The Anvil of the Craftsman (Jon's Trilogy)

by Dale Amidei

  Colby noticed that Kameldorn was tense again so close to the city; he hung well back of the lead Suburban to increase his visibility. The second Land Rover was right behind him and after another respectful distance came the rear Blackwater element. They gradually lost military vehicles to follow until they crossed alone over the canal that fed Lake Habbaniyah. Shortly afterward, they turned onto the artery that led to Jordan rather than Syria. The convoy soon began to negotiate the series of more rural roadways that brought them closer to al-Dulaimi’s headquarters.

  Imposing, aged walls began to appear, made of sun-baked mud and straw bricks. Crops, stock animals and family compounds making up the settlements were all sheltered behind fortifications. They stretched for an impressive distance, arranged along a series of irrigation canals originating at the northwestern corner of the huge lake.

  The lead Suburban stopped here. Pressing his earpiece in then consulting the map across his legs, Kameldorn advised the point vehicle on the last turn. They drove a short distance and turned again, around another stretch of mud-brick wall, and saw the main entrance.

  Schuster whistled from the back seat: they were expected. Atop the wall, two manned Russian light machine guns guarded the gate from above; the positions also mounted searchlights in case the night brought any unannounced visitors. More men were on the ground to clear them and were not shy about directing their AKs at the vehicles. Kameldorn exited the Land Rover for a brief time to converse in Arabic with the Iraqi-pattern camouflage-clad sentries.

  He came back in, grinning, Colby noted. The Air Force officer approved of the Sheik’s sense of practicality.

  “Careful men?” Colby asked Kameldorn, raising an eyebrow.

  Kameldorn grunted, giving him a serious look and sharing it with Schuster and Anthony via the rearview mirror. “Oh yeah, they’re careful. Remember, guys, this isn’t Baghdad. This is more al-Zarqawi’s territory than ours, and he’s the one that’s been cutting the throat of anyone that’s been seen leaving the Governor’s place in Ramadi, or otherwise cooperating with any Western element. Al-Dulaimi’s self-sufficient out here, due to his infrastructure and his manpower. That’s the reason he’s able to extend us his hospitality without paying the price that anyone in Ramadi would now. Yeah, they’re all careful men. That’s why they are still alive.”

  The convoy passed through the gate into the spacious residential compound of the Sheik’s extended family. The place was much cheerier inside than out with date palms and brightly painted buildings, their architecture creating an impression of Arabic arches and domes melded with Victorian balcony and trim. Children were about and also women in the traditional dress of the Bedouins, black or dark blue. The women’s heads and throats were covered but their faces were visible, framed by a few artfully arranged locks of hair. They scooted the children well away from the vehicles as they pulled in.

  Everywhere men had weapons. An extended complement of the escort that had accompanied al-Dulaimi to Baghdad, they were a force no doubt mindful of the losses that they had taken there. They parted way for the Sheik himself as he appeared. He stopped to stand with his hands on his hips, a broad grin on his bearded face.

  The Blackwater operatives dismounted, not bothering with their long arms, satisfied that their work for the moment had finished. They stayed close to their vehicles as did the interpreters and Colby’s female aides, hair modestly covered now with scarves. All remained under the watchful eyes of the Sheik’s men.

  Colby strode forward offering his hand but got a hearty embrace from Sheik al-Dulaimi instead. “Ah, Mr. Colby, it is very good to see you again. Come, come inside. There are refreshments for your company.”

  Genuinely liking this man, Colby grinned as well. “Thank you, sir. It is good to be here. Thank you for your hospitality today.”

  Colby motioned to Schuster and Anthony. “You’ll remember Bernie Schuster. This is Jon Anthony, who you unfortunately did not have the opportunity to see that day. Also, let me introduce Major Matt Kameldorn, our security specialist.”

  To each al-Dulaimi nodded graciously. “Gentlemen, you are all welcome as well. Come, let us go inside. If your people wish instead to remain with their vehicles, I will have some offerings brought out to them, and then my family will help them get settled. We have much to discuss before the noon meal. It is time we begin.”

  In his mind Colby raised a mental flag at that. He followed al-Dulaimi to the inner courtyard, playing another man’s game now. Colby, the guest instead of the host, therefore was here as much to listen as to present if not more. He agreed with the Sheik’s initial premise: it was time to begin.

  Colby strode with the Sheik through the walking space between the outside of the house and the walls. It led to his landscaped courtyard under the shade of more palms behind the spacious house. “You seem very secure here, your Highness.”

  “Ah, for the moment and by the grace of God, we are. The men of al-Zarqawi are everywhere, making trouble, making threats also. They are those who seek to become sheiks themselves, by the knife.” Al-Dulaimi sighed. “There was another sheik in Al Anbar, some distance from here, and he resists these men also. They killed his retainers and kidnapped him, being paid much ransom. They also demanded that his house, much like the one that you see here, be burned to the ground before his release, and this, too, was done. He is a great man, and even now he is rebuilding his house to stand just as it was. They will never get near him again, and they will never break his will. There are many like him here.”

  Colby nodded. “I am glad to hear that, Excellency. The West brings hope for those who would determine the course of their own lives. The days of autocratic rule are for the history books, not for building the future.”

  “Ah yes. And it is the future on which we must keep focus.” Al-Dulaimi reached the shaded courtyard, where painted wickerwork was arranged to accommodate them all. He motioned them to sit. More men, also armed, brought trays with mint tea, breads and meats, and dried fruit. His guests settled into place as al-Dulaimi himself poured their tea. He continued to speak as he did so.

  “These men, the fanatics, declare their Islamic state and imagine that they have made themselves into the Ayatollahs of the Province. Do not believe it. They will not last, and many know that the Province will not stand for long alone. We need to unite with the greater Iraq and make our voices heard in the assemblies to come.”

  Leaning forward, Colby nodded again. “And we are glad to have you, Excellency. Your mind and the minds of the men attempting to shape a peaceful future for your country move in the same stream. We know that democracies do not war on one other. Those troubles are started by unreasonable men, the fanatics, and those who would remain isolated.”

  “It is the same here,” al-Dulaimi agreed. “Men’s minds get lost in their obsessions. The men of al-Zarqawi do not stand for correction. They are here to dictate. They attract the evil men, and overcome the weak, and the cowards. It is not a bad thing to die as a man, and all men die in any event, even those who cower for a time under the shadow of a tyrant’s sword. We must talk together. We must bring more and more of the Iraqi people together, and seek out the things on which we all agree. The disagreements we can work out afterward as reasonable men, so that all can share in the bounty of tomorrows to come. Do you not agree?”

  Colby nodded. “Absolutely I do, sir. I could not have said it better.”

  Al-Dulaimi sat back into his large chair, looking pleased. The others, who seemed to be only accompanying Colby at this point, were partaking of the delicious breads and spiced meats that had come with the tea. It was as if al-Dulaimi had been waiting for them to do so before he went on, Colby thought.

  “You will be pleased, then, to hear that I have managed to arrange an assembly of many true men of Anbar, my kinsmen and brothers, who are gathering now to hear you make your case for them at this week’s end. They gather already at the houses of my cousin near Haditha, Ali Mohammed al-Fatla. They will await you on Sat
urday.”

  At that, Schuster had trouble with his first bite of bread and meat, aspirating and coughing as politely as he could, composing himself with a swallow of tea. Even Kameldorn blinked at the news. Colby was glad that he had not yet touched his cup.

  “Your Excellency … this is … unexpected.”

  Al-Dulaimi raised both his hands in apology. “Oh, it is terrible, I know. I am truly sorry. You do not understand Al Anbar. We must move quickly, before word can spread to the other clans, those who ally with al-Zarqawi. They would attack us where we could gather, in Haditha, in Ramadi, elsewhere, so I have taken great pains to exclude them. We must meet with the other Anbaris of like mind—you know it yourself—so we must do it quickly. Otherwise, all could be lost to those who obsess only with the law of Sharia and how it can be bent to provide their own power.”

  Schuster was almost ready to burst. “Tom—” he began.

  Colby waved him off, mind racing. “Excellency, there are many preparations we had hoped to make for such a gathering, so the quality of the conversation could be assured.”

  Al-Dulaimi nodded. “What preparation can a man make to speak to other men, Mr. Colby, except to ensure the purity of his heart? You know what we seek. You speak of it easily, as I do. These men will have questions—answer them. You have thought much about the future that you wish to build with us. Tell them. Speechmakers do not impress these men. They are impressed with other men, and they wish to look into your heart. You cannot prepare for that by any means except what you have already done by coming here. It is your time. I am sorry that it comes sooner than you perhaps thought. But it is here, and it cannot now be otherwise, or your opportunity will be lost.”

  Colby felt as though he were in the distance watching this happen to someone else. “How many?” he asked.

  “Many will come. More than twenty are on their way that I know of. I hope to make it as many as thirty, and their attendants, of course.” Al-Dulaimi beamed. “My cousin has more than enough room for us all. His house is a thing to behold.”

  “And all are tribal leadership?” Colby tried not to sound resigned, to bring the enthusiasm back into his voice. It was a struggle.

  “Yes, yes. They are the men you seek. Some of them your envoys have spoken with already. They are ready, so they are coming.”

  Seventy-two hours, Colby thought. It would have to be enough. “Very well, Excellency. We shall do our best to meet your expectations.”

  Al-Dulaimi grinned, stroking his beard, and then clapping his hands. “Ah, Mr. Colby, you make me glad. I will provide quarters and work space for your people, so you can make what preparations that you will. What I can do, please let me do. I wish your success to be great.”

  “We will make it so, Excellency.” Colby looked at Schuster, and the message was unmistakable. Schuster knew that he was on, where he was, to do what he could, with what he had. They had no other choice.

  Colby glanced at Kameldorn, who seemed lost in thought. Anthony sat in silence, wheels turning also. Everything that they had hoped to achieve here would rise or fall before the end of the week, and these were the people who would determine the outcome. Colby knew in his heart that the Sheik was right: they would not have another chance.

  Chapter 15: Stage Fright

  In gathering his peers, al-Dulaimi had been as successful in avoiding the al-Zarqawi network as he had hoped. The ears and eyes that al-Khafji had co-opted throughout Al Anbar, the Saudi thought, never failed him. Rumors spread, and the information had traveled to Baghdad, accompanying commerce in other commodities. The Dulaim sought accord with the infidel, his sources heard repeatedly. The sheiks of Anbar assembled in Haditha.

  Haditha, al-Khafji thought with disgust, the city where the American Marines conducted their slaughter less than half a year before. He would surely find many allies there.

  He had been slowly rebuilding his manpower since the middle of March. Enough of the other five teams had remained to form a cadre and had been finding recruits by emphasizing the successes of the March attacks. The willing flocked to success, he knew. Let al-Zarqawi have his spotlight, the veterans told the new ones. They themselves would strike from the shadows and give al-Zarqawi the credit if he wanted it. The Americans would hunt him instead, and the faithful would carry on the jihad. It was a powerful message, and it was working.

  There had been no news of Raad, and the men accompanying him were gone. Those al-Khafji sent to the garage where they had left for the airport reported that the Iraqi police had taped it off and that blood stained the floor inside. He assumed the worst and had changed his residence and false papers yet again. He would have to make do until he could establish contact with whomever they would send to replace the Persian, but that would require more false papers and another trip to Mehran. The Saudi had enough ordnance cached for the present and more than enough funds. No need existed to travel east for some months, and until then he could spend the time reconstructing his organization. He could trust eight capable men. They would recruit more, but such things took time, and it took yet more time to make certain that these new men were trustworthy also.

