I was finishing my midday patrol and things were quiet, like every other day. I stopped when I noticed something on the horizon. Gareth was working nearby, and when he saw me lift my binoculars, he wasted no time coming over to compare notes. He was one of the geologists we were babysitting out there, always happy to tell us what was what, like we were school kids, a real stuffed shirt. The Brit couldn’t say good morning without sounding like an ass.
He walked up beside me and stood there, mopping his face and forehead with a stained handkerchief. I pretended I couldn’t see him to my side. Finally, he said, “You’re looking at the ripples rise up on the horizon.”
“Yep,” I said, didn’t lower the binoculars.
He lifted the brim of his hat to mop the moisture matting his hair, and then said, “That, Aker, is a fata morgana, a mirage.”
Two tours deep in the Iraqi sandbox taught me the difference between floating castles and what was real. Within a minute, that ripple of tan became a rolling cloud and the first glints of sun bounced off a hazy line skimming the horizon.
“Or maybe not,” I said.
Gareth curled his lip and then headed toward the Greenhouse. He didn’t see my silly smile.
I shouldn’t have been smiling though. That time of day, that cloud should’ve been an illusion.
I flipped my palm up to check my watch, then tapped my radio. “Are we expecting anybody?”
Gaz answered from the tower. “That’s Tak and June.”
Gaz was a Brit too, a real good guy. He had served in Afghanistan before signing on.
“They’re back early,” I told him, course he already knew. “Coming in fast.”
He said, “June radioed in. They have a ‘situation’.” Then there was a pause. “Max said we’re goin’ on alert, mate.”
“Okay,” I said. “Switching channels and on my way.”
A ‘situation’ was no good.
Tak and June had toured in Afghanistan too, together. They patrolled Agroland’s outer perimeter twice a day. They requested the duty—we all knew why—and like clockwork, they always came back at the last possible minute, and we knew why that was too.
We had some common sense protocols in place and one was to go on alert if a patrol came in early. Alert meant switch the two-ways to the shared channel and then get to our position. Mine was the gate.
Heading over, I kept an eye on the SUV. They were spitting out a big cone cloud of tan dust behind them.
The gate had already been slid aside by the time I got there. Max and Wizard were waiting. Max was the Brit in charge of security. There were all kinds of rumors about where he had served, SAS, more action with the French, some hard-core Special Forces stuff. Even behind his shades, I could tell he wasn’t happy. Wizard was standing right next to him. He had been a Marine stateside and had never gotten any farther than North Carolina. He’d served his tour in some Comsat station before coming to Agroland as a signal tech. The two couldn’t be more different, like somebody tried to build two soldiers and used most of the works on the first guy and had nothing left for the next. Max was six four with a blonde flat top, his face bronze and leather worn, and over his forearm was an MP5 that he probably slept with. Wizard was a head shorter than everybody else on the security team. His cover was too big for his head, his flak jacket oversized, and the M16 strapped over his shoulder was two sizes off. Next to Max, he looked like some scrawny kid off the playground that had hauled all of his toys out to play.
As the tech, he had to drag out the bomb detection gear whenever a vehicle came in. He could barely hold the long handle of the inspection mirror and the oversized chemical sniffer at the same time.
Max was running through the compound. There were only a few buildings there, all prefabs except the Greenhouse. The Greenhouse was two-thirds glass, the rest was concrete block. All the hydroponics, aquaponics, and plants were in the glass end, the offices, labs, and radio room were on the other. In between were the cafeteria and kitchen. Off the end of the Greenhouse was a prefab metal hangar we used as a garage. The SUV’s, tractors, wagons, and the shipping containers with the diesel and natural gas were kept in there. The Powerhouse and the med hut were at the end of the row. A line of little campers we called pods were off to the side, those were for the higher ups. Across the yard were the barracks, one for security and another for the Jordanian workers. There was the tower in the yard and the tool shed out back on the edge of the Agrofield. Next to that, the water hole and the water shed. The water plant was in there, along with drilling and irrigation gear. A lean-to popped out of one side of the shed to shield the hole and attached to the other side of that was the shower and head.
