road most of the day," said Ari while the two men covered the tracks they had left on the side of the road.

  "And you?"

  "Drop me off a block from my house. I need to sleep."

  But Ari did not wait until they reached Richmond. He fell asleep on the Sprinter bench, now too tired by be bothered by the smell of new vinyl.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Karen's face dropped when Ari opened the door.

  "I tripped down the stairs," he blandly explained.

  "You fell in the trash compactor, you mean," said the dismayed deputy marshal. "You told me when I called that you were raring to go."

  "Did I mis-employ the phrase?"

  "You think you're ready?"

  "I'm dressed and shaved, as you see."

  Karen hesitated a moment, then reached up and knocked off some of the dried mud from Ari's new coat. "Seeing you like this makes me wonder..."

  She was wondering how much Ari knew of things he was supposed to be ignorant of. He simulated an ignorant smile, which made him appear like an idiot who had fallen down the stairs—several flights of stairs, in fact.

  "Okay, we need to get going before anyone sees us," she said, suppressing a desire to hold onto him and keep him from falling as they went down the sidewalk. "If anyone does see us, I'm just some girl you're dating and you're too embarrassed to take me out in a Scion. And if—"

  "Deputy Karen, we have reached your car. There is no longer any need for a cover story."

  "Oh no, we'll need a cover story," she said, unlocking her Civic. "You'll be going into a roomful of cops of every stripe and acronym, and they'll know a man beaten up in a fight when they see one."

  "I'll tell them I fought to defend your honor," said Ari as he closed his door. "And I lost."

  "You got drunk and picked a fight in a bar, and don't tell me it hasn't happened to you before." Karen backed down the driveway.

  "Never in all my life."

  "Until now." She turned right on Forest Hill. A car packed to the grill with young men and women howled past them. The windows were rolled down and they were shrieking: