The Godless One

by J. Clayton Rogers

  "Probably no one called him at all," came a third voice. "He's a fucking American. They like to torment their captives. Look at Guantanamo."

  "You aren't a captive. You're a guest. If only—"

  The conversation was abruptly ended by a loud bang from the direction of the house.

  "What was that?"

  A series of additional bangs were accompanied by intense light that radiated prickles of light through the trees.

  "Shit! Hurry!"

  Ari held up three fingers. Abu Jasim and Ahmad both nodded.

  Gunshots at the house, then the sputter of machine guns. Two loud explosions rattled the landscape.

  RPG's, Ari hissed in his thoughts. The distant screams did not shake his reflexes. The instant the three men came onto the secondary fire road Ari took aim at the man on the left and fired. Almost simultaneously came the curt bam of Ahmad's shotgun.

  The man in the middle stood frozen in astonishment as the men to either side went down, howling, jerking uncontrollably on the ground, the Taser electrodes bouncing up and down at their waists. He began reaching under his coat, but then Abu Jasim had him in a bear hug. He knocked the pistol out of the middle man's hand, took him by the scruff, and began marching him up the fire road.

  "You got these two? You've got about ten more seconds before the charge dies."

  But Ari and Ahmad had already drawn their pistols and were up and running towards the prone men. By the time the spasms stopped they had guns to their heads.

  "We’re not really going to shoot them, are you?" said Ahmad, mixing his pronouns. The Glock was a bit too unsteady in his hand for Ari’s liking.

  "We need these corpses to walk away. Take his gun."

  Ahmad kicked his man’s pistol into the bushes.

  "Why did you do that? It can be sold!"

  "I can go—"

  "No, no. But don’t throw away his goggles, too."

  "What are we doing here?" Ahmad asked. "Are we robbing them?"

  "Abu Karim! I know your voice!"

  The man at Ari's feet had recovered from the Taser's NMI effect and was touching his coat over the bruise left by the XREP projectile.

  Ari was as stunned as if he had heard Saddam Hussein speak from the earth. Still holding his pistol on him, he reached down and removed the man's goggles. His night vision made the old burn on the man's face look black as tar.

  "Abdul Rahman!"

  The man Ari had saved on the Highway of Death, and who in turn had risked his own life by not following orders that day in 2002, on Palestine Street.

  "How can you still be alive?" Ari asked in wonder. "Uday would have had your head the moment he found out you hadn't shot me."

  "Mine, also," said the second man, sitting up. Ari received his second surprise. It was Omar Pachachi.

  Abdul Rahman sat up and tried to catch his breath. "Are you 'Ari Ciminon'?" he asked. When Ari didn't answer, he said, "I thought so." He looked around, not so blind without his goggles because of the flashes of light from the house. It was almost like a forest at dawn. "You know Uday. As soon as he heard what you had done to Abdul Nidal, he laughed his head off and granted you another year of life. Me, too, but at a price."

  Ari, man of action, wavered. There was more booming up at the house. All he could think to say was, "War of the worlds."

  "The price was that I had to finish the job," Abdul Rahman continued. "After the bombing at Dora Farms, he ordered Omar and me to terminate you. Remember all those crates that were stored in your basement?"

  "National treasures, I was told," said Ari, a little wanly. "They didn't think the Americans would bomb a nice neighborhood like al-Masbah."

  "There was enough explosive in them to send you and your house to the clouds. The plan was to blow you up, and then cry on American television about civilian casualties. But the Americans came sooner than we expected. You rushed off to your command post. And when that bomb went off in your yard, I told Uday the explosives had worked, but you weren't home. We told him one of your boys had been killed, and your wife..."

  "And what did he say to that?" Ari asked, as still as a corpse.

  "He said it was sufficient, that after what had happened...you were a dead man who only happened to be breathing."

  "So he let you live."

  Abdul Rahman pushed his fists against his eyes. "I did what I had to do for my family, as did Omar."

  As I would have done, Ari thought bitterly. Had the American CBU not done its damage, Ari's family would have gone extinct, instead of being a remnant. He was glad Abdul Rahman could not see his bruises. He might interpret it as further punishment for his godlessness. Ari could point out that in the world they came from, the godly were slaughtered in far greater numbers than the godless. Then Abdul Rahman would counter that that was only because there were so many more of the former. And an old argument would continue, uselessly, because no one should be put under the knife just for existing.

  There was shouting in the field. Ari wanted to shoot these men on the spot. He also wanted to embrace them. There was no time for either.

  "Remember when I scattered Abu Nidal's guards as decoys?"

  "It didn't work," Abdul Rahman smiled, rising to his feet.

  "He boasted that he was getting to know you," Omar said, also standing. Ahmad, confused by the strange camaraderie in the air, kept his pistol aimed at his chest.

  "Well, you're the decoys now," said Ari. "And I hope you do a better job of it. You might not get far. Two Arabs in a Lexus on a back road filled with police..."

  "We'll get out." Abdul Rahman gave Omar a sharp glance. "If I drive." He held up the key.

  "Then..." Ari took a deep breath. "God go with you."

  Abdul Rahman put his arms out. Ari embraced him. It caused him pain of great variety.

  "And the Boss?" Omar asked as he walked to the car.

  "Do you care? He stays with me. How did you end up staying with that pig, anyway?"

  "Oh, that?" Assuming Ari could see him with his night goggles, he held up his left hand. One finger was missing. "He swore this was what would happen to the heads of my wife and children if I didn't come as his...assistant."

  Ahmad gasped in horror. Ari turned to Abdul Rahman.

  "You too?"

  "Shot it off," said his old corporal, who did not bother to demonstrate the evidence. The voices in the field drew closer. Abdul Rahman gave a light rap on the hood of the Lexus. "If we're going to do any good, get in now!"

  Omar jumped into the car while Abdul Rahman took the wheel. The engine purred to life. Ari doubted anyone in the field could hear it. As it backed up the lane, Ari and Ahmad gathered up the guns and equipment and lumbered towards the main fire road. By the time they reached it the Lexus was already halfway to Sugar Loaf Road. Abdul Rahman was forced to turn on his parking lights to avoid the deep ruts to either side. Yellow rays filtered and faded through the trees, like vanishing fairies.

  When Ari swung open the Sprinter door he found Abu Jasim pressing his back against the bench, facing his prisoner, his face pinched with dread.

  "It’s him! It’s Uday!"

  "And you’re the one with the gun," Ari said calmly as he placed the shotguns, pistols and goggles on the floor of the van. The prisoner was busily tucking his shirt back in after Abu Jasim had pulled it out to see non-existent scars, thus proving he was Uday’s fatid and not Uday himself. Only he had discovered scars…plenty of them.

  "Hello, Bucktooth," Ari said convivially. "Want those teeth straightened?" When Uday’s flicked his eyes at the guns near his feet, Ari pointed at him, pointed at the guns, then pointed back at him, and said, "Bam."

  "Colonel, don’t—"

  "Make him mad?" Ari stepped up into the van, worked his way around the pile on the floor, and gave Uday a kick in the leg. Uday hissed in pain. "Still sore? Move over, you’re crowding me."

  "If you kill him, we’ll be hunted the rest of our lives."

  "Get up front and drive. We have to leave,
now."

  Abu Jasim could see plainly that if he did not drive his nephew would have to take the wheel. But he would not turn his back on Uday Hussein with a weakened Ari as his only safeguard—Ari, gasping, had just about shot his bolt for the evening. He stood, lifted the bench top, and brought out two sets of handcuffs. When Uday began to resist, Ari took out from his coat pocket something that resembled an electric shaver.

  "I’m sure you know what this is," he said, holding up the Taser. "You probably have a few in your toy chest."

  Uday sat back, resorting to passive resistance when Abu Jasim manipulated his limbs. "What, you want to tie me down so you can fuck me?" Uday watched Ari pocket the Taser. "I’ll get loose. Your servant can’t do anything right. He’s the one that led me to you."

  "I’m nobody’s servant!" Abu Jasim shouted into his face.

  "Then stop cringing like one!" Ari snapped. "Uday’s a buffoon with a long sordid past. He’s a nobody. Treat him as such."

  But Abu Jasim was offended. He finished cuffing Uday’s wrists and ankles in grim silence.