After taking in the compound, Max squinted his eyes up to Gaz in the tower, and then fixed on me. I guess he had finished calculating whatever went on in his head. “June radioed in,” he said. “They found somebody alone out there in the desert. Lucas is already in the med hut and Jenner has everyone eyeballed in the Greenhouse.”
“They found someone out there?” I asked. “Some Bedouin? That’s impossible.” We were on the northern edge of the Syrian Desert, out in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere as in no towns, villages, life, nothing.
Max tightened his lower lip against his teeth and then bit it. I could tell he was cooking what I was saying. As if the timer went off in his oven, he dropped his lip down. “A Bedouin would be possible,” he said. “We saw a few on camels fifty klicks from here last winter.” Then Max shook his head to the side. “June said this guy is a westerner.”
For the first time since my duty in Iraq I snapped my spine straight. During the Iraq War, the Syrian Desert was a major supply line for the Iraqi insurgents. That time had passed but the desert was still a key route for smugglers into Syria, where the latest war had broken out. If terrorists hijacked Tak and June on patrol, they could get them to radio in that they had a survivor that needed medical assistance, and then, as soon as the SUV drove into the compound, boom. I dropped my M16 off my shoulder and readied myself.
Max picked up his two-way. “We’re on, people,” he said.
Gaz, Lucas, and Jenner rattled back in order. “In position.”
* * * * *
TWO
I took my position on the left side of the gate, across from Wizard. Max planted himself between us, and I mean planted himself, his shoulders popped back like he was going into some stance that was going to make him a solid oak. The gate was already open. We were giving them the benefit of the doubt. Then again, if she was rigged to blow, the chain link gate wasn’t going to matter much. Inside the SUV, flashes of daylight cut the interior into silhouettes. Twenty meters out, it began to slow and the face of the driver came into view. June was driving. Her face was stone. Her high cheekbones and dark Latino eyes fixed forward. I raised my M16. Somebody was hunched over in the back, tending to someone or something. I figured that had to be Tak.
Tak’s real name was Myron. He was a sharp kid from Jamaica, Queens. His tag was Tak because he was a tactical wiz. He was always playing chess with Max. That is, when he wasn’t playing around with June. June was from the Bronx, a real wildcat, hot as a jaguar and just as deadly. June and Tak went way back, and then finally hooked up when they hit Agroland.
The SUV slid to a halt a breath in front of Max. He didn’t flinch, he didn’t gesture, he stood in that oak tree stance. The dust that had been trailing behind raced up around the SUV, and then hovered in front of him before dissipating. Even the dust was intimidated by that guy.
Wizard went right to work with the chemical sniffer. My job was a lot simpler. Keep my weapon ready, eyeball the exterior, and then on signal, the interior. I waited for Wizard’s little gizmo to clear and then when he gave me the nod, I stepped up to the vehicle.
I leaned in from the front of the SUV, peering into the open passenger window at an angle. June had opened both windows straight away when she made the gate. The heat from the engine shot at my cheek and the acrid fumes of engine coolant slid
under my sunglasses and bit into my eyes. June’s hands are still at ten and two, her eyes fixed on the med hut. I held back for a second until Wizard had the inspection mirror under my side of the truck and then I stuck my head in to get a better view of the back. Tak was kneeling over somebody. The stranger’s face was hidden behind the seat. I could only make out what was left of his sun bleached clothes and a forearm up against the tailgate. The wrinkled forearm was thin, wooden, and brown like tanned leather. I glanced up at Tak’s face. His eyes were wide and his head was bobbing up and down in little short nods.
My eyes darted back to June. “You all right?” I asked her.
June didn’t turn her head. Her fingers were drumming against the steering wheel. “Yeah, yeah,” she said.
I shot a look back to Tak. “You good to go, buddy?”