  The Dulaim had Americans there even now, seeking to undermine the faithful in Al Anbar. Sheik Muhammad Zola al-Dulaimi was a formidable man, and his security could not be overcome from outside the walls of his compound, al-Khafji’s Anbari eyes and ears told him. The Americans only prepared at the house of al-Dulaimi in any event. They would have to move toward Haditha, and men in transit were always vulnerable.

  Al-Khafji sent money back to Anbar and with it his request for more information. Money was the seed of that harvest. He needed to know what was knowable, and then he could determine what was possible. The outrage cried out for response. For the love of the Prophet, the Dulaim was bringing them to Haditha of all places! The thought made the Saudi nauseous.

  Their greatest successes were always with the ex-Baathist Sunnis, the disaffected, al-Khafji knew. He found them through word of mouth. He sought the hardened ones who had killed for Saddam and his sons, who had prospered until their world changed in 2003. Most of them were gone now, but those who remained were the smartest. They were the survivors. These were the men al-Khafji needed the most.

  His captain had found one such man seeking work but cut out of his vocation by the de-Baathification policies of the current regime. He was not desperate, but he was primed for listening to what al-Khafji had to say, his man told him. So they found themselves at the sidewalk tables of a coffee shop, during the day when the working world gave them the privacy and space they needed for their conversation.

  Al-Khafji smiled as he joined them. His captain made the discreet introductions without names; it was not necessary. They both knew who and what the other was.

  “I understand you need employment, my friend.” Al-Khafji slipped an envelope under a napkin and passed it to his new man. He saw the man run his hand over it. Enough bills were in the stack to let him know that they were serious.

  “Indeed, sayedy. A man must find work to prosper in these hard times,” the man said, resting his hand atop the cash.

  “We have such work, but it requires a hard man to do it. It requires a man who God calls to do such work.” Al-Khafji paused, glancing about.

  The man shrugged. “I know more about the ways of the world than a man who dreams about the call of God. The call of the world is easier to hear. Things in the world must be done, and I have done them. I am good at what I do; my evidence is my life, which I still hold when many like me have fallen. If you need a man to stand with you instead of fall, I am available.”

  Al-Khafji nodded as the man sipped his coffee. “What may we call you then? Among us you will be known as Said, to mark your happy disposition.”

  "Said" smiled a cold smile. “You may call me what you wish, while you also pay me.”

  Solemnly, al-Khafji nodded. “We must travel soon for Ar-Ramadi. Do you need to make any personal arrangements?”

  Sipping a
gain at his coffee, Said shook his head. “I travel lightly through the world, sayedy. It was not so once, but what I had has been taken away.”

  Looking with approval at his captain, al-Khafji nodded. It was good to find such men and every one they added made for a stronger cell. This one would not waver, much less run.

  “Do you know of another like yourself? My captain will be rewarded for finding you. There are finder’s fees paid for such discoveries.”

  Said finished his coffee and considered al-Khafji's question. “Perhaps. We must be careful now in seeking out one another. I know some places to look, and people who we may ask. We can go now if you wish.”

  Al-Khafji nodded. Said stood with them, pocketing the envelope and the paper napkin that concealed it. The Saudi's captain glanced around as they did so. Few people were on this street, and the ones here showed no interest in the trio.

  Al-Khafji noticed that Said had looked also and seen as much. This man had been a good find. One or two more and they would be ready. It had to be soon. The Dulaim would not wait long.

  Said was as much of an asset as they had hoped. By the next day he had brought in another recruit, an ex-sergeant of the Republican Guard equally as disillusioned and in need of the ready cash that al-Khafji could offer. That made ten, and those were enough. They had a variety of vehicles, but the most important were the two SUVs with their off-road capabilities and room for men and cargo. Weapons and other ordnance hid beneath the sand all over Iraq. Ready cash could make the needed material appear anywhere and at any time.

  Their itinerary to Haditha had them first assembling here, at a safe house outside of Ramadi. Tomorrow would see them, again in ones and twos, drive to their destination where safe abode again awaited them. It was near to the Prophet’s Birthday, and they could explain any travel as a time to rejoin family for the blessed mawlid.