  "I think I see lights!" Ahmad cried out from the passenger seat. "Do you want me to drive?"

  "No!" Abu Jasim scrambled up to the driver seat. Ahmad gave the two bound, shivering guards a small apologetic wave as his uncle hit the gas, for once heedless of the destructive terrain. He headed away from Sugar Loaf Road. "What are you doing?" he yelled frantically when Ahmad reached for the van console.

  "Just giving us some heat, OK? I’m in the same van as Saddam Hussein and his son—that's how it looks. I freeze just thinking about it. I don’t want to freeze for real, too."

  Uday released a harsh laugh. "I’m the buffoon?"

  Ari shifted to the bench opposite Uday and removed his ski mask. Uday offered an indifferent twitch of his bushy eyebrows, telling Ari he had known all along who was underneath.

  "Got the shit beat out of you, didn’t you?" he commented on seeing Ari’s bruises. "I guess your being here means Frank Drebin is tits up somewhere."

  So the would-be assassin had given Uday the same name he had given to Mustafa Zewail and Benjy Cosmos. Ari still did not know what the joke was about. More intriguing was the ‘tits up’ for ‘dead’, a phrase often employed by infantry in Iraq. How many G.I.’s did Uday know? Were the ones in his circle also in his hire, or someone else’s?

  Both Ari and Uday bounced up and down on the benches as Abu Jasim pounded over some ruts in the dirt road. It was as if they were on an amusement ride. After checking to make sure no one was behind them, he stopped. He and Ahmad got out to remove the stolen tags and replace them with the originals. Ahmad claimed there was an animal watching him from the woods.

  "You might as well let me go, now," said Uday, bracing his feet on the floor as the van forged ahead. "I have friends who will come looking for me."

  "ISAF?" Ari shrugged. "Should I care? They're my friends, too."

  "I should have known you would sell yourself to the devils," Uday said, drawing up his chin.

  "And how do you earn your keep?" Ari finally gave the man more than a cursory inspection. Uday had put on a little weight and his hair was peppered, but overall he was as fit and trim as a man who had been shot multiple times could be. His bushy eyebrows curled up, his teeth curled out, his limp was in place. "Bet you got a kick out of seeing your father hanged. I thought it was very tastefully done."

  Saddam Hussein, bellowing at the top of his voice as he was dragged under the noose, the camera on him the whole way.

  "It was grotesque." Uday's eyes blazed. "He was a head of state. It was an assassination. If I had known they were going to do that to him, I would never have come here."

  Ari looked at his watch. He had about fifteen minutes left.

  "How did you find out about me?" he asked Uday.

  "Your idiot servant, of course," Uday sneered. "He was spotted the night Detective Carrington was killed. Fatimah, this girl at the Stop-N in Cumberland, she called us with the license plate number. We called Quebec, said some fool with one of their plates had hit us and we needed to file a claim. They wouldn't give us his address at first, but then we found a nice sympathetic girl who helped us. When one of my people saw that it was my father's old fatid, I began to suspect...well, not you, maybe, but I guessed he was visiting someone from the old days. Carrington had told me some guy named Ari Ciminon was giving him a hard time. I asked for Ciminon's address, but he said he would take care of him...you...himself. Now, there was no reason why 'Abu Jasim' would come all the way from Montreal to bump off an American cop unless he was lending a helping hand to someone who needed it. The two of you turned the tables on him...saving me the job, by the way."

  "You were going to kill him because he lost the Kayak Express?"

  "And he made me nervous..." Uday sent a scowl across the van. He did not like people who made him nervous.

  "With good reason. He was going to kill me and plant my body on your property. An anonymous call to the police, an investigation, and you would have been exposed. When did you start dealing in drugs?"

  "The Americans are cheap," Uday shrugged. "I needed something to do. I had contacts in the States—"

  "The old ANO boys."

  "They weren't doing much of anything, and they've always been a greedy bunch."

  "So you needed money for your toys, like a Lamborghini. You couldn't buy it legally without leaving a paper trail. You contacted Naji Turabi in Maryland so he could boost one for you."

  "And that motherprick Samir Salman got caught before I could even see it!" It was obvious this was a sore on Uday's heart. He leaned forward, as if jabbed by a poker.