Tak didn’t say anything, his head was still bobbing up and down. I noticed this time his lips were moving. I raised my voice a little. “Tak, you all right, buddy?”
His head jolted, boom, and his eyes laser locked on mine. The way Tak flipped his head toward me almost tossed me right back on my can. June glanced up into the rearview to see why I jerked and why Tak wasn’t answering. She snapped him back, all business. “Hey, let’s go,” she said.
A microsecond, then Tak was back, wham, his whole deal clicked and he recognized me all of a sudden. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, let’s go.”
June spun her head over to me, her eyes were wide, I could tell she wanted to be done with that ride. I gave her a quick nod and then pulled myself back three strides and swung my right arm high, toward the med hut.
I yelled, “Clear, clear, clear!”
* * * * *
THREE
Gaz had stayed on alert up in the tower after everyone else was clear, part of standard protocol. Agroland’s primary surveillance came from a camera array that fed into the radio room and then streamed to one of the two flat panels in the corner of the cafeteria. The other panel was switched to twenty-four hour Al Jazeera, unless of course there was a football match. I was in the cafeteria having some cardamom-spiced coffee and dates with Tyren and Farid when Max cut Gaz loose. Tyren was another geologist. I thought he was a Brit for the longest time, and then found out he was South African. Farid was one of the Saudis that had come up to Jordan to ‘green the desert.’ This was their show really, the Saudis, and they were happy to let everyone know it. There was an aerial plat map wallpapering the cafeteria, a satellite image that showed the northern Arabian Desert and other agro outfits. Giant green circles —crop buttons, Farid called them— peppered the whole bottom of the map, and they had sent a few of their own to show the Jordanians how the deal was done, to pull water from deep down, that type of thing.
Gaz entering the cafeteria meant that Max had cleared his own mind of any threat.
Everyone was pretending a break in routine was a good thing. I could smell the tension. Tak and June were sitting at a table in the corner overlooking the Agrofield. We all pretended not to notice that they weren’t touching their trays or making eye contact with each other.
Gaz took a seat with us. He was an electric guy, always cheering everybody up, and we needed some levity. He slid both his hands flat on the table and leaned in like he had a secret to share. That’s how Gaz was. He made everyone feel like he was including them in on something special. Farid poured Gaz a coffee. Gaz’s eyes shot between the three of us and then he began. “I just spoke with Lucas,” he said, and then said nothing else. He slowly raised his cup and sniffed the coffee. He took a sip and then curled his lip.
Tyren leaned in, taking Gaz’s bait. “And? What did he say?”
Gaz set the coffee cup down, pursed his lips, and twitched his brow. He darted his eyes across us again. What I said about every one pretending? Well, Gaz was the exception. I guess because he, for one, was loving a break in the routine and was milking the moment for all he could. When he knew he had us, he dropped another tidbit. “He is a westerner.”
I took the bait that time. “What do you mean, he is a westerner? How do they know?”
Gaz kept going. “Lucas said Max didn’t think the guy was a terrorist either.”
Whether or not the stranger was a terrorist was in the front of my mind. When Tak and June arrived at the gate and we didn’t all go goodbye boom there was some real relief. Still, the nut jobs could always come knocking.
“He is a westerner, though?” I pressed.
“Oh, he is a westerner. Long, straight white hair. That’s what Lucas said. Not a terrorist.”
“So what’s Max think?” I asked. “A smuggler, journalist, aid worker?”
“A geologist?” asked Tyren.
“Hmm,” Gaz said to Tyren. “A geologist.”
Tyren smiled, believing he had solved the mystery.
“I don’t know,” said Gaz. “Lucas didn’t say. Could be a geologist or scientist of any kind, maybe a journalist, aid worker, maybe a soldier gone AWOL.”
Farid’s lips tightened. He sighed through his nose, then said, “Okay, okay. So they have no real idea. Have they figured out where is he from?”
“Maybe,” said Gaz.
“Tell us,” said Farid.
“Lucas says he was wearing one of those vests with tons of pockets, you know, like photographers wear.”