  "You wanted someone to punish, but you couldn't get to him in prison. So you went after the translator."

  "Samir Salman was a complete idiot! He was a believer! Mustafa convinced him he was as holy as Abdulla al-Mahdi Billah, and the fool spilled his guts to him."

  "You found out what was going on through Sid Overstreet’s contact in the prison. You used that same contact to tell Samir Salman that he was betraying secrets to the infidels and to shut his mouth. Mmmm…how did you manage to convince Samir that stealing a Lamborghini was holy?"

  It was a frivolous question. History was replete with holy thievery, so it wasn’t important. Besides, the answer was self-evident: Samir Salman was an idiot.

  "So you paid Mustafa a visit."

  "I wasn't planning on killing him—believe that or not, as you will. Just scare him off from telling anyone about what he had heard from Samir Salman." Uday performed a que sera, sera shrug. "I thought just one look at me would impress him enough to back off. But the man peed in his pants! He wasn't Egyptian. He was Iraqi! He knew me too well!" He caught Abu Jasim looking at him in the rearview mirror. "You must be wearing your diapers!"

  "You tortured Mustafa," Ari prodded.

  "We bumped him around a little...and he told us he was working for the American anti-drug people. How was I to know he had no clue about my little sideline? I had to assume he acted as a translator at the prison to get information about me, that he couldn't care less about a peewee like Samir Salman. I couldn't take the chance. He tried to bribe me...$10,000! I make more than that in a single afternoon! But he had to go."

  "And you wanted to send a message."

  "The people here shit in their drawers when they hear about a beheading. Just the kind of message I wanted to send, let the neighbors from the homeland know they'd better not fuck with what wasn't their concern. My local boys were a little squeamish about it. I had to shoot the woman myself, and it was hard for me, getting up those stairs when she ran off. And then I hear a 'pop' downstairs—the idiots shot Mustafa! Turned my powerful shit into diarrhea. I wouldn't have it. Off goes the head! They took their time about it."

  "Frank and Sid."

  "Like boys playing doctor. It was their punishment for making me climb the stairs. Sid almost puked. Tough guys..." Uday shook his head in disgust.

  "You wrote the verse on t
he wall."

  "Well, they couldn't do it!"

  "You wouldn't let them take the money."

  "They bitched about it, but I wanted people to know we couldn't be bought. Not that way."

  "You found a brochure with the names of Mustafa Zewail and Ari Ciminon."

  "And I wondered, is this Ciminon guy with the anti-drug people, too?" He eyed Ari narrowly. "Are you?"

  "Your friends in Longueil planted the GPS in the Astrovan."

  "I knew how close you two were. After all, you helped him escape from the Imperial Palace. You thought I didn't know? I didn't, until it was too late. All those years ago, you were only a private."

  "I was a corporal by then."

  "You had access to certain doors. You arranged the escape car. You had his papers fixed, you arranged his flight out of the country—First Class! His entire family! My father was crazy with anger. His best fatid gone! The one who could make the Congress sit up and listen!" He turned to the front of the van. "What wasn't there to like about that job?"

  "He wanted me to look the same as him when naked," Abu Jasim snarled at the windshield. "I didn't want to shorten anything."

  "Your loss." Uday turned back to Ari. "My father launched an investigation, but no one knows better than you how to cover your tracks. I only found out just before the war. Omar Pachachi told me that he had uncovered evidence that you were the one helping the traitor."

  Omar, Ari thought. Should've killed him. But how long had he known? From the very beginning?

  "By then, things had been arranged and I didn't worry about it."

  "The bombs in my cellar," Ari said flatly.

  "Oh? Who told you? No matter, I was going to kill you because of that bitch trick you played. One more reason made no difference." And then the evil Uday, the Uday men and women had seen in closed rooms, in the Palace of Dreams, slid out the side of his eyes. "I can see now that it paid off, even though you survived. Killing your boy, dismembering your wife...the death is in your eyes."

  "Hey, Abu Jasim!" Ari called out. "Before you drop me off, what about we chop off a few of this assholes fingers? Maybe his pecker, too? But that hasn't been of much use to you since the assassination attempt, from what I hear."