“A photographer,” said Farid. “What was he photographing up here?”
“They don’t know. No camera, no proper papers, all he had on him was an old side arm, no shells, and a couple of business cards.”
Farid raised his hands, “And?”
“Lucas says if he is the guy on the cards then he is from Kenya.”
Farid sat back in his chair. A deep frown cut into his face. “That could be anybody’s business card.”
“Could be,” said Gaz. He tapped the side of his head. “Except he had multiple. You would only have multiple of your own cards now, wouldn’t you? That is deductive reasoning.”
Tyren nodded. “That makes sense. Why would you have a mess of someone else’s cards?”
Gaz nodded in agreement.
“Isn’t Kenya quite far?” I asked.
“He must have been traveling and became stranded,” said Farid. “Left the road up north.”
Gaz sighed, then said, “Yeah, Lucas told me that’s exactly what Max said, probably heading to one of the UN camps, got lost, then wandered around for days. The guy is a mess.”
“How so?” asked Tyren.
“Well, when I ran into Lucas he told me that guy was dried up like an Egyptian mummy. He said the guy reminded him of bodies he saw in the Iraqi desert.”
We all sank in our seats. I’d come across desiccated corpses, like dried up pieces of wood scattered across the desert. Scenes I had put far out of my mind. Tyren and Farid had most likely never witnessed anything so messed up. They looked disgusted all the same.
“How long does Doc figure he’ll be around?” asked Tyren.
Gaz sipped more coffee. “I don’t know,” he said. “Lucas said Wizard is supposed to radio for an airlift once the stranger is stable. Doc is still in there with Jenner, pumping him full of fluids. Figure a day or two.”
“Is he awake?” I asked. Farid and Tyren were curious, sure, yet, they would never actually have to spend any time with him. Alone. My time for watch would be soon.
Gaz shook his head. He drifted off for a second, and then he said, “He’s been out since they brought him in. He was awake.” He nodded toward Tak and June. “When they found him, he was awake.”
The three of us went stiff. Agroland was safe, basic but comfortable, if austere. The desert was deadly.
Gaz cleared his throat and leaned in again, “Lucas heard June tell Max that when they brought him in he kept repeating the same thing over and over until he passed out.”
Tyren leaned back toward Gaz again, and then in a whisper, he asked him, “What was that?”
Gaz peered over at Tak and June. “June said the guy kept repeating, ‘
So many, not enough. So many, not enough.’”
* * * * *
FOUR
After hearing what Lucas had told Gaz, my mind spun back to an inspection I did on my first tour. My patrol was sent into an area of bombed out rubble that had been shock and awed at the beginning of the deal. Like everybody else, we were on a never-ending hunt for WMDs. The buildings were massive, warehouses, or maybe factories, hard to tell with most of the roofs and the walls blown away. We stumbled upon them in the far back of the burnt out shell of a building, desiccated corpses stacked against a still standing door. On the other side of the door, a metal shelving unit was still lodged in place. Like the Pompeii plaster statues, the bodies were frozen in their fight to escape, fingers clawing, faces wretched, climbing over each other, crushing each other to escape the fumes or smoke or whatever had flooded into the room from the flames beyond the door. They didn’t look human anymore. The building had collapsed around them, the ceiling, walls, only the door remained with them, a freaky sculpture, wooden, leathered, mummified.
Throughout the afternoon my mind was spinning. The wrinkled forearm in the back of the SUV, thin, wooden, and brown like tanned leather, desiccated the way the corpses had been. I walked my perimeter patrol and then hit my bunk to rest up before night watch. Flat on my bunk, the images became worse.
By nighttime, most everyone else in Agroland was back in the cafeteria. The break in routine, the stranger, no one was turning in early. They were either playing backgammon or locked on a football match Wizard pulled down from the SKY network. I opted out. I couldn’t ever remember the difference between Arsenal or Man United, and I was too high strung to play a board game.
The Somali Deception (Cameron Kincaid Book 2) Page 30
